My boss uses nipple suckers on me before our night turns into an intensely passionate encounter. After months of hiding our attraction behind professional courtesy, I finally find myself alone with Veer Khanna in his luxurious penthouse. With rain striking the windows and a fire burning nearby, our long-suppressed desire takes over.
The rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse, a rhythmic drumming that underscored the silence between Veer and me. We stood in the center of the room, the only light coming from the crackling fireplace. Veer Khanna was a man of sharp edges and even sharper intellect, his broad shoulders filling out a charcoal suit that screamed power. His jaw was perpetually set, his dark eyes harboring a storm that rivaled the one outside.
I, Myra Sinha, felt like a contrast to his rigidity. My curves were poured into a silk emerald blouse that felt too tight against my skin, my breath hitching every time his gaze traveled down the line of my throat. We had danced around this for months—professional courtesy masking a primal, magnetic pull. Tonight, the pretense had finally shattered.
“You’ve been staring at the fire for ten minutes, Myra,” Veer said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated in my chest. He stepped closer, the scent of sandalwood and expensive bourbon hitting me. He was tall, his presence commanding the space, his large hands twitching at his sides as if he were fighting the urge to reach out.
“It’s mesmerizing,” I whispered, finally turning to face him. The heat from the hearth was nothing compared to the look in his eyes. He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of my lower lip, pulling it down slightly.
“Not as mesmerizing as you,” he countered. The flirting had been a game of chess, but now he was flipping the board. He leaned in, his chest brushing against my breasts, the friction sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core. I could feel the heat radiating off him, the sheer mass of his body promising a weight I desperately wanted to feel.
He didn’t wait for an answer. He led me to the soft, plush rug before the fire. I sank onto my knees, my heart hammering against my ribs. Veer reached for a Maude Burn No. 0 Massage Candle sitting on the mantle. He struck a match, the flame casting flickering shadows across his rugged features. The scent of amber and vanilla began to bloom, thick and intoxicating.
“You’re trembling,” he noted, his voice a dark caress. He knelt behind me, his hands sliding under my hair to massage the nape of my neck.
“I’ve wanted this since the day we met,” I confessed, my head falling back against his shoulder.
He let out a low growl, his hands moving to the front of my blouse. He unbuttoned it with agonizing slowness, exposing the lace of my bra and the swell of my breasts. When the silk fell away, he let out a sharp intake of breath. He reached into a small velvet pouch, pulling out the Lovehoney Perfect Pair Silicone Nipple Suckers.
“Let’s see how sensitive you really are,” he murmured. He placed the first sucker over my left nipple. I gasped as the gentle vacuum took hold, pulling the bud taut and engorged. The sensation was sharp, a focused ache that made my toes curl. Then he applied the second to my right, watching with predatory intensity as I arched my back, my breasts heaving.
“Veer…” I moaned, my hands clutching at his thighs.
He picked up the candle, the wax now a warm, shimmering oil. “Stay still, Myra.” He tipped it carefully, pouring a thin, golden stream between my breasts. I let out a sharp cry at the initial heat, but as he began to massage it in, it turned into a silky, gliding friction. His large palms moved in slow circles, slicking my skin, his thumbs grazing the edges of the suckers. The oil made every touch hypersensitive.
He leaned down, his tongue darting out to lick a path of warm oil from my cleavage up to the base of my throat. “You taste like heaven,” he growled against my skin. He moved to my breast, sucking gently on the silicone, the added pressure sending waves of heat straight to my pussy.
I was a mess of need. He stripped me of the rest of my clothes, his eyes devouring every inch of my body—my soft belly, the curve of my hips, and the dark patch of hair between my legs. He settled between my thighs, his hands prying them wide.
“Look at you,” he whispered, his voice thick with lust. “So wet for me.”
His tongue found my clit, and I nearly hit the ceiling. He used slow, broad strokes, tasting the oil and my own natural juices. I fisted my hands in his thick hair, pushing him closer. He wasn’t finished. He slid two fingers deep inside me, his knuckles rubbing against my entrance while his tongue worked a frantic rhythm on my nub.
“Fuck, Veer, please,” I sobbed, my hips bucking uncontrollably against his face. I was right there, hovering on the precipice of a screaming climax, but he suddenly pulled back.
I whimpered, reaching for him, but he was already moving up my body. He reached out and popped the nipple suckers off. The sudden rush of blood to my sensitized tips made me hiss through my teeth. He kissed each peak, his stubble grazing my skin, before he moved higher.
His cock was out, a thick, pulsing rod of heat that pressed against my thigh. It was heavy and intimidating, slick with the massage oil he’d transferred from my skin. He guided himself to my entrance, the tip probing my soaking wet folds.
“Look at me, Myra,” he commanded. I opened my eyes, seeing the raw, unbridled hunger in his gaze. “You’re mine.”
He pushed in. He was so thick he seemed to stretch me to my limit, filling every hollow space within me. I let out a long, shaky breath as he buried himself to the hilt. He stayed there for a moment, letting us both feel the fullness, the firelight dancing on our joined bodies.
Then, he began to move. He set a deep, languid pace, each thrust deliberate and soul-searing. He leaned down to kiss me, his tongue mimicking the slide of his cock inside my cunt. One hand stayed firmly on my breast, his thumb circling the aching nipple, while his other hand reached down between us. His thumb found my clit, applying heavy, rhythmic pressure in time with his thrusts.
The friction of the oil, the fullness of his shaft, and the relentless grinding of his thumb created a storm of pleasure I couldn’t contain. My breaths became short, frantic pants. I felt my internal muscles begin to quiver, tightening around him like a vice.
“That’s it, Myra. Take it all,” he groaned, his pace quickening, his thrusts becoming harder, more primal.
I broke. A violent, white-hot climax shattered through me, my vision blurring as I cried out his name. I felt him stiffen, his own low groan vibrating through my entire body as he spilled himself deep inside me, his hips rocking through the aftershocks of his release.
We stayed like that for a long time, the only sound the crackling fire and our synchronized breathing. Eventually, he collapsed beside me, pulling me into the crook of his arm. He took a soft cloth, gently wiping the excess oil from my skin with a tenderness that made my heart ache.
He traced patterns on my arm, his touch light and lingering. The storm outside had calmed, leaving only the warmth of the room and the weight of what had just happened. He leaned over, kissing my temple, his voice a soft, sincere whisper in the quiet.
“Beautiful,” he said. And for the first time, I truly felt it.
As the storm faded outside, I lay beside my boss, Veer Khanna, wrapped in the warmth of his embrace. The tension that had built between us for months had finally given way to a night neither of us would forget. He gently wiped the massage oil from my skin and kissed my temple, his usual commanding expression replaced by unexpected tenderness. “Beautiful,” he whispered. I closed my eyes, wondering whether this passionate encounter would change our professional relationship forever—or become the secret we would carry behind closed doors.