I'd free myself, hard and throbbing, and press the blunt head against her entrance. Slowly, I'd push inside. Inch by inch. Feeling her tight heat clench around me, welcoming me, fighting me. So perfect. So fucking tight. Her walls would flutter and squeeze as I bottomed out, buried to the hilt, her gasp turning into a long, shuddering moan.
"Look at you," I'd growl against her ear, my voice low and rough. "Spread open on my desk like you were made for this."
Then I'd move. Deep, rolling thrusts at first, savoring every ripple of her body around mine. Her head would fall forward, hair spilling across the desk like silk. I'd watch her fingers flex uselessly against the wood, wrists still trapped in my grip.
Harder. Deeper. The sound of skin meeting skin would fill the study, obscene and rhythmic, mingling with her growing cries. I'd release her wrists only to tangle my fingers in her hair, pulling her head back so I could bite down on the delicate skin of her throat. Marks. I wanted my marks everywhere.
Her legs would tremble violently. She'd try to wrap them around me, but the angle made it impossible; instead, she'd push back desperately, meeting every thrust. "Nikolai, oh god, please, harder—"
I'd oblige. Pounding into her now, relentless, driving her closer and closer to the edge. Her inner walls would flutter wildly, clenching so tightly I saw stars. When she came, it would be spectacular—her whole body seizing, a broken sob of my name tearing from her throat as she shattered beneath me. I wouldn't stop. I'd fuck her through it, drawing out every aftershock until she was limp and sobbing, completely wrecked.
Only then would I let myself go. One final, brutalthrust and I'd spill deep inside her, marking her from within as surely as the bruises on her skin.
The fantasy pushed me over the edge. My hand moved faster, strokes turning erratic as pleasure coiled tight in my gut. I braced one forearm against the cold tile wall, forehead pressed to the slick surface, water cascading down my back. Her name tore from my lips. I came hard—thick pulses that left me shaking, knees weak, vision whiting out for a long, blissful moment.
The fantasy had been so vivid I could almost taste her on my tongue, feel the ghost of her heat around me. But it wasn't enough. Not anymore.
The hot water washed away the evidence.
I leaned against the tile, catching my breath.
This woman was going to be my death.
Eight fifty-five.
I'd changed into a dark gray silk robe, hair half-dry, propped against the headboard with paperwork.
On the desk sat the tea Sophia had brought, along with several files of family relationships she needed to memorize.
I glanced at the wall clock.
Eight fifty-eight.
Would she come?
Or had my words at dinner scared her off completely?
Just as doubt crept in—
Knock knock knock.
Soft. Hesitant. Testing.
I set down my papers. A smile curved my lips.
"Come in."
The doorknob turned.
Vivienne pushed the door open and peeked in, just her head at first.
She'd showered. Her chestnut curls hung damp over her shoulders, water droplets trailing down the ends, soaking into the oversized white shirt she'd clearly grabbed at random from the closet.
Men's shirt. Way too big. Hanging loose and baggy, the necklinedipping low enough to expose her collarbone and hints of curves beneath.
She wasn't wearing a skirt.
Just black athletic shorts.
