“Spread for me, little curse,” I demand, and she complies, shifting her legs apart just enough for me to see the liquid heat pooling between her thighs.
My own body is tense, my cock eager to bury itself as deep inside her as it can.
“Look at you,” I growl, propping a hand against the small of her back, pinning her in place. “My beautiful, deadly little assassin, wet and ready for the man she came to kill.”
The hand not holding her down, slides between her legs, my fingers exploring the slick evidence of her arousal until she’s so ready for me that her breath makes foggy circles on my desk.
Well, she did crawl for me, so I’m gonna give her what she wants so badly. I press my tip against her, the maddening warmth calling me inside her. But I don’t hurry. I enter her slow, stretching, having her feel me piercing by piercing. She’s gasping, clawing at the desk's polished surface with little chance of anchoring herself against anything.
I can see her trembling with the effort of accommodating my size, and I swear I fucking live for this tremble. Yet it’s not enough. Nothing and everything is enough when it comes to her.
I lean down, my teeth grazing her shoulder. “Now, little curse,” I whisper. “I’m going to ruin you for anyone else.”
And I fucking mean it.
I can see her jolt as I withdraw almost completely before slamming back into her with a force that makes the massive oak, 400-year-old desk go skidding across the floor.
She cries out, the sound torn out of her as I drive inside her again and again, each thrust more punishing than the last.
And she responds, like she wants to be broken. She arches into me, welcoming my every move.
“Now you see how good it feels to crawl to me,” I say, fingers digging into her hips, hard enough to bring pain.
“You’re delusional,” she tries to sound bitter, but her voice comes in ragged breaths as she arches again against me to meet my thrusts.
I sneak a hand into her hair, yanking her head back painfully. “Your lies don’t come out quite right, do they?”
My pace becomes brutal, like an animal mating in the wild, because I can’t hold back the urge to punish her for what she’s done. I can only hope something will satisfy it one day.
But until then, I’ll take everything I can from her.
While I will make her give me everything.
The desk creaks dangerously beneath us, and she’s reduced to incoherent sounds, her pride shattering with each powerful stroke. Then I switch angles, my knee propped on the desk, and I know I hit something that sends electric shocks of pleasure to her core. I can feel it in the way she tightens around my cock, the pleasure building within me threatening to break me as well.
She moans so loud, the whole fucking neighborhood can hear it.
“That’s it. That’s your truth. Not the lies you’ve been feeding to yourself.” I let out a dark laugh, maintaining that perfect, terrible angle, driving relentlessly toward a peak she won’t be able to stop herself from reaching, no matter how badly she wants to prove her independence. That crawling was just a means to an end. Yet deep down, we both know better.
Her breath comes in ragged pants as my muscles tense in anticipation.
“Say it,” I demand, suddenly slowing my pace to shallow teasing strokes that keep her hovering on the edge. “Say you wanted this. All of this.”
“Don’t stop,” she pleads, with a desperation that is so uncommon for her.
But I don’t like her answer. My hand comes down on her ass again, harder this time, so that she knows I’m not joking. “That’s not what I asked for. Tell me you want to be mine. To truly belong to me. Admit it.”
She presses her forehead against the wood, and I can see the war going on in her mind as her body burns for release. “Please,” she whispers the words foreign on her tongue.
“Please, what?” I repeat, my voice unyieldingly.
“Please…” She swallows her next words, but I can see the last fragments of her resolve crumbling. “I—”
She wages an inner war greater than I thought possible, so, I resume my punishing rhythm. Just to remind her of what she might be missing out on. “Who do you fucking belong to?” The question punctuates a particularly deep thrust.
“No one,” she spits back in the final act of defiance.
My hand goes around her throat, not squeezing, but resting there as a reminder of my power, of my control, while my other hand slides beneath her, my finger finding the sensitive bundle of nerves between her legs and circling it until her breathing becomes so erratic that she kicks her feet against the desk.
