When he finally rises, his chin is wet with me. His eyes are black holes, pupils swallowing the pale blue.
"Turn around."
I should say no. Should slide off this desk and walk out while I still have any shred of self-respect left.
I turn around.
I hear his belt buckle. The rasp of his zipper. The crinkle of a condom wrapper.
Then his hand presses between my shoulder blades, bending me forward until my breasts flatten against the cold wood of the desk.
His foot kicks my legs wider.
The head of his cock nudges against my entrance—hot and thick and impossibly hard.
"I've imagined this a thousand times." His voice shakes. "A thousand different ways. But nothing—" He pushes in an inch, and I gasp. "Nothing I imagined—" Another inch. "Comes close to how you actually feel."
He pushes in slow. Inch by devastating inch, letting me feel every ridge, every vein, stretching me until I'm burning.
I'm dripping wet from his mouth, but he's big—bigger than anyone I've had—and by the time he bottoms out, I'm gasping, overwhelmed, so full I can feel him in my throat.
He drapes himself over my back, his weight pressing me into the desk, his lips finding my ear.
"You have no idea how many times I've imagined this." His hips pull back, push forward in a slow roll that makes stars explode behind my eyes. "You, bent over my desk. Taking my cock. Finally giving me what I've wanted since you were eighteen years old."
"And what's that?" My voice is unrecognizable. Shattered.
"Everything." He thrusts again, harder. "Every piece of yourself you've been holding back. Every moan, every scream, every tear. I want all of it, Liberty. I want all of you."
He starts to move, and I lose the ability to form words.
His hips snap against my ass in a brutal, relentless rhythm, driving into me so deep I feel him everywhere.
One hand grips my hip hard enough to leave fingerprint bruises. The other slides around to find my clit.
"Look at you." His voice is ragged, barely controlled. "Taking me so well. So fucking perfect. Like you were put on this earth to be my little sex toy."
I should tell him to shut up.
Should hate the way his possessive words make me clench around him, make me push back to meet every thrust, make me chase another orgasm I can already feel building.
"That's it." He pounds into me harder, faster. "Take what you need. Use me."
"I hate you." The words come out on a sob, because it's true—I hate him with every fiber of my being—but I also need him with a desperation that terrifies me.
"I know, baby." He bites my shoulder, sucks hard enough to mark me for days. "I know you do. Come anyway."
His fingers press harder against my clit. His cock hits something deep inside me that makes my whole body seize.
"Say it first." His voice is wrecked. Barely human. "Say you're mine. Say it, and I'll make you come so hard you forget your own name."
I'm so close. Teetering on the edge of release. My body trembles, clenches, screams for relief.
"No."
He stops.
His hips go still. His fingers freeze. He's buried to the hilt inside me, and he just... stops.
