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Disgust roils in my stomach when he presses me against him close enough that I can feel his semi-hard penis against my stomach. There's not much there to feel but I say a quick mental thanks to Dagny for the corset. It provides a much-needed layer of protection.
Some people are quietly magnetic, and he’s anything but. He’s loud, in every way. Sex oozes off of him and crashes against me in thick, powerful waves that pull me in with the strength of a rip tide.
A scared squeak erupts from my lips when he turns towards the door, almost as if he can sense me there. His nostrils flare like he can smell me and it’s the most primitive, animalistic thing I’ve ever seen a man do. There’s something savagely carnal about it and my throat dries until it’s impossible for me to swallow.
“It’s not up to you, amor.” He might as well have branded me with a hot poker. His lips roll over that ‘r’ like they’ve been commissioned to do so. Something much more dangerous replaces the crazed look in his eyes. Hunger.
“I’m imagining how pretty you’re going to look on your knees, wide-eyed and staring up at me as I fuck your mouth. Yes,” he adds throatily in response to my open-mouthed reaction. “That’s exactly the face I’m picturing you making.”
“And I’m obsessing over how you’re going to moan for me when I sink into your tight cunt for the first time.” Absolute shock stabs through my chest. No one’s ever spoken to me that way before. My treacherous pussy clenches in response.
She laughs humorlessly and doesn’t say anything. My cock throbs painfully in my trousers. He’s finally found someone he wants to fuck into next year and he doesn’t appreciate not being allowed to do so.
She should be scared of how violent my lust is for her. I can’t promise I won’t hurt her when she does eventually submit to me. “I’ve decided I will have you.” She scoffs. “It’s not up to you. I’m not for sale, Thiago.”
I love it, that fire of hers. She unintentionally marks me as hers with my own name.
She looks away from me, promptly dismissing me to focus her attention back on her father. My eyelid twitches in response. I’ll make her pay for that.
I’m assaulted by dangerously unhinged thoughts and cravings of cannibalism as she hits my taste buds with an explosion of flavor. It’s like the experience of having pop rocks for the first time — surprising, confusing, addicting, and it immediately has you going back in for more.
His voice is liquid lust, intoxicating and persuasive as he rasps low, “I want them all. They belong to me. Give them to me and I’ll do every single one of them to you. Tell me all the dark, deviant fantasies you dream of and I’ll teach you how to be a good girl and a whore for me, just like you want.”
A moan of pure male satisfaction leaves his throat and hits me between my legs, reigniting the still frustrated spot.
Like a violinist following her conductor, I took my cues from him, pleasuring myself quietly until I heard him fall apart.
“I’d never kill you, I think about you too much,” he admits almost offhandedly. My heart jolts in my chest and I wonder if he can feel it.
Arousal lurches into my veins with the force of a tsunami. How is he so effortlessly dominant and attractive? Categorically male in a way I didn’t think I’d ever like.
Masculinity rolls off him in confident waves. He’s a master at seduction even when stationary, even when he’s not even trying.
But desire emboldens me to foolish heights.
It’s like he’s been lit by a professional crew with state of the art equipment, every sinewy muscle of his looking carved to perfection.
“Tied up in my bed.” My pussy clenches at the warning in his words. He’s fifty percent playful but a hundred percent serious.
Tess’s legs fold like my words were a hand on her neck forcing her to the ground.
My hand weaves into her hair, fingers wrapping possessively around the thick strands and staying there. It’s an act of dominance and one of encouragement at the same time.
One thing men will always have in spades is the audacity.
Thiago controls my body like a switchboard, making me squirm until it feels like my skin is on fire.
He doesn’t hold back his noises as he pumps inside me. He’s vocal, completely shameless in the way he announces his pleasure, just like he promised.
“What is it?” I ask. “Nothing.” His eyes lift to mine. “I’m just wondering how your father could ever have willingly parted with you.”
When his eyes find mine, the unbridled fury in them instantly washes away, replaced by the kind of burning intensity all women dream of seeing in their husband’s gaze.
“What kind of psychosis made you think you could touch my wife?”
There’s a fierceness to her tone that reveals she won’t be dissuaded. I’m not a decent enough man to try and talk her out of it a second time anyway.
“Who the fuck taught you how to do this?” I demand. Realizing any answer is going to piss me off, I screw my eyes shut, grit my teeth and throw my head back against the chair. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. Whoever he is, he’s dead,” I grunt, mindless with lust. “He’s fucking dead.”
“Mhmm,” I say, moaning approvingly. “That’s how you do it. Take me all the way back into your throat. Yes…yes. Take it all.”
There’s something about kissing her while I’m sliding inside her that makes my heart trip exultingly in my chest.
“You have no idea how beautiful you look when you’re bouncing on my cock,” I growl. “But bouncing on my cock in your corner office? That’s hot as fuck.”
She’s my biggest weakness. My Achilles’ heel. The easiest, most obvious, and certainly the most lethal way somebody could hurt me.
“Stay,” he whispers, the word caught somewhere between a plea and a prayer. “I want you to stay.”
And I marvel at what a beautifully complicated thing it is to be human that sometimes we can hurt more with our words than we can with bullets.
