“Oh no,” he says, leaning back, hands gripping the arms of the chair. “You wanted this? You take it.”
The look in his eyes dares me.
So I do.
I sink down onto him slow, savoring every inch. We both groan—his jaw tight, mine slack. He fills me to the hilt, stretching me in all the ways I crave.
I pause once he’s all the way in, thighs trembling.
Then I start to move.
Slow at first, rolling my hips, grinding, dragging him against every inch of me. His eyes flutter shut, a curse slipping from his lips.
“Fuck, look at you,” he growls. “So tight. So perfect. Dripping all over me already.”
I speed up, bouncing now, the wet slap of skin echoing against wood and silence. His hands find my waist, fingers digging in, helping me move harder, faster, deeper.
“Is this what you wanted?” he pants, breath hot. “To fuck me in my office like a little cock-drunk brat?”
“Yes,” I moan, tossing my head back. “Wanted you all day, Daddy.”
“You’ve got me now.”
His mouth latches onto my throat, biting, sucking, marking.
“You think they can hear you out there?” he rasps. “Think Sam would recognize those sounds?”
I gasp, legs shaking. “Don’t stop—please, don’t stop?—”
“I’m not fucking stopping until this chair’s soaked with you,” he snarls, thrusting up into me now, sharp and hard. “Come on, sugar. Show me how you break.”
I cry out, body convulsing around him as I fall apart, trembling and clutching his shoulders, unable to do anything but feel.
He groans deep and lifts me once—twice—then slams in and comes hard, spilling deep with a growl of my name against my skin.
We stay tangled, breathless, pulsing with leftover need.
The room smells like sex. My thighs are shaking. His chair creaks beneath us.
And when I finally open my eyes, Will’s smirking up at me.
“Now that’s how you mark your territory.”
We’re still tangled, breathless, sticky with sweat and sin, when Will leans back in the chair and drags a slow hand down his face.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, eyes on me like he’s never letting me leave this room again. “You think I’m done with you?”
My breath catches. I already know that look.
“No,” I whisper, a slow grin teasing the corner of my mouth. “You’re just getting started.”
His smirk turns dangerous.
“Damn right.”
In one fluid motion, he grabs my waist and lifts me off his lap. I barely find my footing before he spins me and presses me chest-first to the desk, scattering papers and a half-empty bottle of bourbon to the floor.
“You know what I see when I look at this desk now?” he growls, hiking up my skirt. “A place where my girl learns her lessons.”
