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One hand twisted my hair, though exerted no force, and I traced the tip again with my lips. I didn’t take him in my mouth but instead pulled my hand thrice more down his length in languid strokes.
He took in a sharp breath, tightening his hold on me in warning.
“Now isn’t the time for teasing, Millie,” he said.
“A tease for a tease,” I replied, ready to repay him for his wicked fondling of me last night. I parted my lips to take in only the tip, tormenting him with a coquettish suck.
“Enough of that,” he said, pulling my head back until I had no choice but to sit upright. He reached around, taking hold of my waist and flipping me so that I was bent over the top of his desk. In a fluid movement, he’d pulled the silk underwear down, letting it fall to my ankles, followed by a sharp, glorious pain as his fingers dug roughly into the soft flesh of my bottom, pushing me forward until my hips were angled up and the head of his need was positioned at my wet cleft.
I grasped for a hold on the desk, trying to press onto him, but he held me in place and instead slid his cock past my entrance and across my throbbing clitoris. I objected loudly.
“A tease for a tease,” he echoed.
Before I could protest further, he drew back and entered me with no tenderness, burying himself to the hilt in one swift movement. I exhaled with a short groan. No one had invaded me this way for years. Unused to the onslaught, my body tried to resist him, causing me a brief moment of discomfort that became such bliss I was almost senseless. This resistance elicited a vulgar exclamation from Callum, who stilled but remained buried in me.
“You’re not a virgin, surely,” he said, voice rasping with the strain of holding back.
“Don’t I look the type?” I rasped, frustrated he’d stopped, annoyed he assumed I wasn’t, though my virginity was long gone. I certainly wasn’t virtuous now, naked from the waist down and flung over a desk.
“Do you want me to answer?”
“Callum, would you just…” The words were stuck on my tongue, words I’d never spoken before, strange in my mouth.
“Just what, kitten?” Though there was no more room inside me, he pressed farther, encouraging a short moan. I realized what he was doing. I’d sworn I would never beg, and he was making sure I couldn’t stand by my word. Lust unraveled my pride.
“Just fuck me,” I commanded, every ounce of desperation in the final word, “please.”
“The lady has a dirty mouth,” he rumbled, withdrawing only to surge forcefully in again, the intensity rocking the desk out of place. He slipped an arm under my hips, pulling me so close against him my feet were nearly off the floor, removing my ability to reciprocate. I could only hold on for my life as he took me mercilessly. The message was clear: I was not in control. But I didn’t want to be. His fingers found and parted the swollen lips between my thighs to stroke the taut flesh he’d only so recently explored, knowing already how to pet me so my pleasure rose, bringing with it the gasping sounds of ecstasy. As I began to rise to the tipping point, he pulled out.
“Not yet,” he murmured, guiding me to stand and face him again, sliding me onto the desk and pulling my legs up to encircle him. “We’re nowhere near done yet.”
He cupped the back of my neck and angled my head so I could watch as he reentered me, and our bodies merged again. The sight of him disappearing into my tight heat fractured me a little more each time, until I felt like mere fragments of myself lost in a bright sea of sensation. The eroticism of the moment made me light-headed, and in the thrall I grabbed the wrist of the hand still buried in my hair. He eased his grip to allow me to arch, and I brushed my fingers along my silk-clad stomach and over my breast to find the hard peak beneath the chemise, pinching it to bring my mind away from the oncoming orgasm, prolonging the euphoria.
“For fuck’s sake, Millie,” Callum groaned, the sound a low, vibrating pulse. With the same disregard he’d demonstrated with my blouse, he took the strap of my chemise and pulled with such brutality the delicate lace front ripped to my sternum, exposing the swells of my breasts and leaving the garment hanging in tatters.
“You’re going to keep doing that,” he said, and I could only comply. With his hand at my back to balance me, I brushed my fingertips across the sensitive skin and fondled myself, rolling my nipples between my fingers and teasing them to rigid crowns as he devoured me with his eyes. He slowed his rhythm to impale me powerfully once, and I lost my will to remain quiet, crying out, craving more.
“Again,” I pleaded, hoarse, my body flushed.
He assaulted my cunt a second time with a strong thrust, each motion a claiming. After the third, he resumed his swifter rhythm, thumb stroking the swollen crest of my clit, coaxing my pleasure to build again until it came too high, and I closed my eyes, even the pinches not enough to drag me back into my body.
“That’s right, darling,” he urged, seeing I was about to break apart. He drew me up, and I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders. While his grip bruised my thighs, my fingernails dug into the sinuous muscle of his back, and with his shirt no longer a hindrance, they sank into his skin. Moaning, he drove faster, and I tightened my hold on him, his solid body a conduit of disastrous need. We sped madly together toward the pinnacle, and at last I climaxed, whimpering his name into the crook of his neck, seeing nothing but bright white stars. With a final vicious thrust, he met his own release, head tilted back, a swear on his lips.
We clung to each other, both of us stunned, catching our breath and descending from our orgasms at a lazy, satiated pace. Callum’s heart beat a mile a minute, his skin hot, the faint smell of his cologne peppery and grounding.
“Are you satisfied now, Miss Foxboro?” he muttered when we’d both gathered our wits.
“Never,” I said, and it was true. I would never have enough of Callum Hughes.
He chuckled, kissing my temple so gently that any lingering part of me not belonging to him surrendered. I drew back to better see his face, only to find there was blood beneath my nails. Horrified, I gently swiped my fingertips across his back, my skin coming away smeared with red.
“God, you’re bleeding.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“I’m so sorry—” I started.
“No,” he interrupted, unyieldingly stern. “Don’t ever apologize for your passions. I would happily bleed again if it brought you pleasure.”
