Felicity, Sexy, but Not SO Innocent. Part 3

Part 3

But I wasn’t something to be claimed. No, I was something to be earned dear CEO.

So…do it…

I tilted my head, letting a slow smile curl my lips as I caught his gaze again. “You keep staring,” I said, my tone soft but laced with danger. “Do you think you can handle me?”

The challenge hung between us, electric and unrelenting. I watched as his jaw tightened, as his hands clenched at his sides like he was holding himself back. Good. Let him ache, because I was Felicity, bisexual, captivating, paralyzed but pulsing with quiet power. 

And today? I wasn’t just in control. I was a pure sexual sin to him, the married man, CEO.

Those words stayed in my mind for days. Thursday I was  in Thea office and she eyed me.

“You’re glowing. That’s dangerous.” I gave her a little shrug. “Maybe I like feeling dangerous.”

“Felicity,” she warned playfully, “he’s the CEO. Be careful.”

“And I’m not a child,” I replied softly. “My wheels don’t make me fragile.” I rolled beside my friend.  “And he doesn’t look at me like I’m breakable. He looks at me like I’m… A woman he wants to make love to.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re serious? He’s married, our boss…”

My dress was a show-stopper. A razor-sharp little piece from House of CB, cut in a fierce, body-tight red that held every inch of me like it had been sewn right on my skin. The fabric was soft but firm, sculpting my waist, lifting my breasts until they pressed high and full, creating a curve that any woman would notice in the mirror and smile at. 

The hem sat daringly high on my thighs, short enough to tempt, stylish enough to feel powerful and in control.

My five-inch red stilettos rested on my footplate, sleek, glossy, and wicked in that way only a perfect heel can be. They made my legs look impossibly long, even while I sat in my wheelchair, the pointed toes shining like a silent promise.

“I’m very serious,” I breathed, my voice low and warm.

Then I rolled forward down the hallway, slow on purpose. The dress hugged me with every movement, shifting just a little as my hips adjusted. My thighs caught the light, smooth and exposed under that tight red hem. Each push of my hands made the chair glide with a soft whisper over the polished floor.

My sexy heels swayed slightly with the motion. The dress clung. My body moved in a steady, teasing rhythm, something delicate but Not SO Innocent.

I felt his eyes on me through the camera as I headed back toward my office, my smile small and knowing, like I carried a secret between my red lips, the curve of my hips and my long legs.

His message arrived the moment I got to my office…Just like he was looking at me through our AI camera system.

Miss Felicity… My Suite… Now. No signature.  He didn’t need one. My pulse reacted before my mind did.

The glass elevator hummed as it swallowed me whole, its mirrored walls multiplying my reflection into a dozen versions of myself. The doors sealed shut with a whisper, and for a breath, the world outside ceased to exist. There was only me, in my wheelchair suspended in this cage of lights and mirrors.

I was nervous, I exhaled slowly, watching the way my chest rose and fell, the fabric straining to tease the swell of my breasts. My fingers trailed down my collarbone, tracing the delicate line where the dress dipped low, my long nails grazing the soft skin above my cleavage. The touch was light, almost absentminded, but my nipples tightened beneath the fabric anyway, betraying the heat pooling low in my belly.

A smile tugged at my lips. Look at you, I thought, tilting my head to watch the way my ponytail swung, the sharp angle of my jaw, the way my glasses caught the light and turned my gaze into something dangerously sensual. 

My hands slid lower, smoothing over the flare of my hips, the dress clinging like a second skin. The elevator climbed, my fingers found the hem of my dress, toying with it for a second before slipping beneath, my breath hitching as my fingertips brushed the lace of my thong. 

I wasn’t wet yet. The realization sent a jolt through me, and I bit my lip, watching my own face flush in the reflection. My thumb pressed against the fabric, circling slowly, deliberate, just enough to make my hips twitch slightly.

A soft moan escaped me, the sound swallowed by the hum of the elevator. My other hand found my breast, squeezing gently, my nipple hardening under my palm. 

God, I want to be touched. The thought was a spark, igniting something deeper, much darker. My fingers worked faster, rubbing the lace against my clitoris, but…

The elevator dinged. I froze, my hand still buried between my legs. Oopps.

I pushed forward, wheels whispering against the carpet, and pressed the touchpad. The door unlocked with its familiar soft click, a sound that always felt more intimate than it should.

Inside, the room was dim. Amber lights, deep shadows, a quiet hush that wrapped around me as if the suite itself wanted to keep my deep secrets. He stood there with his back half-turned, looking out over the city.  But the moment he heard me glide in, he shifted, slow, deliberate, and faced me.

And the air changed.

Part 4 to come
Ashley

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