My pulse jumps. I swallow, suddenly very aware of how little space there is between us. His grip firms,thumbs digging into my hips like a reminder of whose lap I’m on.
He doesn’t loosen his grip. My stomach drops through the floor as he pulls me down and grinds me against the growing length beneath him.
“I better be the only man in this entire goddamn world,” he says, darker now, “who knows what this little pussy feels like.”
He presses up harder. I fight back a whimper, placing a hand on his warm, solid chest. It makes resisting even more unbearable.
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “And I intend to keep it that way.”
My body is all heat, ache, and need. All it took was the flex of his hips.
His phone buzzes on the table, but neither of us looks. It keeps buzzing, persistent. Dom still won’t take his eyes off me.
“Pick it up,” he says, calm.
“But it’s your phone,”
“Pick it up,” he repeats, slower. Not a suggestion.
I reach for it hesitantly, sliding the screen and lifting it to my ear. “…Hello?”
A pause, then a crisp, professional female voice. “Hello. I’m calling for Mr. Moreal?”
Her tone is stern, all business. Definitely someone I shouldn’t be taking a call from while on this man’s lap.
I glance at him, wide-eyed. He’s still staring, amused and grinding me slowly on his cock as if nothing about this is inappropriate.
“U-Um,” I stammer. “Please hold… I’ll get him.”
I hand him the phone as he squeezes my ass with his free hand. He takes the call, putting the phone to his ear.
“Dominic Moreal,” he says, switching tones—sharp and professional. “Yes, thank you for the follow-up. I saw the brief come through last night.”
I try to rise, cheeks burning, but he pulls me back, firm and wordless. I barely hold in a moan as his cock presses against the ache between my legs, thick and hard even through clothes. My head spins.
He talks about board materials and confirmations. I don’t hear a word. He won’t stop moving me against him.
I brace my hands on his chest, trying again to lift myself. His arm locks around my hips like a steel band. He glances at me and raises a single brow in warning.
“Mm-hm,” he says, nodding and currently corrupting my life. “Appreciate the update, thank you. I’ll take a look before the meeting.”
Another beat, another drag of my pussy against him. “You too. Take care.”
He ends the call and the phone drops to the table. The second the line goes dead, the air shifts.
“You’re psychotic,” I accuse.
“If you think this is psychotic,” he murmurs, low and rich, “next time, I’ll have you answer the phone while I’m inside you.”
My stomach flips at the dark promise. His hand runs slowly up my thigh, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
My mind is already gone. I try to find a snarky comeback, but all that comes out is a broken exhale. That makes him smile. His hand trails from my jaw to my throat, thumb brushing the skin beneath it.
“I’d love to keep going,” he murmurs, voice low against my cheek. His lips press a slow kiss to the hingeof my jaw, then another just beneath my ear. “But I’ve got to be at the rink in twenty.”
I blink, dazed. “What?”
He pulls back enough to meet my eyes, amused. “Light practice. Can’t have anyone tearing a hamstring doing wind sprints when they should be stretching.”
