Leon:I don’t like this.
Annie:I promise I’m fine. I’ll call the second anything feels off, if something were to go wrong. I swear. Just let me enjoy my night, okay? I don’t want to go home all by myself tonight. It’s just a friend. Nbd.
Leon:I’m going to catch hell for this if anything happens, Annie. Call me if you need anything at all.
Desmond pullsinto the parking garage of the penthouse, and my knees feel wobbly as he opens the door for me and I step out. He flashes a keycard to let us in, and then another to take us up to his penthouse, which is impressively luxurious.
It’s all very modern—blacks and greys and whites, hard lines, concrete and iron and glass. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the skyline, and as I walk through the living room, I hear Desmond pouring us each a glass. When I turn to see him entering the room, I see that he brought us more wine.
"Like what you see?" he asks, his gaze sweeping hotly over me.
"It's beautiful," I tell him honestly. "Very impressive."
"I was hoping you'd think so." He sets our glasses down on the coffee table and moves closer until I can feel the heat radiating from his body. "But I didn't bring you here to admire my art collection."
"Why did you bring me here?" My pulse beats faster in my throat.Do I want this? Am I ready?
Desmond doesn’t give me a chance to think very long about it. Instead of responding with words, he answers by backing me against the window, his hands braced on either side of my head. The glass is cool against my back, a stark contrast to the heat of his body pressed against my front.
"Because I've wanted you for years," he says, his voice low and intense. "Because every time I see you, I imagine what it would be like to have you in my bed, underneath me, moaning my name."
His voice is raw and hungry, a growl in his throat as he leans in and kisses me hard, his hands tangling in my hair as he claims my mouth. I wait for that same heat to build, that desperate hunger, but it’s a shadow of what I can feel in him. There’s warmth blooming through me, the beginning of desire, but it’s not this passion that I can feel raging through Desmond. His hands are everywhere, sliding along my curves, tracing the neckline of my dress, skimming the bare skin of my thighs.
The wine forgotten, he picks me up, and my legs go around his hips. He hisses out a breath as his hard cock grinds against the silk between my thighs, and I feel a pulse of need as he carries me to the couch, spilling me back onto it as he leans over me, illuminated by the lights from outside.
His hair is a mess, his eyes almost black with desire. He rocks into me, grinding his length into me, and I let out a gasp as I feel the friction against my clit. “Desmond—” I whisper, and he makes a low sound deep in his throat, leaning back to look at me. His gaze travels slowly from my calves to my face with an intensity that makes me shiver.
"You're so beautiful," he breathes, reaching for one shoulder of my dress. "So perfect." The look in his eyes is pure hunger,and for a moment I feel powerful, in control, like I'm the one calling the shots.
But then something shifts. His hands become more demanding, less reverent. He growls again, jaw tight, and shoves the shoulders of my dress down, baring my upper chest to him. When he kisses me again, there's an edge of roughness that wasn't there before, a possessiveness that borders on aggressive.
"I've waited so long for this," he murmurs against my throat, his teeth scraping against my skin hard enough to leave marks, hard enough to be more pain than pleasure. "So long to have you exactly where I want you."
His weight settles over me as his mouth finds mine again. His hands are everywhere, touching and claiming and demanding, and I try to keep up, to match his intensity. But something feels off, like he's moving too fast, pushing too hard. He thrusts his hips forward again, grinding his cock against my center, and it hurts as he slams himself against me, his teeth sinking into my lower lip.
"Desmond," I gasp, trying to slow things down. "Wait, I?—"
"Shh," he whispers, but his voice has lost its earlier tenderness. "Don't think so much, Annie. Just feel."
His hand slides down my thigh, reaching for the edge of my panties. He pulls them to one side, his fingers grazing over the seam of my pussy, and I hear a frustrated sound in the back of his throat as he realizes I’m not as wet as I should be.
He’s crossing lines I'm not sure I'm ready to cross. The wine is making everything hazy, making it hard to think clearly, but some instinct is telling me this isn't right.
"I think we should slow down," I say, trying to sit up, wriggling away from his fingers. "I'm not sure I'm ready for?—"
"Ready?" He pushes me back down, his fingers parting my folds roughly. There's a hardness in his voice now that makes myblood run cold. "You came home with me, Annie. You knew what that meant."
Fear cuts through the wine-induced haze like a knife. This isn't seduction anymore. This isn't the passionate encounter I thought I wanted. His hands are too rough now, too demanding. I try to move away again, and he grabs the front of my dress, yanking it down as one hand molds over my breast, holding me down beneath him. His fingers curl around my thong, ripping the fabric away with one sharp motion that makes me cry out as I hear it tear.
"Please," I whisper, but he's not listening anymore. His eyes have gone dark, not with passion but with something ugly and dangerous. I try to pull the front of my dress back up, but he snatches at it, and I hear the silk rip, baring my breast again as it tears away. I couldn’t wear a bra under this dress, and now I desperately wish that I had.
"You've been teasing me for weeks," he snarls, grabbing my wrists and pinning them over his head. His fingers dig in hard enough to bruise. "Playing innocent, making me wait. But you're here now, and I'm done waiting."
Terror floods through me as I realize what's happening, what's about to happen. I struggle against him, but he's stronger than me, and the wine has made me clumsy, unsteady.
"I changed my mind," I say desperately, my voice shaking. "I have the right to change my mind."
His laugh is cold, cruel. "You don't get to change your mind now, sweetheart. Not when you've led me on like this. Not when you've made me want you so badly I can't think straight." He thrusts into me again, and now there’s nothing between the fabric of his suit trousers and my tender, intimate flesh. The fabric grates against my sensitive skin, scraping it raw as he mimics fucking me, his expression feral with lust as he knees my legs apart wider.
