The air between us went thick with the kind of silence that came before something broke. Her breath hitched, fast and shallow, her chest rising against the edge of the desk. I could see the pulse in her throat, the way her fingers dug into the wood like it could save her.
It couldn’t.
Nothing could.
I unzipped my jeans. Didn’t rush. Didn’t hesitate. The sound cut through the room like a blade—sharp, final, the kind of noise that made her flinch before she could stop herself.
My cock was already hard. Thick. Heavy with the kind of need that had been building since she walked into my study like she had any right to be there.
I wrapped my hand around the base, gave it a slow stroke just to watch her react.
Her eyes flicked down.
Widened.
I saw the moment realization hit—what was about to happen, what she couldn’t stop, what she’d earned with that smart mouth of hers.
“Open,” I said.
Her lips pressed into a line. Defiance, even now. Even when she had to know how this ended.
I tightened my grip on her chin, fingers digging in just enough to make her gasp. “Open your mouth, Belle.”
She didn’t move.
I leaned in, my voice a blade against her skin. “And if you bite me, I swear to God, I’ll get your father sent back to the hospital so fast, you’ll belong to me forever to pay off his debts.”
Her breath stuttered. Fear flashed in her eyes—real, sharp, the kind that cut deeper than anger ever could.
I didn’t wait.
I shoved my cock past her lips, forcing her mouth open. The head hit the back of her throat, and she gagged, her body jerking against the desk. Her hands flew up, fingers clutching at my wrists, but I didn’t let her push me away.
“That’s it,” I murmured, my voice rough. “Take it.”
She made a broken sound, half protest, half something else—something that made my grip tighten.
I thrust deeper, watching her eyes water, watching her throat work around me. Her nails dug into my skin, but she didn’t fight. Not really.
She knew better.
She knew exactly what happened when she pushed me.
And she knew—just like I did—that this wasn’t about her.
This was about me.
About control.
About proving that no matter how much she thought she understood, she didn’t.
Not yet.
Her throat clenched around me, tight and hot, and fuck if that didn’t make my hips jerk forward. I groaned, low and rough, watching her eyes water as I hit the back of her throat again. Her nails dug into my wrists, sharp little crescents of pain that only made me harder. She wasn’t fighting—not really—but she wasn’t submitting either. That fire in her gaze, the way her tears cut tracks down her cheeks, the way her body trembled with rage and something else, something darker—it was perfect.
I tightened my grip in her hair, pulling just enough to make her whimper around me. "Look at you," I murmured, voice rough. "Taking me so fucking well."
Her eyes flashed, furious and bright, but she didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. Not with my hand fisted in her hair, not with the way I controlled every inch of this. I thrust deeper, watching her throat work, feeling the way her body tensed beneath me. She gagged, a broken sound that sent a jolt straight to my spine.
