Needing Sir In Charge (Dark Possessions Book 2) by Nadia Nightside
Authors: Nadia Nightside
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Author's Note: All Characters Depicted Herein Are 18 Years Of Age Or Older.
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Needing Sir In Charge
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L illian set the table, laying out their very best plates—the blue ones with the flowery white trim. The silverware was polished, the wineglasses ready, with the wine carefully positioned in a bucket full of ice close to Henry’s seat. In the oven, the dish she had prepared was staying warm.
A quick glance at the clock told her it was nearing seven o’clock. He would be home soon, then.
This dinner had to be totally perfect. She couldn’t have anything that would put him off, or let him know exactly what she was up to. That was why her phone was down in her car—no distractions tonight.
She sighed for a moment, letting her head rest against the wall. Was she doing the right thing?
Her conflict of morals stemmed mostly from the fact that Henry was just almost perfect for Lillian.
Lillian was a graduate student, studying anthropology, and had met Henry at a party of a mutual friend. They had hit it off immediately, and were whispering hot “I love you”s to each other within a week of meeting. It was a wonderfully romantic tale, one that Lillian loved recounting, more than a little smugly, to her single friends.
Henry was kind, always bringing her little gifts like flowers or cards or fun t-shirts or notebooks for her to write in, usually on the monthly anniversary of their meeting. He was delightfully caring, always listening to her attentively and never prescribing advice unless she asked for it—he knew that when she had a problem, it was his job just to be supportive until she fixed it on her own. And on top of all that, he was loaded, and had a wonderful, stable engineering job with the aircraft firm in the city.
All told, he was an ideal match for a husband, and as often as she dared, she dropped little hints to him. Nothing major, just making note of beautiful proposals her friends had, or pointing out romantic little spots in the city, or asking if he thought she looked good in white.
Okay, perhaps they weren’t all that subtle, but he got the idea, and knew that she wanted it, and hadn’t seemed to freak out, and that was great too.
There was just one problem—Lillian really, really wished he was more active in the bedroom.
She wanted him to ask to tie her down, or to hold her down and fuck her silly, or to just force himself on her—to demand that they fuck right away, not taking no for an answer. From a stranger, of course, that sort of behavior would be intolerable, to say the absolute least, but from her boyfriend? Her cute, wiry-framed boyfriend, always with something funny to say and happy to please? It would be an enormously sexy change of pace.
The problem was basically that Henry was really terrific at making love. But that only went as far as it went. Lovemaking was a terrific thing to have—after a traumatic day, or after it had been a while, or after a fight.
But Lillian? Most days, she needed to be fucked. She needed to be fucked, really, really hard. She wanted to have a headache the next day from her brain knocking around so much on her pillows. She wanted to not be able to walk for days after being manhandled completely. And Henry just wasn’t quite...extreme enough for that.
Yet.
But she had a plan.
The first step was just how she was dressed. She had made it a point to put on her very sexiest lingerie—sultry smoky stockings and tall platform six-inch “fuck me” heels, matching the lacy black pantie set embroidered with red roses trailing over the hot globes of her ass. Lillian worked out constantly, mostly yoga and pilates, strengthening her core and keeping her stamina up for the furious fucking that she had longed for since she had become sexually active at eighteen, over five years before.
Her skimpy bra matched her panties, the red lace roses intermixing with sexual black stitching, her ample C-cup tits on perfect display for her
* * * * *
Needing Sir In Charge
––––––––
L illian set the table, laying out their very best plates—the blue ones with the flowery white trim. The silverware was polished, the wineglasses ready, with the wine carefully positioned in a bucket full of ice close to Henry’s seat. In the oven, the dish she had prepared was staying warm.
A quick glance at the clock told her it was nearing seven o’clock. He would be home soon, then.
This dinner had to be totally perfect. She couldn’t have anything that would put him off, or let him know exactly what she was up to. That was why her phone was down in her car—no distractions tonight.
She sighed for a moment, letting her head rest against the wall. Was she doing the right thing?
Her conflict of morals stemmed mostly from the fact that Henry was just almost perfect for Lillian.
Lillian was a graduate student, studying anthropology, and had met Henry at a party of a mutual friend. They had hit it off immediately, and were whispering hot “I love you”s to each other within a week of meeting. It was a wonderfully romantic tale, one that Lillian loved recounting, more than a little smugly, to her single friends.
Henry was kind, always bringing her little gifts like flowers or cards or fun t-shirts or notebooks for her to write in, usually on the monthly anniversary of their meeting. He was delightfully caring, always listening to her attentively and never prescribing advice unless she asked for it—he knew that when she had a problem, it was his job just to be supportive until she fixed it on her own. And on top of all that, he was loaded, and had a wonderful, stable engineering job with the aircraft firm in the city.
All told, he was an ideal match for a husband, and as often as she dared, she dropped little hints to him. Nothing major, just making note of beautiful proposals her friends had, or pointing out romantic little spots in the city, or asking if he thought she looked good in white.
Okay, perhaps they weren’t all that subtle, but he got the idea, and knew that she wanted it, and hadn’t seemed to freak out, and that was great too.
There was just one problem—Lillian really, really wished he was more active in the bedroom.
She wanted him to ask to tie her down, or to hold her down and fuck her silly, or to just force himself on her—to demand that they fuck right away, not taking no for an answer. From a stranger, of course, that sort of behavior would be intolerable, to say the absolute least, but from her boyfriend? Her cute, wiry-framed boyfriend, always with something funny to say and happy to please? It would be an enormously sexy change of pace.
The problem was basically that Henry was really terrific at making love. But that only went as far as it went. Lovemaking was a terrific thing to have—after a traumatic day, or after it had been a while, or after a fight.
But Lillian? Most days, she needed to be fucked. She needed to be fucked, really, really hard. She wanted to have a headache the next day from her brain knocking around so much on her pillows. She wanted to not be able to walk for days after being manhandled completely. And Henry just wasn’t quite...extreme enough for that.
Yet.
But she had a plan.
The first step was just how she was dressed. She had made it a point to put on her very sexiest lingerie—sultry smoky stockings and tall platform six-inch “fuck me” heels, matching the lacy black pantie set embroidered with red roses trailing over the hot globes of her ass. Lillian worked out constantly, mostly yoga and pilates, strengthening her core and keeping her stamina up for the furious fucking that she had longed for since she had become sexually active at eighteen, over five years before.
Her skimpy bra matched her panties, the red lace roses intermixing with sexual black stitching, her ample C-cup tits on perfect display for her
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