“So?”
I lick my lips, gaze going from his cock to his face. “Is that a challenge?”
“Look at it as a different sort of danger. Strange as it might seem, I don’t want bullets flying when we fuck,” he says. “Not every time.”
Because this is a fantasy, and this is Declan, I close the space and climb on his lap.
“We can talk and fuck,” he adds, “so if someone comes by it looks like we’re just cozy and talking.”
“Why does this turn me on?” I moan as I lower myself on his cock, my legs on either side. He stretches me, fills me, and it’s like he belongs there.
“Because you’ve got a kink. One I share. I want those panties on you next time, with me controlling the vibrator inside of them.” He rounds his hands over my ass, rocking me on him.
I close my eyes and let my head tip back, rising and sinking on him in slow, lazy strokes. Every little twitch of his cock inside me burns my blood.
It’s decadent. Slow. Delicious. My whole body is awake, lit up from the inside out. Declan feels like sin and sanctuary all at once, and for now, he’s mine.
He kisses my neck, little trails of heat that spark my skin. His tongue licks, his teeth nip, his mouth sucks, and inside I’m coming apart.
His fingers weave into my hair, rubbing gently against my scalp, grounding me.
“I saw your ideas,” he murmurs. “For my business. You’re wasted in ballet, Molly. You should be running an empire.”
His words hit like the first pulse of an orgasm. They’re sharp, electric, and almost painful in how good they feel.
“We could partner up,” I breathe. “Dance is fine as long as I’m not forcedinto thepunishmentof ballet.”
“We could partner up,” he agrees. “I could build accessories for pets, cool toys like mini hot rods. And you could teach your funky dance to weans like Raff. You could do fucking anything.” His eyes darken. “Mostly, I want you close so I can fuck you whenever I want.”
“All the time,” I shudder, my core tight as slow waves of pleasure build down deep.
“You’re not wrong…”
I push down as he thrusts up, and then his gaze goes past my shoulder. His hands tighten on my hips, stilling me.
Someone’s there. Watching. I feel it like a fingernail dragging down my spine.
My body chooses that moment to come, a huge, wild wave of euphoria crashing through me. I clamp down around him, riding the tremors as he bounces me through it, lifting and slamming me down his length.
By the time the aftershocks fade, whoever was there is gone. Or maybe they’re still watching.
Part of me hopes they are.
Then he hauls me close and his mouth curls against my ear. “Remember when I said you owed me?” he says. “I’m thinking it’d be goodcraic, hot, fucking orgasmiccraic, for you to play bad secretary to my bad boss and suck me off.”
Before I can argue, he rolls the chair back, lifts me off his lap, and sets me on my feet. Then, with smooth pressure from his foot, he nudges me down and back until I’m on my knees under the giant desk that might as well have been designed for this.
He opens his knees, offering me his cock.
I take him into my mouth, licking the tip, sucking lightly. I take him deep, so deep, tears spring to my eyes. Every inch, from tip to base, then down to his balls. I lick and nip until he groans.
Torture goes both ways.
He suddenly goes very still.
I freeze, hand wrapped around his shaft, hidden under the heavy desk in the de Rosa mansion in Queens, as a voice speaks.
“Murphy.”
