“But I’ll fuck you with my fingers first,” I added, sliding a finger into her. “I want your juices all over my fingers.”
Her hips bucked off the desk, and I held her down with my other hand. I started moving in and out of her, my pace increasing. My thumb rubbed her clit, and she moaned loudly,throwing her head back. I added another finger into her pussy. I was pleasantly surprised as I felt her tighten against my fingers.
“Oh….oh, God….fuck!….don’t stop!”
I moved even faster and, in another few seconds, Liza moaned even louder as she came all over my fingers, her body quivering as I kept fucking her until she came down from her high.
Her eyes were hooded, and her face glowed with a sheen of perspiration when she resurfaced from throwing her head back.
I slid my fingers out of her and licked her cum off them while our eyes locked.
“Now I can’t stop,” I told her.
“Then don’t,” she answered, sporting a small smile.
I undid my belt, and she shifted to the edge of the desk as I took my black pants off, standing between her legs in only boxers. I was rock-hard beneath the boxers and, when I caught her eyes lowering, I knew she could see it clearly.
My fingers hooked around the band of her panties, and she lifted herself as I took them off.
“Like what you see?” I inquired as I took my dick out, fisting it once as I moved closer to her entrance.
“So, um…before….” she started, pursing her lips before she went on. “I think you should know that I’ve never…you know.” She shrugged casually, but the swift movement of her eyes betrayed her mild embarrassment.
What I, on the other hand, felt was akin to shock.
“You mean you’re a…virgin?”
She nodded in the affirmative.
Damn.
Chapter Eight
Liza’s POV
The echo of the climax was loud in the sudden quiet of the office. The cold marble of the desk was shocking against my overheated skin. I pushed myself upright, dragging my robe around me, fighting the urge to lean into the warmth of the man towering over me. Every muscle screamed the evidence of what had just happened, but my mind was already snapping back to the reality of the room.
Roman didn’t move. He stood there, his hair mussed, his eyes dark with a look I couldn’t place; it wasn’t triumph, and it wasn’t cruelty. It looked like genuine, bewildered curiosity.
“How is this even possible?” He asked, his voice rough, cutting through the silence.
I gripped the silk of my robe, pulling it tighter. I wanted to tell him it was none of his business, but the words felt too weak. I didn’t have the energy to lie, not after that desperate, consuming moment.
He didn’t wait for my answer. He took a step closer, planting his hands on the desk on either side of my thighs, trapping me gently but effectively.
“How,” he continued, his gaze piercing, “did someone like you manage to stay a virgin for so long?”
I lifted my shoulders in a small, tight shrug, a gesture that failed to hide the flush creeping up my neck. What was there to say? Because my life was a weapon, and my body was the final, non-negotiable term of sale for my father? Because I knew once that line was crossed, I’d lose the last piece of control I had?
He saw right through it. His eyes narrowed, not with skepticism, but with a deeper, analyzing intensity. He reached out and brushed a piece of hair off my cheek. His touch was too soft, and it made the trembling start again, deep in my core.
Then, the focus shifted entirely from the past to the future. He didn’t ask for permission, but for acknowledgement. He reached for me, his powerful arms sliding under my knees and back.
“Do you want this?” He asked, his voice dropping, the harsh edges of the criminal dissolving into something dangerously alluring. He didn’t mean this specific moment in the office. He meant the heat, the contradiction, the surrender.
My mind was a chaotic mess of self-preservation and need. I knew I hated him. I hated the power he represented, the glided cage he had shoved me into, and the ruthless certainty of his control. Everything I was, everything I believed in, stood against him.
But I could not lie to myself about wanting him. The raw, desperate craving that had just erupted was the most real thing I had felt in years. It was an escape hatch from the sterile, calculated world my father had built.
