He slides another paper closer. “I don’t have a recent photo of the kid, but this is him at nine.”
I stare at the image. Then at Rourke.
My mind goes empty.
Zayne’s voice crawls back into my head. The way he would spread me. The way he would fuck me. My pulse jumps, heat flaring where it should not.
Rouke snaps his fingers in front of my face. “You good?”
I turn toward him.
“Wanna fuck?”
He laughs, looking at me like I am joking. I stand instead, untie the belt of my robe, and let it slide down my shoulders until it pools on the floor.
“I asked,” I say, locking my eyes with his. “Do you want to fuck?”
He gets up, and I see his crotch hardening immediately.
I walk toward him, then slip past and sit at the table. I push the files aside with one hand, and as I grip the edge, I lift myself higher. I spread my legs wide, pressing my feet down on either side of the table.
I bite my lip, watching him. His gaze drags over my breasts, down my stomach, over every inch of me until it settles between my thighs.
He unbuckles his belt quickly, shrugs out of his navy blazer, and lets his pants fall. I lick my fingers and slide them down, touching myself as he pushes his boxers down.
“Are you waiting for something?” I ask, arching my back.
He still looks stunned. He shakes his head slightly, grips his cock, and presses the tip to my clit. He drags it down slowly, pushing in just an inch. Then another. He pauses before grabbing my legs and thrusting deeper, burying himself another few inches inside me.
I gasp, my head falling forward. As he starts to move faster, I close my eyes, imagining Zayne instead of him.
He lifts one of my legs while he keeps thrusting and brings my foot to his mouth, kissing it, licking my toes, then sucking them as he drives deeper into me.
I keep my eyes closed. I lose every ounce of dignity as I moan with each thrust, his cock pushing further inside.
He lifts my other leg and settles both on his shoulders, pulling them closer together. My lower lips close around him now, feeling every movement as he slides in and out.
I feel him stronger like this, thicker, but I want him to spread me. But instead, he holds me in place and keeps thrusting deeper.
I lie back fully on the table and force my legs open. I lift my ass higher, inviting him to spread me more, and plant my feet back on the edge of the table.
“Don’t stop,” I say, and he nods, filling me again, sliding inside in a single, deep thrust.
He presses down on my lower stomach. Two fingers brush my clit, rubbing it gently while his palm stays firm, holding me in place. I feel his cock drag against my inner flesh as my body closes around him.
“Yes,” I moan.
He keeps thrusting, his rhythm syncing with his fingers, until I feel him grow thicker inside me. Just before he does, he pulls out, spilling over my stomach.
He drags his slick load downward, using it as lube to rub my clit, then lower, thrusting his fingers inside me. He pulls them back slowly, touching my inner flesh, hooking me, then pushes them in again. His fingertips move in and out while his palm slaps my clit with every motion.
“Shit,” I moan, my body tightening around his fingers.
He keeps thrusting them until he can’t go any deeper. Then he pulls them out. His cock is still hard as he taps my clit with the tip, teasing me, dragging it slowly over my skin.
I bite my hand and open my eyes.
He stands in front of me, sweat on his forehead, breathing hard, almost feral. For a second, my mind twists him into someone else, but he is solid and real. A six-pack under tattooed skin, his white shirt still on, unbuttoned and damp with sweat.
