Chapter 1: The Cabin Door Shuts
The door clicks shut, and the sound is a punctuation mark on the weeks I've spent watching her in meetings, watching the way she crosses her legs, the way her pencil taps against her teeth when she's thinking. Nikki doesn't get a chance to turn around. I'm on her before the latch settles, one hand splaying across her stomach, the other cupping her jaw, tilting her head back so I can find the hollow of her throat.
She gasps, but it's not a protest. It's recognition.
"You took your time," she breathes, and I can feel her pulse hammering against my lips.
I don't answer with words. My mouth is too busy tracing the column of her neck, teeth grazing the tendon that jumps beneath her skin. My hands find the buttons of her blouse, and I work them with the kind of patience that drives her crazy. One. Two. Three. Each pop of the fabric opening feels like a promise being kept.
She arches into me, and I growl against her skin. "You wore this for me."
"Maybe." Her voice is shaky, but there's a challenge in it. "Or maybe I just like the way it looks when you tear it off."
That's all the invitation I need.
The blouse falls open, and I push it off her shoulders, letting it pool at her feet. Her skin is warm, flushed, and I map every inch of it with my hands as I walk her backward toward my desk. Her breath hitches when the back of her thighs hit the edge, but I don't lay her down. Not yet.
I drop to my knees instead.
Her hands fly to my hair, fingers threading through the dark strands, gripping tight. I look up at her, watching the way her chest rises and falls, the way her lips part around a shallow breath. She's waiting. I can see it in the tremble of her thighs, the way she bites her lower lip.
But I'm not in a hurry.
I press a kiss just below her navel, and she shivers. Another kiss, lower, and she makes a sound that's half laugh, half moan. "You're teasing me."
"I'm savoring you." My voice is rough, barely recognizable. "There's a difference."
Her nails scrape against my scalp, and I feel the sting all the way down my spine. I reward her with a bite—just enough pressure to make her gasp, just enough teeth to leave a mark. She tastes like salt and something sweeter beneath, and I want to lose myself in her.
I do.
Her navel becomes my altar. I press my mouth to the sensitive hollow, kissing, sucking, biting until her hips jerk against my face. She's whispering something—my name, a plea, I can't tell—but the words blur together, turning into a rhythm that matches the throb of her pulse against my lips.
I push her skirt up, bunching the fabric around her hips, and she whimpers. I take my time, letting my teeth drag across the delicate skin of her belly, tasting the salt that clings to her. She tastes like heat, like surrender, like everything I've been dreaming about for months.
"Please," she gasps, and the word is broken, desperate.
"Please, what?" I murmur against her skin, tongue tracing a slow circle around her bellybutton.
She doesn't answer. She just pulls my face harder into her, and I grin against her flesh. Ten minutes. That's how long I spend with my mouth buried in her, teeth and tongue working in tandem, leaving a trail of marks that map my obsession. She's trembling by the time I finally look up at her through my lashes.
Her eyes are glassy, her lips swollen from biting back moans. She looks ruined. She looks perfect.
"You're going to pay for that," she says, but her voice is breathless, wrecked.
I stand, grabbing her hips and pulling her against me. My mouth finds hers, and she tastes herself on my lips. She doesn't pull away.
"I'm counting on it," I tell her, and I feel her smile against me.
"I'm counting on it," I tell her, and I feel her smile against me.
But I don't give her a chance to respond. My hands find her hips, fingers digging into the sharp jut of bone beneath the thin fabric of her skirt. I spin her around, pressing her back against the cool wood of my desk, and she lets out a breathy laugh that dies in her throat when I drop to my knees again.
This time, I'm not gentle.
My mouth finds her navel like it's the only thing that exists in the world, and I bury my face in the soft hollow of her belly. The first ten seconds are a test—a question asked with teeth and tongue, a demand for surrender. Her stomach quivers against my lips, and I feel her fingers tightening in my hair, pulling me closer.
I don't need the invitation. I'm already home.
0:00-0:30. I press my open mouth flat against her navel, suction building until her skin is drawn into my mouth. She gasps, one hand flying to the edge of the desk for balance. I pull back just enough to drag my tongue through the slick heat I've created, tasting the salt of her skin, the faint sweetness of her lotion. Her belly rises and falls rapidly beneath me. She's trying to catch her breath. I don't let her.
0:30-1:00. I switch tactics. My lips seal around the rim of her navel, and I push my tongue inside the shallow dip, curling it against her flesh. She jerks, a strangled sound escaping her throat. Her hands are white-knuckled on the desk edge now, knuckles straining. I can feel her pulse through her skin—fast, erratic, a drumbeat that matches the thrum of my own blood.
"You're so sensitive here," I murmur against her, the vibration making her shiver.
"Shut up," she breathes, but her voice is wrecked.
1:00-1:30. I grin against her skin and bite. Not hard enough to break the surface, but enough to leave a mark, enough to make her hiss through her teeth. I suck the tender flesh of her bellybutton into my mouth, worrying it between my teeth like I'm tasting something rare. Her hips buck involuntarily, pressing her navel deeper into my face. I take what she offers.
1:30-2:00. I pull back just enough to look at what I've done. Her navel is red, glistening, surrounded by a faint ring of teeth marks. She looks down at me, eyes half-lidded, pupils blown wide. "Don't stop," she says, and it's not a plea. It's a command.
I obey.
2:00-2:30. My hands slide up her thighs, pushing her skirt higher, bunching the fabric around her waist. I press her legs apart, and she spreads for me willingly, her body opening like a flower to the sun. I bury my face in her navel again, this time deeper, my nose pressing against the soft swell of her lower belly. I inhale her—sweat and arousal and something that's just her—and I groan against her skin.
2:30-3:00. She's breathing in short, sharp gasps now, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that matches the frantic beat of the music I can still faintly hear through the walls. Her hands are in my hair, pulling, guiding, demanding. I let her direct me for a moment, let her press my face harder into her belly, and I reward her by dragging my teeth across the tender skin just below her navel.
3:00-3:30. She makes a sound I've never heard from her before—a kind of whimper that's half pain, half pleasure—and I want to hear it again. I bite down on the curve of her belly, right at the edge of her navel, and I don't let go. I chew, my teeth grinding against her skin, and she claws at the desk, leaving faint scratches in the wood.
3:30-4:00. Her legs are shaking now. I can feel the tremors running through her thighs, through her calves, all the way down to her toes. She's close to something—I can taste it in the air, smell it in the way her skin goes slick with sweat. But I'm not done with her yet.
4:00-4:30. I pull back, and she whimpers at the loss of contact. "Please," she says, and this time it is a plea. "Akash, please."
I rake my teeth across her navel one more time before I speak. "Beg."
"Please."
"Beg properly."
She looks at me with those glassy, desperate eyes, and I watch her throat work as she swallows. "Please," she says, her voice cracking. "I need you. I need your mouth on me. I need you to take me apart."
4:30-5:00. That's all I needed to hear. I grab her hips and lift her onto the desk, spreading her legs wider, and I dive back into her navel like a man drowning. She's gasping, moaning, her head thrown back, and I'm lost in the taste of her. I piston my tongue into the small hollow of her bellybutton, a rhythm that's fast and relentless, and she arches off the desk, her back bowing.
5:00-5:30. Her fingers are in my hair, yanking, pulling, but I don't stop. I wrap my arms around her thighs, holding her in place, and I chew on the rim of her navel, marking her, claiming her. She's trembling so hard I can feel it in my teeth, a vibration that travels through her skin and into my mouth.
5:30-6:00. I shift my grip. One hand slides under her back, lifting her slightly, and I guide her legs up, draping them over my shoulders. She complies without a word, her heels digging into my shoulder blades as I settle deeper into the cradle of her hips. I can feel everything from here—her heat, her wetness, the way her whole body tenses and releases with every flick of my tongue.
6:00-6:30. I stand.
It's sudden, a movement that takes her off guard. She gasps, her hands flying to my shoulders for balance, and I'm lifting her off the desk, her legs still wrapped around my neck, her weight balanced against my chest. Her skirt is a rumpled mess around her waist, and I can feel her underwear brushing against my collarbone.
6:30-7:00. I don't lower her. I hold her up, her body suspended in the air, and I press my face into her navel like it's my life support. I piston my tongue into her, deep, relentless, and she cries out, her hands scrabbling at my back for purchase. The angle is different now, deeper somehow, and I feel her belly contract against my face with every breath she takes.
7:00-7:30. Her thighs are shaking, tightening around my head. I can feel the pressure building, the way her body is coiling tight like a spring. I suck her navel into my mouth, biting down gently, and she whimpers, her hips grinding against my face. I'm holding her up with one arm now, the other sliding up her back to grip her shoulder.
7:30-8:00. I move.
I walk her backward until her back hits the wall, and I pin her there, my body pressing her into the cool plaster. She gasps at the contact, her skin goosebumping against mine. I don't give her a second to adjust. I'm on her navel again, my mouth working her flesh like I'm starving, like I haven't eaten in weeks and she's the only meal I'll ever need.
8:00-8:30. Her head is thunking against the wall, a rhythm that matches my thrusts. She's making sounds now that don't sound like words—just breath, just need, just surrender. I bite the whole circle of her navel, my teeth dragging across the tender rim, and she arches off the wall, pressing herself deeper into my mouth.
8:30-9:00. I suck the entire hollow of her bellybutton into my mouth, sealing my lips around it, and I chew. Not hard enough to break skin, but enough to leave marks, enough to make her scream. She's trembling in my arms, her whole body shuddering against mine, and I can feel her orgasm building like a wave about to break.
9:00-9:30. "Not yet," I murmur against her skin, my voice raw. "Not until I say so."
She whimpers, but she obeys. I feel her body relax slightly, the tension ebbing, and I reward her by dragging my tongue in a slow circle around her navel, a sensual counterpoint to the violence I've been inflicting.
9:30-10:00. I look up at her. She's wrecked—hair plastered to her forehead, lips swollen, eyes glassy and unfocused. She looks like she's been through a war, and I'm the one who brought her there. I press one final kiss to her navel, gentle this time, a benediction.
"Perfect," I whisper against her skin.
Her legs slide off my shoulders, her feet hitting the floor. She sways, grabbing onto my arm for balance. I catch her, pulling her against me, and she rests her forehead on my chest.
"That was... something," she says, her voice hoarse.
"It was ten minutes," I say, and I can't keep the pride out of my voice.
She laughs, a breathy sound that vibrates against my chest. "It felt like an eternity."
I tilt her chin up, meeting her gaze. "And I'm not done with you yet."
Her pupils dilate. "No?"
"No." I lean down, my lips brushing against the shell of her ear, and I feel her shiver. "That was just the beginning."
She pulls back, looking at me with a mix of fear and anticipation that makes my blood run hot. "What happens next?"
I smile, slow and predatory. "Let me show you."