But just as I’m about to come, he stops. I look back at him in disbelief, and he smirks.
“Problem, Cupcake?”
I whimper with impatience, and he spanks my clit again, sending a shock of pleasure through me.
“You’ll come when I say,” he grates out. “Got that?”
Shit. That should piss me off, but it only makes me more desperate.
“I need to come now,” I rasp. I’m like a live wire, ready to explode at the slightest touch, but he won’t give it to me. “Please.”
“Please, what?”
I pout. “Please, Daddy.”
“So impatient,” he chides, freeing his stiff length from his slacks to stroke it, his eyes burning as he looks me over. Then he spanks me again, and I shift restlessly, tilting my hips, begging for more. His hand smooths my hair, gentle at first, then tightening as he wraps it around his fist.
He yanks my head back, his other hand finding my swollen, aching clit with another swift spank. Pleasure crests inside me, bringing me to the edge, but before my orgasm can fully take hold, Aidan thrusts inside me. I cry out as he fills me, multiplying the pleasure. He hooks a hand under the leg on his chair, hoisting it higher onto his desk to open me more for him, and drives himself deep.
I lose all sense of reason at this point. I can’t think, can’t speak. All I can do is take his thrusts, drowning in pleasure. Every stroke into me obliterates all sense of time and space. The only thing grounding me is Aidan’s hand in my hair, his voice in my ear growling filthy things.
“You take me so fucking well, baby,” he grits, hitting a place inside I didn’t know existed. “I love how dirty you are. Such a good girl for me.”
I want to reply, but words elude me. I just take each punishing thrust, a limp rag doll of pleasure and sensation, hoping he never stops.
His hand finds my throat, fingers brushing my windpipe, and heat slams through me, my eyes rolling back in ecstasy.
Wow, okay, I didn’t know I was into that. Apparently, I am.
When I don’t respond, he moves to pull his hand away, but I scramble to put it back. “Yes,” I rasp, pressing his fingers there again. “Yes.”
“Fuck, Iris.” His voice is a rough shred as he slows his thrusts. “You are so fucking perfect, sweetheart.Perfect.”
His fingers flex on my windpipe, and I moan, needing him to know how much I love it. How much I love all of it. This is exactly what I need in bed. Something as intense as all my other emotions, so this doesn’t get lost, so I can feel this fucking alive.
“You’reperfect,” I breathe. “Everything about you, Aidan. The way you fuck me…” What I don’t say is the way he looks out for me. Defends me. Makes me feel like my emotions, my thoughts, my creativity, matter. “I’ve never felt like this,” I whisper.
He’s quiet behind me, and I wince. Was that too much? Why did I say something so intense? But before I can overthink it, his hips move again, hastening.
“I need to feel you come, baby,” he says hoarsely. “Come for Daddy.” His thrusts grow more urgent, fingers pressing firmly. “Come with my hand on your throat.”
Fuck.
Pleasure surges through me as his grip tightens on my windpipe, his other hand finding my clit again. It only takes a few more rough strokes to get me there, and I shatter into a million pieces, the room spinning around me as he plants himself deep, hips stuttering with his own release.
Aidan’s heart thunders against my back as I come down from the high, breathing ragged. At last, he peels himself off me, fetching a tissue to wipe me clean. Then he tugs my dress back into place, helping me stand on wobbly legs. He glances around for my underwear, grimacing when he sees they’re a torn shred.
“Shit,” he mutters. “I’m sorry.”
A laugh escapes me. “I’m not. You can tear my panties off whenever you like.”
His eyes darken again, and he balls them into his fist. “I’m keeping these. And I’m buying you more,” he adds, slipping them into his jacket pocket.
I wave this away, but his hand catches my wrist, pulling me in close.
“I am,” he says firmly, making it clear this isn’t up for debate, because that’s who Aidan is. He wants to take care of me.
And God, I want to let him.
