I drag her panties down, slow enough to torment, fast enough that my control starts to splinter. She kicks them away, her heels catching on the carpet.
I grab a condom from the drawer—fuck the implications—and tear it open with shaking hands. She’s already reaching for me, helping, curling her fingers around my length, guiding me as if she owns every goddamn inch.
And she does.
“This isn’t sex.”
Her gaze searches my face. “Then what is it?”
“It’s you. Me. And fuck the rest of the world.”
Her eyes fill with emotion. “Show me.”
I lift her onto the desk, spreading her thighs, sliding inside with a groan that echoes off the glass walls.
She gasps, fingers scrabbling for the edge of the desk. I grip her hips, anchoring her, grounding both of us.
“You’re mine, Seraphina.”
“Yours.”
And then there’s nothing but motion. Sound. Heat.
I take her hard, but it’s not rough. It’s worship. Promise.
Every thrust is an apology. Every stroke, a vow. I kiss her throat, her breasts, the shell of her ear, drinking in every broken sound she makes.
She comes apart with a cry, shaking, clinging to me.
And I follow with a hoarse shout, buried deep inside her, shaking with the force of it.
For a long moment, there’s only our breath.
Then I press my forehead to hers. “I can’t lose you again.”
Her voice is a whisper. “Then don’t.”
And maybe, just maybe, this time I won’t.
She’s flushed. Lips bruised from my kiss. Her blouse slightly askew.
And Christ, she looks even better like this.
Reluctantly I help her to dress.
“Come back to me in twenty minutes.”
Seraphina blinks, still breathless. “Of course, sir.”
I can’t be away from her for much longer than that. “We need to go over the projections for the board meeting. Again.”
“I’ll be here.”
She turns, heels clicking as she walks out—unrushed, composed, like I didn’t just lose my mind, destroy the HR manual, and fuck her like a mad man.
What the hell does she do to me?
I bite back a curse and force myself into a cold shower so brutal it could make a priest repent.
