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There was nothing for me to do other than kneel there and open my throat as best as I could. I choked on his cock again and again, but he kept plunging himself in between my lips. My cheeks were sore long before this, and they only grew more so. Every thrust pounded down the back of my throat, brutal and ruthlessly hard, and I had no choice but to take it.
I tried to push against his thighs, but it was as if I was trying to punch through a brick wall. Utterly useless.
He fucked my mouth until my eyes watered and then he fucked it some more, harder and harder until there were tears streaming down my cheeks. Drool dripped down my chin, and I felt like nothing more than a whore in that moment.
“You’re a fucking vision, my pretty little slut,” he purred, and again, his praise made my insides swoon with heat.
At his words, I tried to open my lips wider. I swirled my tongue around his shaft as he slowly fucked my mouth, and then he began to pick up the pace again. The fucking was rough, but I took it, and the longer it went on, the more I feared it would never end.
My pussy was soaking wet. I could feel my arousal dripping down my inner thighs beneath my skirt, and I knew that once I stood up, there was going to be an unmistakable wet spot left behind, and he was going to see it.
I didn’t understand why his brutal treatment was turning me on. It shouldn’t. I should hate it. I should scream at him for crossing the line, but I didn’t do any of those things.
Instead, I just kept sucking his cock because there was a very deep, wicked part of me that liked how rough he was being with me.
“That’s it, slut, give me that wet little mouth,” he demanded, and I did.
He fucked my mouth good and hard, and just when his thighs started to tremble beneath my fingers, he pulled back and growled with a low rumble.
I took the moment to sniffle back my tears, but they kept falling.
“Do you want my come down your throat or do you need me to bend you over my desk, my beautiful little whore?”
I should be angry.
I should tell him off.
I should fucking bite his cock off for treating me like this, but everything in me was telling me that I wanted this, that I needed it, so I did none of those things.
Instead, I did the exact opposite.
CHAPTER 7
Morgan
“Bend me over your desk, sir,” I breathed, and for a long moment, silence reigned between us. Then, he pulled all the way out of my mouth and a string of spittle stretched between my mouth and the tip of his cock. With a gentle sort of roughness, he reached down and lifted me straight off the floor and twisted me around.
He bent me over the desk.
As I struggled to catch my breath, he grabbed the hem of my skirt and wrenched it up to the middle of my back. I heard the sound of tearing fabric, and I cried out, knowing that Zara was going to be pissed that I’d ripped her skirt, but maybe not when I told her what happened and how Mr. Fifty-Fucking-Shades had ripped it to pieces to bare me for a fucking after using my throat to his heart’s desire.
Just when I thought he’d finished, the fabric tore some more, and then he exposed my back. I pushed off the desk, but I only made it an inch or two off the surface before he roughly pushed me back down and pinned me in place with his hand on my lower back.
“Fuck, this is such a beautiful ass,” he said darkly, and then he grabbed my upper arm and yanked me back up before he tore the rest of my skirt right off and tossed it aside, leaving my lower half entirely bare.
My shame billowed up from the tips of my toes and I reached down with my hands, hoping to cover my pussy, but he slapped them aside.
“Don’t ever hide that gorgeous little cunt from me,” he snarled, and my inner walls spasmed with need.
He let go of my arm, and while I was still off balance, he grabbed the collar of my blouse and ripped it right down the front, desperate to expose every last bit of me. With my chest heaving, the buttons popped off and flew all over the place.
With ease, he twisted me so that he’d pinned both of arms behind my back with only one of his. I squeaked in surprise when the soft velvety skin of his hard cock brushed against my hands. He was still so hard.
For you, you filthy little slut.
He reached around with his one free arm and slid his finger beneath the cups of my bra. I struggled, but that only served to rub my hands against his cock even more. I tried to pull my arms away, but he held them firmly in place with the kind of ease that was humbling and shameful all at the same time.
He pulled my breasts free from the cups of my bra one by one. I felt like they were on salacious display, held up by my bra cups. I didn’t know why he hadn’t taken it off, or even ripped it off.
