That’s all it would take.
She would scream.
Slap the desk.
Arch her back.
And I would fuck her harder.
Faster.
Right in front of all my men.
So deep her soul would try to crawl up my cock and beg me to stop. . .but I wouldn’t.
I would make her sob.
Make her gush.
Make her soak the desk.
Soak me.
Soak the fucking floor.
And still, I wouldn’t stop.
Not until her moans turned hoarse.
Not until her voice cracked on my name like glass breaking.
Not until my cum painted her insides and marked her like a brand, so that if anyone even dared to breathe in her direction, they would taste me on her.
Taste my power.
My possession.
My obsession.
She would claw at the wood.
Try to run.
Try to beg for mercy.
But I would hold her hips down, one hand gripping that beautiful curve like a handle made just for me, and I would growl in her ear, “You don’t walk into my war room like a queen unless you’re ready to be fucked like one.”
And all around us, the room would fall silent.
Some men would flee.
Too afraid to look.
Too weak to stay.
But not Hiro.
Not the Claws.
