I BOUGHT HIM IN HEAT

CHAPTER 9

When morning light finally slipped through the curtains, he was still hard, the front of the oversized pants damp from hours of frustrated leaking. His body ached. His pride ached worse.

James knocked at 8:30.

“Breakfast is ready, sir. Madam is waiting.”

Kai almost refused. Then he imagined her walking into the room herself and dragging him out. He got up.

I was already seated at the long glass dining table when he entered.

I had chosen my clothes carefully.

A fitted black silk blouse, the top three buttons left open so the soft curve of my breasts and the edge of black lace were visible. High-waisted trousers that sat low on my hips. No bra. My hair was down, slightly messy, as if I had just woken up and decided to ruin his morning.

Kai stopped in the doorway for half a second when he saw me.

He was still in the same oversized white shirt and loose gray pants from yesterday. The pants did nothing to hide the thick shape of his c**k, already half-hard again just from walking into the room and smelling me.

“Sit,” I said.

He sat across from me.

Breakfast had already been laid out: soft scrambled eggs with chives, thick slices of buttered sourdough, smoked salmon, fresh berries, and a pot of dark coffee. I poured him a cup myself and slid it toward him.

He didn’t touch it.

I waited until he reluctantly picked up his fork and took a bite of eggs. Then I slipped my bare foot out of my heel, stretched it under the table, and pressed the arch of my foot firmly against his c**k.

His fork froze halfway to his mouth.

I rubbed slowly, up and down the full length, feeling him harden completely under the thin fabric. A wet spot spread almost immediately.

“You’re leaking on my chair already,” I said calmly, taking a sip of coffee. “How long did you stay hard last night?”

Kai’s jaw clenched. He tried to shift his hips away. I followed, pressing harder, grinding the ball of my foot against the sensitive head.

A low, involuntary sound left his throat.

“Answer me.”

“…All night,” he bit out.

I smiled and kept rubbing him in slow, deliberate circles while I ate my salmon. Every time he tried to close his legs I forced them open again with my other foot. By the time he had forced down half his food, his breathing was shallow and both hands were gripping the edge of the table hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

I stopped only when I decided he was close.

Then I pulled my foot back, stood up, and walked around the table. I leaned down beside his chair, lips near his ear, and slid my hand straight into his pants.

My fingers wrapped around hot, wet skin.

Kai’s whole body jerked.

“You’re soaked,” I murmured, stroking him once from base to tip, collecting the precum and spreading it. “And we haven’t even left the house yet.”

He grabbed my wrist. “Stop—f**k—”

I tightened my grip and stroked him faster for ten full seconds, enough to make his hips stutter upward. Then I released him completely, wiped my fingers on his shirt, and straightened.

“We’re going shopping. Get up.”

In the car I made him sit with his legs spread. Every red light I reached over and squeezed him through the pants, slow and firm, until his head tipped back against the seat and his breathing turned ragged. I never let him finish.

At the first boutique I had closed for us, I chose the clothes myself.

Dark trousers that sat perfectly on his hips. Soft black shirts that clung to his chest and stomach. A tailored charcoal coat. I made him change in front of me, no fitting room door closed.

When he stood in only the new black boxer briefs, c**k straining obscenely against the fabric, I stepped close, hooked my fingers in the waistband, and pulled it down just enough to free him.

I stroked him with one hand while the other fixed the collar of the shirt he was supposed to try on.

“Look at yourself,” I said quietly. “Hard in the middle of a*****e because I touched you under the breakfast table. You’re pathetic like this.”

Kai’s eyes burned. His hips still pushed into my fist.

I edged him until his thighs started to shake, then tucked him back into the briefs, zipped the new trousers over him, and patted the obvious bulge once.

“Next store.”

Lunch was at a private dining room on the top floor of a quiet restaurant. White tablecloth. Floor-to-ceiling windows. The city spread out below us.

We ordered: seared scallops for me, grilled wagyu and roasted vegetables for him. He barely ate.

Halfway through the meal I slid my chair closer, reached under the tablecloth, unzipped him, and took his c**k fully into my hand. Skin to skin. I stroked him slowly while I continued eating with my other hand, as if nothing unusual was happening.

Kai’s fork trembled.

“You’re going to come just from my hand under a table,” I said softly, thumb rubbing over the wet slit. “In a restaurant. With the waiter about to walk back in.”

“I won’t,” he gritted out.

I smiled and tightened my grip, twisting on every upward stroke the way that made his stomach clench. His hips started moving in tiny, helpless thrusts. A soft, broken sound escaped him before he could stop it.

I felt him swell, felt the way his c**k twitched harder — he was right there.

I stopped.

Pulled my hand away.

Wiped my fingers on the napkin and took another bite of scallop.

Kai sat frozen, chest rising and falling too fast, c**k still out and glistening under the tablecloth. He looked like he wanted to kill me and beg me at the same time.

“Put it away,” I said. “We’re not finished shopping.”

The rest of the afternoon was worse.

In the next store I made him stand in front of a full-length mirror while I stood behind him, one hand down the front of his new trousers, stroking him while he was forced to watch his own face. Every time his eyes tried to close I ordered him to keep them open.

In the car between places I made him put his hand on the back of my seat and stay still while I edged him again with slow, wet strokes until he was shaking.

By the time we returned to the mansion for dinner, Kai looked ruined.

He was wearing one of the new outfits: black trousers that fit perfectly and a dark charcoal shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The clothes made him look expensive, dangerous, and completely owned. The hard line of his c**k was still clearly visible.

Dinner was already set: roasted duck, red wine reduction, soft potato purée, wilted greens. Candlelight. Just the two of us.

I let him sit for exactly three minutes before I spoke.

“Come here.”

He stood and walked around the table like every step cost him. I turned my chair, pulled him to stand between my knees, and unbuttoned his trousers with calm fingers. His c**k sprang free, flushed dark, the head shiny with precum.

I looked up at him while I wrapped my hand around it again.

“You’ve been hard since last night,” I said, stroking him slowly. “Through breakfast. Through every store. Through lunch. Through the entire afternoon. And you’re still this desperate.”

Kai’s hands fisted at his sides. His voice came out rough and frayed.

“Please…”

The word was quiet. Almost broken.

I paused, thumb still resting against the sensitive head.

“Please what?”

He swallowed hard. His blue eyes were glassy with need and humiliation.

“Please… let me come.”

I smiled.

Then I stroked him properly for the first time all day — firm, steady, twisting at the top the way that made his knees buckle. My other hand slid under his shirt and dragged nails lightly down his stomach.

“You can come,” I said softly. “But you look at me while you do it. And you thank me after.”

Kai’s breath hitched. His hips started moving into my hand, no longer able to hold still. I watched his face the entire time — the way his lips parted, the way his eyes tried to close and then forced themselves back open because I had told him to look at me.

It didn’t take long.

His whole body locked. A broken sound tore out of his throat as he came hard across my fist and onto the floor between my feet, pulse after pulse, shaking. I kept stroking him through it until he was oversensitive and twitching.

When it finally stopped, he was breathing like he had run for miles. His legs looked unsteady.

I released him, wiped my hand on his expensive new shirt, and looked up at him calmly.

“Thank me.”

Kai’s face burned. For a second pure defiance flashed in his eyes again. Then it cracked.

“…Thank you,” he whispered.

“Louder.”

“Thank you… Master.”

I smiled, slow and satisfied, and patted his still-sensitive c**k once.

“Good boy. Now sit down and finish your dinner. You’re going to need energy for tomorrow.”