The picture he painted for me, the one I fall back to when it’s just me and my toy collection at night.
His voice interrupts the thought. “Normally I’d need to hear some consent, but I know you better than to think you’ll let yourself say yes.”
I hate that he knows me well enough to be right about that.
His nose skims the thin skin along my neck and dips down to my collarbone, lips brushing over the flesh and leaving goosebumps in their absence.
“We both know this is what you need from me. What you’ve been craving. You can take it out on me, Boss. All of that frustration inside of you.”
Was there absinthe in the soup he had me sample at the tasting? I can’t think of a single other reason other than being high and hallucinating as to why this idea soundstemptingcoming from his masculine lips.
“You know what I think your problem is?” His giant, rough hand slides down my side, gripping the meat of my middle as it moves, nothing gentle about it. It’s as much of a promise as it is a tease. He’ll be as rough as I need him to be. As deep, as harsh as I need to lose myself in it.
That hand stops on my hip and his fingers dig into me, not afraid to stake their claim.
“No one’s ever fucked this pussy like they owned it before.”
My knees wobble and threaten to give way, but his hold steadies me. His lips pull back from the sensitive skin of my collarbone and in a dash, he has me spun around, facing the desk, his front tight against my back. I can feel his mouth move against my ear, the rumble of his chest through my spine when he speaks again.
“Tell me no and I’ll walk away right now.”
His stubble, that delicious scrape of manly skin on mine, it rakes over my cheek and sends a chill through my entire upper body.
The only part of me that wants to say no is the stubborn part of my personality.
Every single other part of me isscreamingyes, it’s just in a language that doesn’t use words. One or two parts might belouder than all the rest, and I think he hears those like he’s tuned to their frequency.
A dark chuckle rumbles through his chest. “That’s what I thought.”
His massive hands move up my back until they reach just above my bra, and then he shoves me forward. I topple, catching myself on the desk, bent forward. Those hands start roaming, fingers grazing, lighting me up through layers of fabric that still separate us.
Down either side of my spine, over both hips, fingertips trailing down to my jeans.
The pressure disappears entirely, and then a palm claps down on my ass through my pants.
There’s no stopping the yelp that escapes at the contact, the rush of pleasure that darts down toward my pussy at the sting of his hand on my ass. It turns into a moan, my face pressed into my arms on the desk like that’s going to stop him from hearing my reaction. Fuck, he can probably smell how wet I am. Him and those heightened chef senses.
Both of his hands wrap around my thick middle and he yanks me upright, pulling me back against his chest.
If this is a preview of what being thrown around by him in the bedroom would be like, I might not be able to hold out until hell freezes over after all.
His grip is rough enough to spike my adrenaline, ratchet my need. If he keeps this up, I’ll be begging for a mouthful of his cock, for him to test drive my lack of a gag reflex.
He’s right. Nobodyhasfucked me like they’ve owned me. And if this is what just the foreplay feels like?
I can turn my feminist card face down just long enough to get what I need and get out.
One hand braces around my throat, holding me tightly to his front, and I try to keep my reactions at bay, whatever I can doto not give him the satisfaction of what it’s doing to me to feel his thick, tattooed fingers gripping the column of my throat to keep me where he wants me while his other hand explores down, down, down to the top of my jeans.
His rough fingers push through the waistband, flat against the flesh of my belly, and I intake a sharp gasp at the feel of him. Shoving past the elastic band of my underwear, he makes room for his hand underneath my clothing, snaking his palm down over me until he’s palming my pussy beneath it all.
“Just what I thought. You’re fucking drenched, little liar.”
I moan at the tease of him so close to where I’m aching, where I can feel my heart beating with every pump of blood through my veins. I’m a mess, so turned on I should be humiliated by the state I’m in, but I’m angry instead.
Hot desperation for a release, to get out from under the control this attraction to him has over me.
Get me off and let me go.
