“What about finishing the inventory?”
“The numbers can wait. I can’t,” she says.
“You’re sure?” I ask, glancing at all the family photos on the wall.
“Yes,” she says. “Make my fantasy come true.”
The air shifts between us, and it’s full of anticipation. I pull her onto my lap, feeling the warmth of her body pressed against mine as she straddles me.
Her hands fly to my belt, and it’s desperate, but I catch her wrists before she gets it undone.
“Not yet,” I murmur, rougher than I intended.
Her eyes flash up to mine, all fire and need, and, God, it nearly kills me to deny her, but I want her strung tight. I want her begging for me. I want to watch her lose control piece by piece because she needs this.
I slide my palms up her thighs, dragging out the touch, savoring the way her skin burns under my hands. I grip her ass, pulling her hard against me so she feels the thick length of my cock pressing into her. She rocks against me and releases a gasp. Pride overtakes me, knowing that I can affect her this way, that she trusts me to give her what she wants.
Her mouth crashes into mine, lips feverish, tongue greedy, and I taste her, never able to get enough. My fist tangles in her long hair, tilting her head just enough to steal more of her moans. I push her back against the desk, papers sliding to the floor, but I don’t care. The only thing in this room that matters is her.
I unbutton her blouse one slow pop at a time, holding her gaze, as if to remind her that she belongs to me. Like she could forget. When her bra falls away and her breasts spill free, I cup them, tweak her nipples until they’re tight peaks against my palms. Her head tips back, and she whispers my name like it’s a prayer.
I could worship her for eternity.
I drop to my knees, shove her skirt up, and press my mouth against the damp lace of her panties. The taste of her teases me, even through the fabric, and my cock jerks painfully against my zipper. I slide the lace aside and lick her. I take my time savoring the sweetness, how she shudders when I brush against her clit. The desperate cries she can’t hold back have my cock throbbing in anticipation.
When she starts to shake, I pull away, grinning.
“Mmm. Patience, Little Red,” I whisper, standing again, my lips slick with her arousal.
Her eyes blaze with frustration. “You’re torturing me.”
“It’s worth the wait,” I mutter, spinning her around and bending her over the desk. “Arch that perfect pussy for me.”
She braces herself, palms flat on the wood, ass high. I thrust my hand through her hair and grab a fist of it, tugging her head back, needing to hear her.
“Do you know who you belong to?”
“You,” she gasps, voice breaking. “I’m yours, Nick.”
Her confession burns through me.
“Now tell me what you want.”
“Fuck me,” she says, her voice almost strangled.
I free myself and drag the head of my cock along her slick folds, coating myself in her wetness, teasing until she’s whimpering.
“Please,” she begs.
That’s all I need.
I slam into her in one hard thrust, burying myself to the hilt. She screams my name, her body clenching tight around me, and the sensation nearly undoes me.
“Yes, sweetheart.” I groan, gripping her hips and driving into her again—harder.
The desk shakes beneath us, her moans filling the room, and I know this isn’t just sex. It’s something deeper.
I thrust into her over and over, my hand still tangled in her hair, pulling her back against me. I want her to remember this, to feel me everywhere tomorrow. Her cries are desperate, broken, her body rocking with every slam of my hips. I reach around, grabbing her breast.
