He pulls his mouth away. He pulls his fingers out. He stands up, his tall, inked body looming over me, his cock thick and fully erect, straining against his trousers.
The physical torment of the stoppage is agonizing. My body is screaming for release, my muscles twitching with the unfulfilled tension. I am sobbing, my chest heaving, my splayed thighs trembling with the need to be filled.
"Four minutes," Lorcan says, his voice a low, mocking rumble. "All you have to do is stay quiet, Atara. Don't ask me."
He reaches down and strokes his fingers over my clit, just a light, teasing touch that makes me shiver. He does it again, then stops.
"You're so wet," he whispers, his fingers glistening with my fluids. "You're practically begging for it. Your little clit is throbbing against my hand. Tell me, Atara. Ask me to fuck you. Ask me to slide this hard cock inside you and make you scream."
"No," I whimper, trying to hold on to the last scrap of my logic. Four minutes. Just four minutes. But my body doesn't care about the jet. My body doesn't care about Brooklyn. I want him. I want the monster. I want him to destroy me.
He leans down, his lips brushing my ear. "I can feel how tight you are. I want to bend you over this desk and bury myself in you until you're crying my name. I want to hear you scream when you cum around my dick. Ask me, Atara. Give up."
His thumb rubs my clit, hard and fast, just three times, bringing me right to the absolute peak of an orgasm—and then he stops.
The frustration is a physical pain. A sob rips from my throat. I can’t do this. I don't want to do this. I don't want to go back to New York if it means never feeling this heat again. Mark never made me feel like this. The world never felt this bright.
"Please," I sob, my hands reaching out to grab his hips, pulling him toward my open, wet center. My logic is dead, buried under a landslide of pure, unadulterated lust. "Please, Lorcan. Fuck me. Please, I beg you. Fuck me. Make me cum. I don't care. Just fuck me."
Lorcan lets out a dark, triumphant growl.
"That's my girl," he whispers.
He doesn't waste another second. He unzips his trousers, his thick, heavy erection springing free. He grabs my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh, and rams himself inside me in one long, devastating thrust.
"AH!" I scream, my head tossing back against his desk calendar, my eyes rolling back.
He is huge, stretching me to the absolute limit, a hot, solid weight that anchors me to the mahogany. He doesn't wait for me to adjust. He starts to fuck me, his pace fast, hard, and relentless.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
The sound of his hips hitting mine echoes through the silent office. It’s primal. It’s dirty.
"You're so tight," he growls, his hands lifting my legs onto his shoulders, driving even deeper. Every thrust hits my cervix, sending a sharp, beautiful wave of pleasure through my entire body. "You're fucking squeezing me, Atara. Tell me how it feels."
"Good! Oh god, it's so good!" I scream, my fingers clawing at the polished wood of his desk, sending papers flying to the floor. I can’t breathe. I’m falling off the edge.
I cum.
It’s a violent, pulsing release that clamps my walls down around his cock like a vice. I scream his name, my body shaking with the force of the orgasm.
But Lorcan isn't done.
He pulls me off the desk, his hands never leaving my hips, keeping his dick buried inside me as he shifts our weight. Then he withdraws and spins me around, shoving my chest down onto the leather seat of his massive office chair. My butt is high in the air, my face pressed against the dark leather.
He enters me from behind.
The angle is different, deeper, hitting a spot that makes me cry out in a high-pitched, desperate wail. He fucks me like an animal, his hand reaching under my stomach to grab my clit, rubbing it frantically with every thrust.
"You're mine," he growls, his teeth biting into my shoulder blade. "You lost the bet, Atara. You're never fucking leaving this house."
"Lorcan! Oh my god, Lorcan!" I sob, my hips bucking back against his, meeting every hard, heavy drive. The pleasure is overwhelming, my body exploding into a second, even more violent orgasm that leaves me panting, my face wet with sweat and tears.
He pulls out, the wet pop of his departure making me whimper. But before I can even draw a breath, he drags me off the chair and onto the plush, dark carpet of the floor.
He pins my wrists over my head with one hand, his body a heavy, suffocating weight as he looms over me. His smoke-and-ice eyes are wild, completely consumed by the beast. He parts my legs, pushing them up toward my chest, and drives inside me one last time.
This position is the most intense of all. He is deep, his pelvis grinding against mine, his clit rubbing against his pubic bone with every fast, brutal stroke.
