His hands grip my hips, holding me in place as he sets a rhythm that has me gasping.
The desk creaks beneath us, more papers sliding to the floor, but I don’t care about anything except the feel of him inside me.
“Faster,” I beg, wrapping my legs tighter around his waist. “Harder.”
He complies, his pace increasing, his thrusts becoming more forceful.
The sound of our bodies coming together fills the study, mixed with our moans and gasps.
I can feel the tension building, that familiar coil of pleasure tightening in my core.
His hand slides between us, finding my clit, and I nearly scream at the added sensation.
He’s relentless, driving into me while his fingers work magic, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.
“Come for me,” he growls, his voice strained with his own need. “I want to feel you come around my cock.”
His words push me over the edge.
My orgasm crashes through me in waves, my inner walls clenching around him as pleasure explodes through every nerve.
I cry out his name, my back arching off the desk, my nails raking down his back.
“Fuck, Sophia,” he groans, his rhythm faltering.
He thrusts a few more times, deep and hard, then stills as his own release takes him.
I feel him pulse inside me, feel the warmth of him filling me, and it triggers another smaller wave of pleasure that makes me shudder.
We stay locked together for a long moment, both of us breathing hard, our hearts pounding in sync.
Finally, he pulls out gently and helps me sit up, his hands tender as he smooths my hair back from my face.
“I love you,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. “Whatever comes next, we face it together.”
“Together,” I agree, wrapping my arms around his neck.
He helps me clean up and straighten my clothes, his touch gentle and caring.
We’re just finishing when his phone rings.
He glances at the screen and his expression darkens.
“It’s Marco,” he says, answering. “What is it?”
I watch his face as he listens, see the color drain from his cheeks, see his jaw clench with barely controlled rage.
“When?” he asks, his voice deadly calm. “How bad?”
He listens for another moment, then ends the call. When he looks at me, I feel like a boulder just landed in my stomach.
“What happened?” I ask.
“The warehouse on Fifth Street. The one we just converted into a distribution center for the import business.” His hands curl into fists at his sides. “Someone bombed it. The entire building is gone.”
34
MIKHAIL
