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"I hate you," I whimper, but my body is a traitor, arching into him, my thighs falling open around his hips like they belong there.

"Say it." He releases my wrists, but before I can move, his hands grip the hem of my saffron dress. With one violent pull, the silk tears down the center seam, exposing my lace bra, the small curve of my stomach, and the soaked silk of my panties to the cool office air. "Say you are my jealous, feral little wife."

"I am so fucking jealous it burns in my veins," I cry out, arching my back off the desk, giving him better access to the ruined dress, to the body he has already claimed every single night. "I want to scratch her eyes out. I want to burn her house down. I want every woman who has ever looked at you to know you are mine, and I will gut them like fish if they forget it.

"Good girl." His voice is thick with raw hunger.

His hands hook under my knees, hauling my legs up until my calves rest over his broad shoulders, opening me completely. The position is obscene and vulnerable; my ruined dress bunched around my waist, and my soaked panties are the only barrier between his gaze and the place where his cum is still leaking out of me from his morning gentle lovemaking.

He doesn't take his trousers off. He simply unbuttons his fly, freeing his thick, leaking cock into the space between my open thighs. It is still wet from me, still shining with our combined fluids, and the sight of it makes my mouth water even as my cunt clenches around nothing.

"You wanted to shoot today, Donna?" He growls, aligning the broad, blunt head of his cock right at the soaked silk of my panties, pressing just hard enough to make the fabric sink into my pussy. "Let us see how well you handle my recoil."

He doesn't push yet. He rubs himself through the wet silk, lazy circles that make me jerk and gasp, watching my face the way he watches a man deciding whether to lie to him or not.

"You can still walk to the cliff," he offers, almost kindly. "Take the rifle. Pretend you do not want this."

"If I walk, will you follow?" My voice is hardly recognizable to my ears; I feel like he's grasped my lung and hasn't let go, controlling the very air I breathe.

"Always." A flicker of the Don, cold under the heat. "I would rather you stay and take what you asked for when you sassed that pretty mouth at my rules."

"Then stop negotiating and ruin me," I demand hotly, digging my fingernails into his pecs through his open shirt until I know I'll leave half-moon indentations in his bronze skin.

His smile is not nice. "Yes, Donna."

He hooks his thumb into the crotch of my panties and rips them aside, the sound of tearing silk loud in the quiet room. Then he feeds me the first inch of his big cock and stops, watching my face like a man reading a confession.

I gasp. The stretch is immediate, a burn that turns into heat, my walls fluttering around him, trying to pull him deeper.

"More," I pant. "Romeo, more."

"Greedy." He pushes another inch, then another, slow and deliberate, making me feel every ridge and vein. "You came on my cock twice already this morning, and still you beg for more."

"Because you keep teasing me," I grind out, baring my teeth at him. If you're going to fuck me, then fuck me. Stop playing games."

He drives in hard, without warning. The desk shrieks across the floor, the sound of wood on wood a violent counterpoint to my scream. He is so deep I can feel him under my navel, stretching me, filling me, claiming every inch of me like he owns it.

"Fuck," he groans, his head dropping back, the cords of his neck standing out before looking back down at the space between our bodies. "You are tight even when you are dripping. Look at this pretty cunt swallowing me."

He pulls almost out and drives back in, balls slapping my ass, and more papers flying off the desk. The rhythm is brutal and punishing, every thrust hitting that deep spongy spot inside me that makes my toes curl and my vision blur at the edges.

"Look at you," he pants, his dark eyes locked on my face, watching every whimper, every gasp, and every tear of pleasure leaking down my scars. "Taking orders with your legs over my shoulders. My good little Donna."

He spits on my clit and rubs it with his thumb while he fucks me. The added wetness makes the slide obscene, the sound of our bodies meeting filling the room, and I can feel the pressure building low in my belly, sharp and urgent.

"Do not come yet." His voice is a low grumble, hot and bossy.

"Romeo," I breathe, my body jolting as he ruts into me at a fast pace that keeps the desk moving across the floor, inch by inch, toward the window.

"I said not yet." His other hand closes lightly at my throat, not cutting air, just reminding me who is in charge. His thumb presses against my pulse point, feeling it race. "You pointed a loaded rifle at my rules. Now you hold this orgasm until I say. Understand?"

"Yes." It comes out wrecked, my voice cracking. "Yes, my Don."

He edges me until I am shaking, pulling out when I get too close, rubbing the slick head of his cock over my clit, then shoving back in so deep it almost hurts, but the pleasure leaves the pain just on the edge. My thighs are trembling over his shoulders. My hands are clawing at the desk, nails scratching the mahogany.

"Please," I sob. "Please, Romeo, I cannot hold it. Please let me come."

"Not yet." He slaps the inside of my thigh hard enough to leave a print of his handprint, the sting radiating up my leg and straight to my clit. "You wanted my attention because you were bored. Feel what you asked for."