Mr. Rochester: British Bad Boy (Classics Made Smutty Book 1) Read online

  And then he’s walking towards me, his glittering sapphire eyes meeting my gaze---

  Ah.

  I’ve never had anyone look at me so possessively before, and it leaves me stunned and jittery, but more than anything else it makes me wet---

  Oh God.

  My legs snap together in an instinctive attempt to stem the wetness threatening to gush past my folds. I feel feverish and cold at the same time – it’s a strange, all-consuming feeling and I start to tremble as Mr. Rochester comes closer and closer---

  Oh God. Oh God.

  The scent of his aftershave precedes him, tantalizing and teasing, and a tiny gasp escapes me. How can a mere scent be arousing in itself?

  I watch Mr. Rochester’s lips curve slowly into a taunting smile. “I can smell how wet you are for me, Ms. Reed.”

  His purring voice is just as provoking, and the combination makes my fingers clench against my sides as I hiss, “Bastard.”

  But my rage seems only to amuse him. “Dare I hope you’ve been a good girl?”

  Before I can even think of a proper retort to his hateful question, Mr. Rochester is already drawing me close, his uninjured hand firmly clasping the side of my hip.

  “What---”

  And then I feel his hand moving down my side.

  I stiffen. “Mr. Rochester---”

  His hand goes under my skirt and moves up. In the next second his fingers come into contact with the bare flesh of my pussy.

  Whatever else I have to say is completely forgotten as a gasp tears out of me at his touch.

  “It’s time for your reward,” Mr. Rochester rasps.

  R-reward?

  But there’s no chance for me to speak. His fingers have started moving and oh---

  Oh God, it’s so, so, so much more than I’ve ever hoped for.

  My knees give out, but even as Mr. Rochester releases a low, dark chuckle at the way my body sags against him, his expertly skillful fingers don’t stop moving. Every stroke seems calculated to make me wetter and hotter, and God it’s driving me crazy---

  “Please,” I choke out.

  “Please what, Ms. Reed?”

  “You know.” My fist strikes his chest, but it’s a half-hearted attempt, and whatever impact it should have is completely ruined by the way my body shudders as his fingers start stroking faster over my folds.

  So, so fast, I can feel my eyeballs threatening to roll black at the sheer beauty of it.

  “Oh God. Please---”

  One finger finally slips inside of me, and I whimper.

  It’s good. It’s so good. It’s so damn good.

  My eyelids drift shut as his finger starts thrusting in and out of me.

  So good. So damn good.

  Another finger joins in, and I find myself clutching his shirt as I start to feel full.

  “You like that, don’t you, my dear?”

  I bite my lip hard, not wanting to make his already huge ego even bigger.

  When it becomes clear I’m not going to answer, Mr. Rochester’s fingers pause right before my entrance, hovering but not quite penetrating.

  Another whimper escapes me.

  “Don’t you?”

  Bastard. “Yes, damn you.” The words are torn out of my throat as I clutch his shirt more tightly. “I like it---”

  And Mr. Rochester rewards me with a third finger.

  Aaaaaaah.

  The combined width of his fingers force the walls of my pussy to expand and I can’t help moaning as I find myself feeling so deliciously stretched.

  God. God. God.

  I feel so full of him, and to think these fingers of his are nothing to his massive cock---

  The thought has my body jerking, and the gesture works like a cue for Mr. Rochester, with his other arm wrapping carefully around my waist before ushering me closer---

  And then he’s ramming his fingers harder and faster into me.

  In and out. In and out. In and out.

  My head starts to reel, and I let out a cry. “D-don’t stop!”

  “Never.” Mr. Rochester’s tone is hard. “Not until you cum all over my fingers.”

  Aaaaaah.

  And to keep his word, Mr. Rochester starts shoving his fingers relentlessly inside of me in a furiously spiraling cycle of pleasure.

  Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

  My body starts to tighten. One moment I’m suspended in the air, suffering from the most exquisite agony. The next moment I know and I’m falling, heavy and weightless at the same time as the most beautiful feeling sweeps over my body.

  Wave after wave, my orgasm strikes me. I’m coming so hard I become unaware to everything else. Nothing exists except the pleasure that Mr. Rochester’s still-plunging fingers inside of me---

  And I don’t want it to end.

  When the haze of pleasure finally clears from my mind, I come out of it appalled.

  Oh God!

  What happened to all my talk of not liking bad boys?

  Why did I let him fuck me with his fingers just like that?

  And why, dear God, have I enjoyed it so much?

  A hazy answer tempts me from afar, asking me to chase it, but I can’t. In a blink of an eye, I’ve found myself once again distracted, and it’s entirely his fault, of course. My boss is still holding my body tightly to him, his fingers still plunged in the depths of my pussy---

  More questions swirl in my mind.

  Does he think I’m a slut?

  What do I say?

  What do I do?

  A knock suddenly sounds on the door, and I jerk---

  Shit.

  I shouldn’t have done that, but it’s too late, with the involuntary movement of my body causing Mr. Rochester’s fingers to slide deeper into me.

  Mr. Rochester’s eyes glint, and I bite back a whimper.

  “You’re starting to get wet again,” he rasps under his breath.

  Another knock sounds on the door before I can answer. “Mr. Rochester?”

  Shit. I recognize the voice. Virginia.

  “May I come in, sir?”

  I hear the doorknob rattle, and the sound reminds me of one alarming fact.

  Neither of us had locked the door.

  SHIT.

  I shove Mr. Rochester away unceremoniously, and even as the sound of his fingers popping out of my pussy makes me cringe, I don’t waste another second, running as fast as I can to the washroom. I make it inside just as I hear Virginia enter the CEO’s office, and the last thing I hear before the washroom door swings shut is the receptionist’s simpering voice as she apologizes for the intrusion.

  Yeah right, bitch.

  Silence encases the washroom, and it takes all my willpower not to childishly press my ear to the door to hear what she has to say. Instead, I focus quickly on attending to myself, a grimace twisting on my lips as I find out just how sticky I am between my legs.

  Is it normal to come this much from finger fucking?

  The answer to this grazes my thoughts, but again I find myself deliberately shying away from it when I realize it’s not what I want to hear.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  I distract myself by repairing my appearance and start with pushing my skirt back down to its respectable length. Turning to the vanity, I wince when I catch sight of my flushed expression---

  Gah.

  I don’t only look like a woman who’s just been fucked, but I look one that’s been fucked pretty good---

  And that’s bad.

  I start pacing the length of the washroom, which by my standards is palatial, considering how it’s the same size as my entire flat.

  Time to get yourself back in control, I tell myself determinedly.

  And step one to that is to hold your head high and act cool.

  Got it?

  When I open the door, Virginia is still inside our boss’ office. Mr. Rochester is seated behind his desk while she’s leaning towards him, her blouse unbuttoned low enough to reveal the pink lace trim of her b
ra.

  She’s sexy, I think grudgingly. An uncomfortable, flaming-hot sensation flares up inside of me at the thought, and I grimace when I realize it’s none other than jealousy.

  “Thank you so much for clearing that up, Mr. Rochester,” I hear Virginia gush. “It’s been troubling me the entire time, not knowing what’s the right thing to do.”

  I close the washroom door loudly behind me, but neither of them turns my way.

  “I just want to be what you want me to be, you know?”

  I clear my throat loudly as she speaks, but both of them continue to ignore me.

  What the hell?

  I can feel myself turning red in annoyance and my cheeks flush hotter when I see Virginia start inching closer---

  And Mr. Rochester isn’t doing a damn thing to stop it.

  Again: what the hell?

  Doesn’t he realize she’s trying to seduce him?

  No sooner do I think this when Mr. Rochester chooses that same moment to glance up.

  I glare at him. MANWHORE!

  His sapphire eyes gleam like he knows what I’m thinking…and doesn’t care.

  Virginia suddenly turns and scowls at me over her shoulder like she’s calling me a bitch without words.

  I scowl just as fiercely. Back atcha!

  Virginia flips her hair over her shoulder. “As I was saying, Mr. Rochester…” She moves a little to the right, and the new position effectively cuts my line of vision to Mr. Rochester.

  I bite back a gasp. How…admirably cunning! As Virginia continues with her attempt to hypnotize Mr. Rochester with her jiggling breasts, I square my shoulders and take a deep breath.

  Fine then.

  Round 1 is all hers, but it’s a shallow victory, I think ungenerously, considering I’m the one who had Mr. Rochester’s fingers inside her---

  My thoughts come to a screeching halt when I realize where they’re heading.

  Seriously, Reed?

  Panic consumes me, and this time I don’t even want to look their way as I march out of Mr. Rochester’s office. Shock and shame wars inside of me as I try to make sense of my thoughts. Dear God.

  How did I end up like this?

  Since when did I turn into a woman whose victory is determined by who’s finger-fucking her?

  I grab my iPhone as soon as I make it back to my desk, but before I can type an SOS message to my online friends I realize I already have an unread message waiting for me – from him.

  Mr. Rochester: Jealous?

  Oh!

  Me: You wish.

  Mr. Rochester: That’s too bad. I’d have gotten rid of this woman if you said yes, and then I’d fuck you right after.

  I almost toss my iPhone into the garbage bin.

  Bastard.

  It’s a quarter to five when Mr. Rochester leaves his office and stops by my desk, saying, “Shall we go?”

  Looking up, I open my mouth to refuse, see my boss raise an inquiring brow, and change my mind. “Okay,” I say sullenly.

  Mr. Rochester patiently waits for me to gather my stuff, and when I’m done he places his hand on the small of my back as we start to walk. Everyone turns to follow us with their gazes, which I do my best to ignore.

  When we make it to reception, I catch a glimpse of Virginia’s resentful gaze.

  “Your new girlfriend’s mad.” As soon as the muttered words come out of my mouth I want to bite my tongue off. Way to go, Reed. That’s exactly what I shouldn’t have said if I wanted to pretend indifference.

  But Mr. Rochester only shrugs, saying mildly, “She’s the understanding type.”

  My furious gaze snaps up to his, and I snarl, “Understanding?” What the hell does that mean? And does he mean he wants me to be just as understanding? Does he think I’ll be okay if he divides his time between me and another woman?

  The offensive thought has me bristling, and I can barely contain myself, waiting only until we’re alone in his blasted limousine before hissing, “What do you mean ‘understanding’, asshole?”

  Mr. Rochester crosses his legs with an amused smirk curving on his lips. “So you are jealous.”

  “What I am,” I snap, “is offended, while you are an idiot if you think I’m going to let you get away---” The rest of my words turn into a choked gasp as Mr. Rochester suddenly hauls me into his lap.

  My knees land apart, and I let out a cry when I realize I’m straddling him on the car seat, and his monstrous cock is pulsing powerfully under his pants, enough to make the folds of my pussy start to moist.

  Oh God.

  As our gazes clash, and Mr. Rochester murmurs lazily, “This is all your fault, you know.”

  “E-excuse me?” I want to sound indignant but instead my voice comes out weak and trembling. It’s so hard to even remember what I’m mad about, with the way his cock keeps rubbing in the most delicious way possible against my wet, hot core.

  “Or perhaps I didn’t make myself clear enough.” Mr. Rochester captures a loose lock of my hair, and the gesture is almost tender, frighteningly so. It completely unnerves me, and my heart beats harder and harder against my chest.

  “You may have my attention, but I still require you to say what you want to do about it.”

  Oh. The meaning behind his actions finally becomes clear, and I’m torn between shuddering in despair and anger. He knows how hard it is for me to say such things, and that’s exactly why he’s asking for them.

  “Bastard,” I can’t help choking out.

  “Always,” Mr. Rochester croons, “and it’s all for you.”

  His words are begging for a retort, but I just end up shuddering on his lap as he tucks the loose lock behind my ear. After, his fingers continue to trail down the side of my neck---

  I shake my head vehemently, crying out, “Stop.”

  And still his fingers continue to move lower and lower.

  “I said, s-stop.”

  Mr. Rochester releases a taunting laugh. “Stop, you say.” His voice is gently mocking. “But the sexy note of plea in your voice says otherwise.” And he proves it so easily as his fingers find one nipple, so erect that I might as well have gone bra-less, with the way it’s poking so visibly against my blouse.

  My eyes jerk up to his. “Don’t---” But Mr. Rochester has already pinched my nipple between his fingers. Hard. And I end up crying out instead.

  “How does it feel?” He pinches it again, and I bite back a cry. “Tell me, Ms. Reed. Give me the words.”

  I shake my head. Never.

  Almost in retaliation Mr. Rochester starts tugging my nipple and the excruciating sensation has my whole world turning faster.

  Oh God.

  “Tell me.”

  And again, the words are like the devil’s whispers in my ear, wicked, forbidden, and God, they’re absolutely tempting.

  “Tell me so I can give you what we both want.”

  I start to shake my head---

  “Your nipple in my mouth. I want to taste it. Don’t you want me to suck on your breasts?”

  A whimper escapes me at the graphic picture his words paint. I squeeze my eyes shut, but it’s futile. I can’t stop imagining how it would look like. How it would feel.

  “Tell me.”

  And once again, the devil wins, and I find myself succumbing willingly into his dark embrace as I choke out, “I want it.” A shudders run through me at my surrender, but I can’t make myself regret the words, knowing what kind of pleasure awaits me. “I want it, damn you. I want it---”

  “Then feed me.”

  A cry trips past my lips at what he’s asking, but it’s a sound of desire than horror.

  “Take your blouse off,” Mr. Rochester grates out.

  And I find myself doing it.

  “Get rid of your bra.”

  Oh God. My fingers shake as I follow his command, and I can’t help shivering anew when my breasts finally spill free from their restraints.

  Mr. Rochester’s gaze settles possessively on my chest. “Beaut
iful.”

  It’s not just what he’s said that makes me moan, but it’s how the word sounds, with his low voice and cultured edge turning a single word into a fuckload of promises---

  And of course, they’re all bad.

  “S-stop staring.” I try to cover my breasts, but Mr. Rochester shakes his head sharply.

  “No.”

  I freeze.

  “Don’t hide them.” Mr. Rochester’s voice is harsh with desire, and the sound makes my already aching breasts ache even more painfully. “From now on,” he continues in a hard voice, “you are never to hide them from my sight. Understood?”

  I nod jerkily.

  “Now, cup them for me.”

  I hesitate.

  “Now.”

  And my hands once again move on their own volition. The weight of my own breasts on my hands is unfamiliar and embarrassing, and I feel my cheeks turning redder as I watch the way Mr. Rochester’s gaze devour my naked chest.

  “Come closer.”

  “Don’t let go of them.”

  The back-to-back commands make me whimper, more so with the way his monstrous cock is twitching impatiently against my swollen folds. When I can’t get any closer, I look up, and Mr. Rochester says, “Now, feed me.”

  Aaaaah.

  His head lowers as I shakily raise myself up on my knees, my hands still cupping my heavy, aching breasts.

  A moment later, and it finally happens---

  His mouth on my nipple, and when he starts to suck stars explode behind my eyelids at the exquisite beauty of it. I moan and I moan, and as Mr. Rochester sucks harder and harder on my nipple I just can’t stop moaning.

  It’s so good. God, it’s so good.

  I cry in disappointment when Mr. Rochester tears his mouth off, but then it starts all over again when Mr. Rochester latches on to my other breast, his tongue laving around the erect pink tip.

  It’s so good. So good. God, it’s soooo---

  Mr. Rochester bites on my nipple.

  Hard.

  I scream.

  And he’s still biting---

  I find myself letting go of my breasts and clutching his head.

  “Oh God.”

  I can’t stop rocking against his body as he keeps sucking on my nipple, and I find myself frantically rubbing my pussy over his cock---

  Mr. Rochester tears his mouth away. “Jane!” His voice is tight with desire, and the look glittering in his sapphire eyes is feral.