In six months of spending Saturday evenings together in his office, the recurring fantasy I’ve had is so cliché I’m almost embarrassed.
But there’s a risk this is the one and only time, so there’s no room for my shyness. “Will you take me on your desk?”
He slants one eyebrow. “You want me to lay you across the table and devour you, like I’ve lost control?”
I nod rapidly. Oh yeah. That. So much that.
With a reckless throw of his arm, he sweeps everything off the shiny wood. The glass paperweight, all his reports and chunky pens, books, and even his computer peripheries of keyboard and mouse, all crash to the floor. The paperweight rolls then smacks against a bookcase, bouncing off into a rustle of papers then coming to a standstill. The quiet is punctuated by my gasps for air and Ben’s deep rasps. The dark shiny wood is exposed, ready for me to be defiled.
It’s what I wanted. Ben to lose control, yet I’m as horrified as I am excited. He’s seen inside my head and—
“Turn around.”
The shock makes me stone. But not normal stone. Magma, heavy and burning hot. Impossible. Elemental. As with all those evenings together, he’s so dominant and bossy that my clit jumps at his order.
Ben levels me with a haughty look and as my cheeks flush, I obey.
There’s a pause. I know what’s coming, but I wait.
“Bend over.” His voice is soft and calm, but commanding.
I do that too, laying my cheek on the cool wood. And even though I’m clothed, and so is he, it feels filthy. My breasts press into the polished table, and my slit is flooded with yet more arousal at how my bottom is in the air.
“Pull up your skirt.”
I quickly yank it up to around my waist, eager. I want him and everything I’ve dreamed of is so close, I can barely think.
“Take down your knickers.” He sounds a bit hoarse, and as I slide my white lace knickers down my thighs he groans. “You’re so wet, darling.”
“You made me wet, Mr Crosse.”
“Ben,” he corrects and there’s the rustle of cloth.
“Ben,” I sigh. “Ben.” I love both names. My sweet and caring lover, Ben. And severe, dangerous, scary mafia kingpin, Mr Crosse.
Something hard and blunt and hot touches my soaking pussy. His crown.
“Do you want me to fuck you, darling?” He strokes the blunt tip over my folds, not quite where I need him. Only brushing my entrance and skimming over my clit.
“Yes.” It comes out as a whine. A cry of desperate need and I push back onto him.
He eases away with a chuckle. “Patience, my slutty girl. You want my cock, huh?”
“Yes. Please. Mr Crosse, please.” Vaguely my brain registers he’s bare. That he’s going to fuck me raw, no condom. And hell, but that’s makes my clit twitch and I writhe, mindlessly trying to get more contact to my pussy. I trust him. I want nothing between us.
“Open your legs.”
I scramble to obey. I’ve been so busy rubbing my thighs together in an attempt to ease the ache in my clit, I kind of forgot. I shift my feet apart and as a reward he pushes further, stepping between my feet. The smooth fabric of his trousers on my bare inner thighs emphasises how naughty this is. He’s fully clothed, I’m not. I’m his slut, bending over the desk to be railed by the older, forbidden man.
Getting railed in a sundress.
A powerful mafia boss who could have anyone he wanted, and has chosen me.
“Oh you’re so pretty like this, Anwyn. Pink and lush.” He almost purrs as he teases us both, dragging his cock where I’m slick. He must have his cock in his fist, and the thought makes my insides clench. Empty, so empty.
He pauses. “There’s one more thing.”
“Anything.” I’m so focussed on the place between my thighs where he’s notched into me, just the very tip resting in my folds, that I can’t think.
He gathers my torso up into his arms, his hands on my belly and sternum. The coarse bristles of his cheek rub mine, and he presses a kiss next to my mouth.
“I love you,” he whispers. “Once I’ve been inside you, I won’t let you go, Anwyn. Any price, I’ll pay it. The censure of the world, the anger of my son, the disapproval of your friends and my business associates. I don’t care, so long as I have you as my wife.”
This is what I wanted to hear, all these years. I wanted to be enough for someone, to be loved. Benedict Crosse is willing to burn everything to the ground to have me.
“In my bed, in my life, filling you up constantly. You better ready yourself. I’m going to be insatiable unless you stop me right now. This moment.” He stills, giving me the space to think.
Ha. No need. Threatening me with a good time, with being his, isn’t going to put me off.
“Don’t stop.” I melt, arching back into him. “Please.”
“You must be very sure, darling. There won’t be any one-night stands or being a promiscuous student for you,” he growls. “You’ll be married to a beast. I’m jealous. You won’t be able to touch other men, because any part of them that contacts you will be cut off.”
I’m clearly as deranged as he is, because arousal shoots to my core. He wants me. I’m his possession and he isn’t going to compromise.
“I want this.” It’s not even a question. He’s the only person I want to touch me, and I want to rub against him like I’m a cat and he’s catnip. He’s a pretty, slightly grey drug that I can’t believe I am the first one to claim. He’s been on this earth forty years, being so absolutely perfect, and I’m the one he wants.
I went for a wildlife walk in the local park and found a lion that demands to be my housecat.
“Good. Then let me in, darling.” Eases me forward onto the desk again, and pushes into me.
I gasp, because although I’m dripping with arousal and so turned on I’m practically glowing, there’s a pinch. I’m too tight for him to enter, and for a second I panic.
Maybe this is impossible.
“I know, I know it hurts,” he murmurs soothingly. “But it will feel good, I promise.” He shoves my dress further up and strokes circular motions onto my back, even as he presses deeper, the constriction blooming into a delicious stretch.
“Ben, I…” I’m going to say I can’t do this, but he reaches around and unerringly finds my clit. Something adjusts, slotting into place as he rubs me. The pleasure spirals up to where my nipples are hard on the table, and down to my pussy. And I’m no longer fighting him. I’m welcoming him. I need more.
“Yes, that’s my good girl, Wyn,” he growls over my neck, making a shiver go up and down my spine. “Open for me more. You should see how you look taking me into your slit. Beautiful.”
And that’s when it begins to be everything. I’m rocking back onto him, and he’s groaning. He’s big, and I’m tight, but I hadn’t anticipated how hot and smooth he’d be. Not like a cold and impersonal toy that I’ve used before. When I feel his hips on my butt I know he’s as deep as he can go.
I’m wrong.
The next thrust, he’s deeper again. I swear I can feel him under my ribs.
I whimper something that might be his name, or a plea for more, or words of love. It would definitely be that last one if my brain hadn’t regressed evolutionarily. I’m no more competent than a sensitive plant. A Venus flytrap, triggering at his lightest touch.
I grasp and scrabble at the smooth table, not even knowing what I’m lacking, but I’m a wildflower buffeted by the wind.
His hand comes down firmly on my wrist, pinning it in place. Then the other. He’s caught me before I realise what’s happened, and is holding both my hands onto the wood with one of his. It’s like all the energy I was expending thrashing around is redirected by him, streaming it into my pussy, where I throb all over. He is pinning me, my arms in the air, his other hand stroking my clit, and his cock fills me. I’m surrounded by his touch, unable to escape.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He pulls almost all the way out, then slams back in. Again, faster, and I can’t breathe for the pleasure building. It’s tingling across my whole body. My breasts are squashed into the table, and so are the front of my thighs, and being trapped makes this all the hotter.
I’m his to use. His to fill and claim and breed. He’s hammering into me, and there’s no space for anything but Benedict Crosse in my body or my life.
“Come over my cock, Wyn.” He pushes my clit more vigorously, or something, I don’t even know. It just feels amazing. Overwhelming. “I want to feel you cream all down yourself. I’m going to spoil my good girl.”
I can’t hold out, even if I wanted to. The harder he pounds into me, the higher I spiral, until I get to the top, and burst.
My pussy pulses, hard. I think I yell.
“That’s it,” he croons. “You’re doing perfectly. You are the best thing I’ve ever heard, coming and screaming like a banshee. You feel so good, coming around my cock, darling.” And it sounds as though he’s coaching me through a trial, but it’s pleasure so intense it might split me apart.
As my body eases, I’m aware again. Not just of his impossibly large and solid cock thrusting into me, only the tip at my entrance, slowly now, almost lazily. His hands digging into my hips, the smooth wood of his desk under me.
“Oh my god.” My brain is limp as a dramatic houseplant that hasn’t been watered for a week. My body is a sack of feelings, all good, all his.
“My best girl.” Ben leans over me, reaching out, and I stretch around to look into his face.
“That was…” There are no words.
“I’m glad.” He smiles, feral and dangerous, then his eyes narrow. “But this is wrong.”
