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Then, Dante leaned down, kissed her softly on the lips, and whispered against her skin—
“We’re not done.”
Dante didn’t give her a moment to recover.
Before she could even catch her breath, his fingers were back on her—deep, precise, relentless.
He didn’t ease up. He didn’t give her mercy.
Her body jolted as he curled his fingers just right, hitting her g-spot, making her vision blur, making her cry out his name like a prayer and a curse all in one. Again and again, he worked that spot inside her, watching her squirm and sob and soak his desk without shame.
“You’re making a mess,” he said roughly, voice low with satisfaction. “Look what you’re doing to my table.”
But he didn’t stop.
Her thighs trembled violently, her voice cracked from the screams she couldn’t hold in, and yet his hand never slowed—turning her most sensitive place into his playground, his tempo merciless and calculated.
By the time he was done, her body was wrecked, trembling, slick, her chest rising and falling in erratic gasps. And he—still composed, still hard, still not finished—stepped back, licking his fingers slowly as he eyed her like she was the only thing he craved.
“Come here.”
He moved to his leather chair, sinking into it with the kind of effortless confidence that made her knees weaken further. He spread his legs and patted his lap.
She stumbled forward, dazed, barely able to stand on shaking legs.
“Climb on,” he ordered, voice smoother now, dark honey dripping with intent. “Show me how much more you can take.”
Anya straddled him, her body already aching, but the moment she sank down onto him, all thought disappeared. He filled her again, stretching her to the edge of pain and pleasure.
He gripped her hips and guided her rhythm, slow at first, watching her fall apart all over again as she rode him with shaky, desperate movements.
He didn’t stop until he came—once, twice, a third time—growling her name against her skin, his hands holding her tightly, like letting go would tear him apart.
And she came with him, again and again, her voice hoarse, her body spent, until there were no numbers left to count how many times she’d cum riding him.
When he was finally satisfied, he pulled her forward into his lap, fully, protectively.
She collapsed against his chest, completely limp, her head resting against his shoulder as her legs trembled violently around him.
Her body couldn’t move.
He wrapped both arms around her, holding her close, letting her melt into him as his lips found the shell of her ear.
“We’ll continue in five minutes,” he murmured against her skin, voice like velvet and fire. “I don’t have any meetings until four.”
Anya couldn’t even breathe. Her heart pounded in her chest, her lungs shallow, her body shaking with exhaustion.
Dante pressed a soft kiss to her neck, then another, trailing warmth along her skin. One hand moved to her breast, fingers caressing gently, soothing the sensitive skin while his mouth kissed around the curve of her throat.
She closed her eyes and sank into him, his thick girth still buried inside her.
***
Three hours later, Anya stepped out of Dante’s office looking absolutely wrecked.
Her blouse was creased, her lips still tingling, and her legs slightly shaky. She looked flustered, dazed—like someone caught in a dream she hadn’t yet woken from.
She lowered her gaze to the floor as she walked back to her desk, trying to shake off the lingering heat in her body.