She begs, and Christ, I love hearing her beg. Love that she trusts me enough to fall apart like this. I withdraw my fingers, and she whimpers at the loss.
“You want me to touch you? You want me to finger you?”
“Yes, please.” She grabs me and pulls me to her, as if somehow that would make the friction come quicker.
I chuckle and slide two fingers in and out of her, before I circle her clit again, until her mouth parts, her back arches, and I know she's on the edge.
“You come before my cock's inside you, I'll take my belt to your pretty arse,” I whisper in her ear, harsh, making her shiver. I know she loves when I threaten her. “Hold on, love. Just hold on.”
I make quick work of my belt and jeans. I grab the belt, loop it, and crack it against my palm. The sound makes her jump, eyes going half-lidded.
“Roll over,” I tell her. “Arse up.”
“Cavin—”
She fuckin’ loves my belt, goes wet and languid at the mere mention of it, the sweet little pain slut.
“You wanted the hat and no shirt, didn't you? Well, now you get the belt too.” I give her arse a proper smack with the leather—not hard enough to truly hurt, but enough to leave a red mark blooming across that perfect pale skin. She gasps, then moans.
“Again?” I ask, my voice rough.
“Yes,” she whimpers. “Please.”
I give her two more, watching the marks appear, watching her squirm and push back for more. “That's my good girl. Taking it so well.”
“Lie back,” I tell her, and she does, turning over and lying back on my desk, offering herself to me.
I position myself between her thighs, the head of my cock pressing against her entrance. “Are you ready for me, love?”
“Yes,” she breathes out. “Yes, please, Cavin.”
I push inside her slow, savoring every fucking inch, every little gasp and moan she makes. When I'm fully seated, buried to the hilt, I pause. “Alright?” I ask her, smoothing her hair back from her face.
“Perfect,” she whispers, wrapping her legs around my waist. “I love you inside me.”
I start to move, slow and deep, watching her face as I do—the way her eyes flutter closed, the way her lips part, the way she says my name like it's the only fuckin' word she knows.
“Look at me,” I say roughly. “I want to see you when you come.”
Her eyes open, locking onto mine, and the connection is so intense it nearly undoes me.
“Erin fucking McCarthy.” I angle my hips and hit that spot inside her that makes her cry out. I feel her tighten around me.
I bury my face in her neck, biting down on the soft skin where her shoulder meets her throat—hard enough to brand. She cries out, her nails raking down my back, scratching lines of fire across my skin.
“Mark me,” I growl against her throat. “I want everyone to see your scratches on me in the ring. Want them to know I'm yours.”
She digs her nails in harder, drawing blood probably, and I fuckin’ love it. “That's it,” I encourage, speeding up my thrusts. “Come for me, Erin. Come on my cock. Let go, lass.”
She shatters, her body arching clean off the desk as she comes with a cry that's nearly a scream. Her cunt clenches around me, rhythmic and tight, milking my cock.
“That's it, that's fucking it, Erin—” I can barely get the words out. “Christ, I can feel you coming?—”
The sight of her, the feel of her, sends me over the edge, and I follow her into bliss, burying my face in her neck as I groan and come.
For a while we stay like that, breathing hard, connected.
“The hat,” she says, her voice sleepy, amused but satisfied.
