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What if she’s down there right now, flirting with one of her colleagues because she doesn’t understand who she belongs to?
It wouldn’t be a good look, the CEO marching down there and tooling up one of his employees for the crime of hitting on his lady.
I walk around my desk and drop into the chair, interlocking my fingers, squeezing tight so I can feel the tension in my knuckles. I want to roar as my need for her spirals through me, endlessly, my seed rioting and making my balls tight and heavy.
She’s a virgin, untouched, innocent, naive, young, and mine, only mine.
Forever.
I reach over to my intercom and press the button.
“Peter,” I say, “please send up Sophia Clarkson.”
My little virgin must have some idea of what she’s doing to me. She must know wearing a skirt that hugs her hips so closely is going to cause feral thoughts to rise and flare inside of me.
My eyes are drawn to the way she moves those thick tempting hips from side to side. She’s wearing a white shirt, buttoned up almost all the way to the top. But there’s one button that shows the barest slice of her chest, just a hint, a promise, and it makes me want to tear it open and send the buttons flying.
I need to taste those breasts, to suck on them until her nipples are pert and achy and hungry for more.
She stops at the edge of the desk. She’s wearing her hair around her shoulders today, cascading waves of it begging to be touched and caressed.
“You wanted to see me, sir?” she says, a subtle smile playing at her lips.
Her shyness tries to make her features submissive, but the fiery goddess in her won’t allow it. I wonder if she’s driven by the same primal forces as me if her womb is screaming as loudly as my seed roars.
“Wanted?” I snarl, rising to my feet.
I walk around the desk slowly, perhaps to give myself time to stop, to do the right thing, and remember Caitlin.
Sophia twitches with my every footstep, causing her beautiful thick body to undulate alluringly. Her breasts are large and round and perfect in that tight shirt, bulging, making the base of my cock flood with tension.
“Wanted,” I say again, walking up behind her, “doesn’t even come fucking close.”
She turns her face to me but keeps her body aimed toward the desk. It makes me think of how she’ll look when I fuck her from behind, driving up between those big ass cheeks, making them bounce and shimmer with her release.
“Solomon,” she murmurs.
“Don’t Solomon me,” I snap. “Don’t come in here looking like sex on legs, wearing that tight-as-fuck shirt and that mind-fucking skirt, don’t call me sir, knowing how crazy it makes me … Don’t do all of that, my sweet Sophia, and expect me to do nothing in return.”
She gasps when I bring my hand to her ass, squeezing hard. My cock gives another compulsive surge at how much of her there is to grab, the full bounty of her body.
I lean forward and bring my face close to her cheek, my lips brushing against her skin.
“I could make you cream like a good obedient virgin right now,” I snarl. “And then you’d be forced to spend the rest of your workday sticky with lust.”
She moans, shifting against my hand, as though she can’t stop the lust from directing her movements.
“That wouldn’t be very professional,” she purrs, grinding against my hand.
“Look at you,” I snarl. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”
“No,” she sighs. “Oh, God. No, it feels so good.”
I force myself to step away from her, removing my hand. It takes all the effort I have to give.
A piece of me shatters and roars at the break in contact, demanding to know just what the hell I’m doing.
She’s right there, the primal part of me roars. Put a baby in her right now. That’s what she was made for. That’s what she needs.
“Look at me, Sophia,” I demand.
She turns, presenting her flushed cheeks, the deep red spreading over her neck and disappearing into the collar of her shirt. I suppress a groan when I think about her breasts turning that same color after I palm them, massage them, tease and please them.
“You need to know the full extent of us,” I tell her. “You need to know just exactly what you mean to me.”
She bites her lip, causing another surge of instinct to whelm up inside of me.
Every moment with her is like fighting a battle—a battle not to grab her, tackle her, handle her roughly and bend her over and fuck her until she’s gasping and shivering.
“I don’t understand,” she says.
I stalk forward until I’m looming over her until she seems small and fragile.
“I own you,” I growl. “You belong to me. That’s what I meant when I said I’m the only man you’re ever going to sleep with. For the rest of our lives, you’re my property. I own your cunt, your tits, your ass, your talent. If there’s such a thing as a soul, I own that, too.
