Page 23

"I am not bored now," I gasp, voice straining under the exquisite pleasure. "I am just jealous. I am possessive. I am crazy about you."

"Say it again." His hips slow, the thrusts becoming deep, grinding circles that press his pubic bone against my clit with every pass. "Say you are crazy about me."

"I am crazy about you." The words tumble out, raw and honest, stripped of all my defiance. "I am so in love with you it makes me stupid. I want to kill every woman who looks at you. I want to lock you in this office and never let you leave."

"Good." He pulls out and slams back in, hard, and the desk lurches another foot. "Now. Come on your husband's cock. Make a mess of my desk."

I break so hard I lift off the mahogany under my ass. The orgasm tears through me, violent and blinding, my vision going white, my voice shattering into a scream that I am sure the entire estate can hear. Hot liquid gushes from me, soaking his cock, his balls, his slacks, and the leather blotter beneath us. He fucks me through it, relentless, until the first orgasm turns into a second that has me sobbing his name and squirting again, the desk now soaked, papers ruined, the smell of sex and leather filling the air.

Only then does he let himself go. He slams deep, burying himself to the hilt, and I feel him pulse inside me, thick, hot ropes of cum painting my walls, filling me up until it spills out around his shaft and drips onto the desk. His hips jerk with every pulse, his breath ragged, his hands gripping my thighs so hard I know there will be bruises.

He stays inside me for a moment. He grinds, keeping me stuffed, and reaches down to rub my oversensitive clit until I twitch and try to close my legs.

"No." His voice is firm. "You wanted my attention. You only have to ask when you need me, Kitten."

He pulls out slowly, so I can feel every inch, every ridge, and every vein dragging against my swollen walls. Then he pushes two fingers into the mess, scooping it up, and paints my clit, my lower belly, and the inside of my thigh.

"That is what obedience looks like on my desk." His voice is rough, satisfied, and smug. "You will sit through dinner with me still inside you. If you wipe it away before I say, I put you back on this wood and start the lesson all over again."

"You are a menace," I whisper, my voice hoarse.

"I am your husband." He leans down and kisses me, slow and deep, tasting like my cunt and his smugness and the whiskey he likes to drink while relaxing. "Get dressed, Kitten. Try to walk."

I do not dress right away; I'm still breathless and absolutely horny. What has he done to me? He's created a monster.

He is still standing over me, cock still out, still wet with our combined release, and I cannot help myself. I slide off the desk onto my knees on his office rug, the plush wool soft under my bruised skin, and I look up at him through my lashes.

He looks down at me as if I've pulled the pin on a grenade. His whole body locks up tight, holding his breath.

"Iris." He groans, shaking his head as if he cannot believe I am doing this. "You don't have to..."

"You made a mess." I purr seductively, enjoying the hard breath he takes. "I am cleaning it up."

I take him in my hand, feeling his heat, his weight, and the way he twitches at my touch. The taste of us together is sharp, salty, and intimate. I run my tongue along the underside, tracing the thick vein that runs from root to tip, and he hisses through his teeth.

"You are going to kill me." His hand finds my hair, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself.

"Then die happy." I take him deeper, my mouth stretching around his girth, my tongue working the sensitive spot just under the head.

He groans, his hips jerking forward involuntarily, and I take him as deep as I can, my throat relaxing, my eyes watering. The slow, filthy strokes of my tongue along his shaft make him thicken even more, and I feel powerful, kneeling here on his rug, my husband reduced to a shaking mess by my mouth.

"You have five minutes before Enzo knocks." His voice is strained, barely controlled.

"Then you had better come fast." I pull back just enough to speak, my lips still brushing the head of his cock, then take him deep again.

He laughs, broken, and I work him with both hands and my throat until he spills over my tongue. The taste is familiar now, thick and salty and his, and I swallow every drop, then show him my empty mouth because I am petty and in love and I want him ruined too.

He hauls me up by my arms and kisses me like a punishment. "Desk tomorrow. Cliff now. If you shoot as well as you suck, we will own the whole coastline."

He does not let me go. Instead, he pulls me onto his lap on the rug, my dress shoved up, his cock still hard and sliding through the slick on my thighs. I am still wet, still open, and when he pushes in from behind while I brace on the desk edge, I gasp at the sudden fullness.

It is slower now and somehow worse. He reaches around and plays with my clit like he has nowhere to be, like the entire estate is not waiting for us, like the sun is not setting outside the window. I come on a broken whimper, my body sagging against the desk, and he pulls out and paints my ass with the last of his cum, hot and sudden, then wipes me with his handkerchief and tucks it into his pocket.

"Souvenir," he says. "Walk."

He stops me at the office door and kisses me like the lesson isn't over. His hand slides under the dress, two fingers sinking into the slick he left, and he fucks me with them until I have to hold the frame to stay upright.

"One more." His voice is soft against my ear. "Quiet."