Page 13 of Staking His Claim
I may have been on my knees, but for ten blazing minutes, the superhot and mighty, Fletcher Knight, praising and begging in equal measure, had been putty in my hands.
I would’ve gleefully Lewinksy’d my career just for the chance to keep lapping that heady feeling like I lapped his cum.
And when we were done, and his hand brushed my cheek in that gentle move I was growing stupidly addicted to? When he said, “That was incredible, baby. So fucking worth the wait,” unbridled pride filled my chest.
A slow caress of his thumb across my mouth intensified the need prowling through me now. His eyes, not quite restored to their steady grey, went a little wild as his nostrils flared.
“And now it’s my turn to taste you.” The pure relish in his voice thickened my desire, made my pussy clench so hard I gasped.
Grew pliant in his arms as he stepped back and hefted me up like I weighed nothing and marched us to his desk.
He set me on the edge of it, then, confirming my suspicion, picked up the remote and aimed at the door. At the click of the lock, my eyes widened.
He laughed, a sound I was discovering I liked. A lot.
“I know, baby. I couldn’t have stopped if the earth was eating itself, but I sure as fuck would’ve fired anyone who’d dared to interrupt us.”
From my experience of working for Fletcher, I knew the threat wasn’t idle.
He’d once fired an intern for being five minutes late to a deposition. Another for being sloppy on the firm’s dress code. Rumor had it he did that to keep his employees on their toes.
A little harsh, maybe, but it was damned effective.
Another rumor I’d heard was that at the last partner’s meeting, they’d raked in over two billion in revenue and there was almost two thousand interns, associates and other high-level attorneys across the country vying to work for Knight, Randall & Associates.
Which kinda made my Lewinsky moment all the more crazy. But like he’d just said, I couldn’t have stopped if the world was ending. And I definitely didn’t stop now as he planted his hand on my belly and pushed me back onto his desk.
I watched him watch me, rake me with those molten eyes from head to toe. “You look so fucking exquisite spread out on my desk.”
My hands twitched with nerves and needs. Now I wasn’t performing the incredible task of sucking my boss’s dick, I was floundering on what to do with myself.
He solved that easily by yanking up my skirt, his eyes not leaving mine as he dragged down the brand new panties I’d worn especially to mark this occasion.
Did I know I would end up here when I pulled the tags off the hideously expensive La Senza lingerie this morning? Hell, no. But had I hoped for it with every atom of my being? Hell yes.
And the look in his eyes when he saw the scrap of moss green lace, dotted with tiny crystalized pink bows, was everything.
The cock he hadn’t fully tucked away jerked to life and began to swell. Eyes shutting—an act I was discovering I really liked watching because it was great insight to the depth of his feelings—he brought the lace to his face and inhaled long and deep. “Fuck.”
Dropping his hand, he shoved my panties into his breast pocket. “If you taste even half as amazing as you smell, I’m going to lose my fucking mind,” he rasped.
Then Fletcher Knight shoved my skirt to my waist and dropped to his knees.
He was tall enough to easily slot head and shoulders between my open thighs to rest elbows on the desk. Heat flared through me at how exposed I was in the blazing sun streaming in, and under his feverish gaze.
For an age, he stared down at my pussy, his tongue repeatedly drifting across his lower lip, then he looked up. “Such a fucking pretty pussy. God, you’re perfect, Emily.”
“Th—tha…ah!” Fletcher licked me from taint to clit, and my brain fritzed,thankfully, because it felt a little silly to thank him for complimenting my pussy. The same way I’d felt self-conscious when complimented about my beauty. I hadn’t created it myself. Components of my parents' DNA were responsible for— “Oh God!”
My back arched off the table when his tongue swiped me again, lingering to flick here and there, before he groaned like he was being tortured.
“Christ, I knew it. Holy shit, Emily!” He fell on me, his hands like steel bands around my thighs as he slurped me with decadent licks that had me twitching and jerking on his desk.
Like before, Fletcher was lavish and unfettered with his praise. And his dirty talk repeatedly sent waves of heat to my face as he French-kissed my labia, then drilled his tongue into my needy hole.
I barely felt my fingers tunnel into his hair, but he apparently loved that too, because his head jerked up, eyes gone slate dark spearing me.
“That’s it, baby. Pull my hair. Scratch me. I want your marks all over my body by the time we’re done, because I intend to do the same to you,” he growled, then swooped between my legs again.
