Page 17

I scream.

My body jerks on the desk, trembling violently as pleasure detonates and spreads through my body. I sob, writhing helplessly, his hands holding me firmly in place as his mouth laps at me. His fingers continue working and tip me straight over into a second orgasm. He bites the inside of my thigh before climbing to his feet, licking his glistening lips, watching me with something wild in his eyes.

“You’re so fucking delicious,” he says, his voice hard like gravel, settling back between my open, trembling thighs. I taste myself when he kisses me. “You have no idea how fucking long I’ve been waiting to do that, sugar.”

His hands drop between us, I hear his zipper. I peek down as he shoves his jeans off. My breath catches—I’ve felt him against me, but seeing him is another thing entirely. No, his cock is a different kind of beast, hard when he grasps, so long and thick. He doesn’t let me look for long as he grips my chin and pulls my eyes back to his.

“It’s so—”

“I’ll be gentle,” he rasps, gripping my hips and pulling me back to the edge. I gasp when he rubs his length through my wetness and then he’s pressing against my entrance.

I don’t want to be treated like glass. Not here. Not with him.

“Less polite,” I whisper, pushing any nerves away and wrapping an arm around his shoulders, pulling the man flush against me. “Take me, Bishop. I…I can take it.”

His eyes run over my face, speculatively, and then he’s entering me. My lips part at the burn of the stretch, and Christ, he’s so big. But I keep my eyes on him, drinking up every emotion crossing that usually stoic face.

“Fuuuck, you’re so fucking tight,” he hisses through his teeth, gripping my thighs. “Hold on to me.”

My nails are already digging into his shoulders when he slams his hips forward and buries himself in me.

I gasp, pain shooting through me before dulling into a throb. “Oh God,” I cry out, burying my face in his neck as the intensity of everything rolls through my body. “Bishop…”

His muscles are locked against me. For a moment, he doesn’t move. “Are you good?” he asks, pressing his mouth to my temple.

“I’m good.”

I’d imagined this once. In a bed, on a wedding night, with a man who worshipped the ground I walked on. It would be polite and gentle, and our hearts would become one.

Not on a desk, in an office, with my boss, aching everywhere.

And I wouldn’t trade it.

He rolls his hips, and I moan into his neck, tightening my hold as he starts to thrust shallowly into me, his breathing labored against my ear. The discomfort gives way to pleasure when he angles the base of his cock to drag against my clit with every stroke. I clamp hard around him.

“Oh God,” I whimper.

“Fuck,” he curses.

He’s holding back. I feel it in the tightness of his muscles, in the deliberate control of his breathing, in how hard he’s working not to hurt me. It tugs at something in my chest and brings up feelings I shouldn’t have for this man.

“More,” I whisper, brushing my lips over his skin and rolling my hips to encourage him. I want to please, to offer as much pleasure as he’s given me. “Take me, Bishop. Please. Don’t hold back.”

Those are the magic words. He grips my thighs, fingers digging into my skin as he jerks my legs up around his waist. Then he’s hammering into me. I cry out, biting into his shoulder, seeking to mark him the way he’s marking me.

“You’re mine,” he growls hips snapping against mine. “I’m going to make you mine.” His grip turns bruising as he grinds into me, rocking the desk. Something falls and breaks, but neither of us looks.

The wet slap of skin against skin fills the room, and everything but this man fades away. His body rocks against me, his groans growing louder.

“Bishop,” I whimper, feeling the heat in my core gather and build, the threat of an explosion imminent. His fingers find my clit and stroke it in time with his thrusts. The tingle becomes a wildfire until I’m sobbing, rocking, chasing that delicious feeling. “Close, Bishop… It’s so… Oh, God.”

I brace for the fall, panting into his neck as he takes me faster and harder.

I bite hard into him as I come apart. He growls when I clench hard around his shaft, squeezing. It’s too much for me to bear, and I claw at his skin as the feeling only intensifies with every fevered thrust. His movements turn jagged, his breathing shallow. His thumb is still working my clit, pushing me through a second wave until I’m sobbing from it.

And God, it’s more than I ever dreamed of.

Perfect.