Once I’m sheathed, it’s no holds barred. With my back to the night skyline, I f**k into her at a grueling pace, loving the way her tits bounce and our th**hs slap. She wr*ps her legs around me, and the bite of her heels in my ass adds to the pleasure. I will myself not to come yet, but at this speed, I don’t have the best odds.
Then I catch sight of my c**k sliding into her, and I have to slow down to watch it again and again and again. Watch how I come out gleaming with her juice. Watch how I disappear into her to the hilt. Wonder if I’ve already disappeared into her completely.
The question makes strange things happen in my ch*st. An unfamiliar pinching. A feeling that I’ve worked hard in my life to avoid.
Only way I know how to deal with it is to pound it out.
Perhaps in a different position this time.
I pull out of her and sink back into my desk chair. She sits up, her makeup running, her hair falling out of her chignon. I love messing her up so much that I almost consider taking her to the shower, just so that I can mess her up again.
But then I’d have to strip, and while I’m dying to be skin-to-skin with her, it’s too much. I know I’ll lose whatever control I have left. I don’t want to think about what would happen then.
“Where did you go?” she asks, and I’m not sure if she means mentally or physically. Maybe both. Her l*ps look even more swollen when she turns them down like that. “Do you need a break?”
“f**k no.” Because I’m a smug motherf**ker, I automatically assume that’s what she’s used to with her husband. I’m tempted to ask, but decide I’d rather not invite him in here. Instead, I pat my th**h. “Come bounce on my c**k, honeybee.”
She bites that puffy bottom l*p of hers and smiles at the same time. “Okay.”
Reaching out a hand, I help her to my lap, positioning her so her back is to my ch*st. She slides easily onto me, and I let her explore for a while, trying different angles as she bobs up and down while I play with her c**t. It’s not too long before she finds a spot that seems to light her up, and soon she’s tightening with another orgasm.
I consider that my cue to take over. Spinning around so the chair faces the windows, I grip my fi**gers into her h*ps and drive into her, eliciting a steady hum of pleasure from her mouth. “This view, Brystin? You know what it represents?” It’s hard to talk at this tempo, and my voice sounds raw and gravelly. “This view represents power. That’s what you traded this sweet little cunt for. You wanted what this view could give you, and I wanted this cunt. I’m pretty sure I got the better end of the deal.”
wr*pping my arms around her waist so we don’t become disconnected, I stand up with her and bend her over so she has to reach her hands out and place her palms against the window to support herself. She moves the way I want her to, and I try to keep thinking of her like she’s a toy. A plaything. Nothing more.
But I’m at war with myself. Because as much as I want this to be greedy and contractual, I know without a doubt that it’s gone beyond that, and I want her to admit it. “But you wanted this too, didn’t you? Not just the job. Not just the power. Your p**sy has been begging for my c**k. Hasn’t it?”
“Mm,” she says.
It’s not good enough. “Say it, Brystin. Tell me you’ve been begging for my c**k. Tell me you’ve been dreaming about it. Tell me you’d trade everything else I’ve given you just to have this moment right now.”
She doesn’t hesitate. “I wanted this, Hadrian. I risked everything for this.”
“Good girl.” It’s not exactly the same, but I gather it’s more true, even in the midst of sex, when any words spoken should be off-limits from scrutiny. The truth of it is intoxicating, or the illusion of truth, anyway, and it takes everything in me not to draw more of the same from her l*ps. In the state she’s in, I think I could get her to say almost anything.
But more truths like this would be dangerous.
And I don’t want to wonder if they’re lies.
With a growl, I spank her haunch, and then dig my fi**gers into her h*ps. My pants fall from my knees to my ankles, and I ram into her with all that I have left, chasing my own climax to the finish line. Chasing it like my sanity depends on it.
And I’ll do it again. And again. All night long, until I’ve f**ked her on every surface in my office. Until she can’t come another time. Until she’s worn out and used, and then I’ll send her back to her prick of a husband, and I’ll go back to f**king uninteresting married women, and this time—this time, on my mother’s grave—this is done.
Brystin POV
My l*ps are raw and my legs are Jell-O as we make our way through the parking garage to Hadrian’s car. It’s still dark outside, but I’m trying not to guess the time, knowing I’ll panic when I see it. I have to be at the studio by ten in the morning, and this is a job where I need my brain to be alert and functioning. Not to mention Shiloh will kill me if I have deep bags under my eyes.
I’m sure Hadrian has to be to work even earlier. “I really can take a cab.” I don’t want to part from him yet but feel guilty at the same time.
He looks at me like I’m being ridiculous. “I’m driving you.”
When he opens the door for me, I have to remind myself not to make anything of it. It’s hard enough not to turn the sex into something meaningful. The borderline romantic gestures are a whole other ballgame. If I’m not careful, I’ll have cupid arrows in my eyes every time I look at him, and I’m really trying to build my professional reputation here.
Once the car is started, he has me enter the address into his GPS as he maneuvers out of the garage. It’s impossible not to see the time since it’s displayed right there on the dashboard—a quarter to five. I visibly wince.
Thankfully, Elvis and I have been staying at the Manhattan apartment this week, so it’s only a fifteen-minute commute each way instead of a full hour plus, but still. I can’t help but do the math in my head. Home by five. I’m a mess, but I can take a shower when I wake up. I should be able to get four hours if I grab something to go for breakfast.
Even though he’s driving, Hadrian must catch my eyes on the clock. “I should have gotten you home earlier.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.” I’m prepared to be miserable today, but it will be worth it. This night has been a kind of incredible I could never describe, and I wouldn’t exchange it for the world. Especially since we’ve promised one time only.
Keeping my eyes on the road before us, I feel his gaze on my profile. “Yeah, you’re right,” he says after a beat. “We didn’t make it to the worktable as it is.”
“Or the pool table.”
“We f**ked on the pool table,” he says. “I distinctly remember your heel getting stuck in the pocket while I was eating you out.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t come. It doesn’t count.”
“You stained the felt. It counts.”
After everything we did tonight, and all the ways we f**ked, I thought he couldn’t make me blush anymore. Apparently, I was wrong. “I stained the felt? Oh my God. You’re joking, right?”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.
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