"You came here to distract me," Callum says, his palm smoothing over my bare ass before delivering a sharp smack that makes me gasp. "So let's see how well you handle the consequences."
I feel the thick head of his cock press against my entrance, and his hand comes around and clamps over my mouth just as he pushes inside me, filling me completely.
The stretch burns. He's not gentle, doesn't give me time to adjust. But my body knows him now, welcomes the intensity.
"Fuck," he breathes, his hand gripping my face tighter as I moan into his palm. "You feel so good."
He pulls back and slams into me again, setting a brutal rhythm. With each thrust, papers flutter to the floor, and something, a pen holder maybe, or that expensive crystal paperweight Declan gave him as a joke, falls off.
I don't care, and neither does he. The only thing I can focus on is the feeling of him inside me, filling me so completely I can barely breathe.
His hand stays pressed over my mouth, muffling the sounds I can't control. His other grips my hip, holding me in place, keeping me exactly where he wants me.
"That's it," he growls. "Take it, baby."
I squeeze my eyes shut, overwhelmed by sensation. The desk edge digs into my thighs as my breath comes out hot and ragged. Outside the office, I can hear the muffled sound of voices, phones ringing, the ordinary rhythm of a workday carrying on while Callum Killaney fucks me senseless ten feet away.
The wrongness of it, the risk, only makes it better.
The hand on my hip slides around to my front, finding my clit and rubbing small circles that make my legs tremble.
My orgasm starts building fast, coiling in my belly. My body clenches around Callum, and he moans.
Electricity courses through me, and my eyes roll back. I'm so close I want to tell him not to stop, but I can't. His hand is tight around my mouth.
The pressure builds and builds until I can't hold it back anymore.
"Come for me," he orders as he slides in and out of me with such force my body is jolting forward from each thrust.
My hands scramble on the desk, trying to grab onto something, but the smooth surface gives me nothing.
I wind up crinkling a piece of paper as I shatter and see stars.
I come with a muffled cry against his palm, my body convulsing around him, and I squeeze my inner walls, and I feel his pace pick up.
A few thrusts later, he slams into me, burying himself deep inside as he spills his hot seed inside me.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. We just breathe together, his chest pressed against my back, his hand slowly sliding away from my mouth.
"Fuck," I manage to say.
He gives a breathless laugh. "Indeed."
He pulls out carefully, and I wince at the sudden emptiness. Behind me, I hear him fastening his belt. I push myself upright on shaking legs and tug my skirt back down, adjusting my panties.
I brush the hair out of my face, doing my best to look like I wasn't just bent over the desk of Boston's most powerful man.
He walks over to the bar cart, and I settle on the leather couch against the wall.
I watch him. He looks more relaxed now, the sharp edges of stress smoothed out, even if only temporarily.
He pours himself two fingers of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the afternoon light.
He doesn't offer me any. I don't drink, and he knows it. Instead, he brings over a bottle of sparkling water and sets it on the coffee table in front of me.
Small gestures. That's how Callum loves. Not with grand declarations, but with remembering I prefer sparkling water to still. With ordering Hawaiian pizza when I'm sad. With twenty history books stacked in my own personal section of the library because I mentioned once that I used to dream about being a professor.
He settles into the armchair across from me, whiskey in hand, and takes a slow sip. His eyes never leave my face.
