I hate myself for this. For letting him end every argument and solve every fight by fucking me into silence.
Or submission.
His body arches over mine, pinning me, making me helpless to do anything except receive his thick cock. I reach behind me and tangle my fingers in his hair, twisting my head to kiss him, holding him as tightly as he’s holding me. In a rush, my orgasm is back on the verge. He jackhammers into me, using me like I’m his personal fuck doll, pounding faster and faster, the edge of the desktop cutting into the tops of my thighs. His hand comes down to smack my ass with a sharp slap.
The bite of pain throws me over. I come hard, almost screaming out my pleasure, but I catch myself and whimper as the ecstasy floods me.
Dante wraps a hand around my throat, thrusts hard twice, and spills his seed into me. It shoots hard and hot, deep inside, and in that moment, I know that it’s over. This rush of madness that takes away all the anger and hatred I feel for him has passed—and the moment I right my skirt and sweep back my hair, we’ll be right where we left off.
Dante pulls out and steps back, but I don’t get up. I lie there, half on his desk, my bare ass in the air. I don’t want to face him. Face the fact that, once again, I allowed him to manipulate me into silence.
I hate him.
I hate myself.
Worse? I hate that Jessica was right about the mind-blowing sex on a desk.
Being sure not to look at Dante, I finally stand and situate my clothes, feeling him start to drip out of me. I look over at him, shaking my head. His hands are in his trouser pockets, his face expressionless.
My voice fills with acid. “Why are you like this? How can this possibly make you happy?”
For a half-second, I swear I catch a beat of discomfort flash across his face. A flicker of vulnerability. Maybe even…shame. But his mask comes down again, and with his clothes back in place, he stalks out of the office without another word.
22
Dante
Fucking hell,women are a nuisance.
I’d hired Jessica two years ago because she was good at keeping track of my calendar, andreallygood at sucking me off under my desk. But she seems to keep forgetting that our relationship is a business arrangement—not a personal one. For the first time since I brought her on, I’m seriously starting to regret hiring her at all.
True, I’ve used Jessica to my advantage. More than once, I’ve flirted with another woman just to get her to agree to something filthy I wanted to do in bed. It’s been surprisingly easy. It’salwaysbeen easy to bend Jessica to my whims, and never once have I worried about her feelings. As for her, I know she hopes to get more from me than a signature on her paychecks. She made it clear on day one that she’d happily do whatever it took to move up the company ranks.
But ever since my new wife entered the picture, Jessica has become insanely possessive. She isn’t just pandering to me like usual. She’s holding nothing back in her bid for my attention, her jealousy over my wife unbecoming in a causal sex partner and flat out unacceptable in an employee. It’s made me realize that her cheap tricks are exactly that.
It doesn’t seem to matter that I haven’t slept with my assistant since I got married—it only seems to spur Jessica on even more in her efforts to get me back into bed. I’m not even sure if this is about me at all, or if Jessica’s just trying to prove something. Towin.
Which is a losing game, because I’m the one with all the power around here. And I wouldn’t touch that pussy again with a ten-foot pole.
Not because of my wife, obviously. I can still do whatever I want with whomever I want; the marriage is a sham anyway. But sex with Francesca is…it’s different.
Because I can do whatever I want with her.Toher. She’s nothing like Jessica. Nothing like any woman I’ve ever fucked before. And the way she takes her own pleasure…it somehow makes mine even more fulfilling.
Fuck, that’s stupid. Sex is just sex. Love is for people without a plan.
Walking the stone path to the tasting room, I check my phone for messages and reply to a few but my mind isn’t fully focused on what I’m typing. I can’t stop thinking about Francesca bent over my desk, her legs spread wide, her skin flushed, her eyes flashing those damn daggers at me. God, the way she looks at me. The way she fights me, tooth and nail, in our livesandin bed—every time I take her, in fact. She hates me. Yet she never says no. It’s so fucking hot, I—
No, I’m not going there. Who cares why it’s different with Francesca? I’m overthinking it, something I never used to do until I married her.
Opening the tasting room doors, I step into the showroom and stop dead in my tracks, momentarily confused. It looks like I’ve walked into the wrong building.
Ridiculous. Of course I haven’t. But the room is completely rearranged. Who the hell did this? Nobody came to me to ask for permission. And I sure as hell didn’t approve it.
The room is free of guests at the moment but there’s another tasting soon. I see employees milling around, tidying, adding bottles to shelves while talking to each other. They’re working, sure, but I notice they seem more relaxed than usual. They’re…are they…smiling?
They are. And not in that polite, polished, retail worker way that I demand from all my public-facing employees. These are real, actual smiles.
“Hello, Mr. Bellanti,” someone says quietly, but I wave them away dismissively.
