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I smile to myself as I work her over, curling my tongue and sliding it inside her wet center, gripping her thighs with my palms and keeping her spread wide. She uses her free hand to try to silence herself, ramming her knuckles into her mouth, but her moans still creep out. I hear Chad’s voice coming from the phone, his smarmy tone infuriating me and making me lash her clit even faster.
I hear him asking how Edith is and listen to her breathy pants as she tries to answer him while I bring her to the edgeof ecstasy. When the fucker asks if she’d like to get together for dinner while he’s in town, I see red. I’m going to kill him.
I slide my hands underneath her ass, digging my fingers into her perfect cheeks and raising her higher. My whole face is buried in her, her slick folds all around me, the smell of her intoxicating.
“I don’t think… I don’t… Oh god!” Her voice cracks more with every word. She’s so close her thighs are trembling. Any second now, she’s going to explode for me. For me, not for Chad. Not for any other man ever again.
I look up from my position in paradise and lock eyes with her as I very deliberately lick her all the way to heaven.
“Oh, b-bye!” she yells, then drops the phone as she comes. I hold her still, keeping my mouth on her, keeping my eyes on her, keeping my hands on her. I will never let her go.
Her juices coat my tongue, and her entire body shakes. She’s mine. One hundred percent, totally mine, but that doesn’t quell the jealous need to claim every inch of her that burns through me. While she’s still coming down from her second orgasm, I pull her up, spin her around, and bend her flat over my desk.
With more force and urgency than necessary, I tug her pencil skirt up until it’s bunched around her waist and her perfect ass and dripping pussy are on full display for me. She heaves in stuttering breaths that rack her body, but she doesn’t get any reprieve yet. I’m nowhere near done with her. My grip rough on the back of her neck, I hold her down with one hand while I unfasten my belt and pull down my zipper with the other. My cock aches to be inside her, and her eager whimpers tell me she feels exactly the same.
I lean over her, my mouth at her ear as I drive inside her in one smooth stroke, too far gone with the need to fuck her. And she must realize I’m taking her bare, but she doesn’t protest and I’m not about to stop what I’m doing to get a condom.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” I pull out and drive into her again. Her thighs slam against my desk, and she cries out in pleasure and pain. I smack her ass and admire the red handprint left behind on her creamy flesh. I want to mark her everywhere. “You are addictive and distracting, and you drive me fucking crazy in every possible way there is.”
“D-Drake, please,” she mewls, her back arching as I go on holding her down.
“You are mine, Amelia,” I say menacingly, my voice a low growl. “You are mine, and no man will ever touch you again. Do you understand me?”
I drive harder into her tight, wet heat, and she groans. “Who do you belong to, Amelia? Let me hear you say it.”
“You, Drake, I belong to you.”
Yeah she fucking does. I fuck her until we both find oblivion and then fill her full of my cum. As I catch my breath, I pull her onto my lap and stroke her hair while smothering her with kisses. And she melts into my arms, utterly destroyed. She walked in here full of sass, and now she’s full of my cum. And if I have my way, that’s how she’ll remain every day for the rest of her life.
Chapter
Thirty-Six
AMELIA
Today has been the day from hell, and of course it’s pouring down rain when it’s time for me to leave the office. I should be traveling home with Drake, warm and dry in the comfort of a plush SUV, but instead here I am, pulling my coat around my neck and cursing the cold droplets that have already snuck through.
I hate this rain. I hate my coat. And right now, I really hate Drake James.
The day started out okay. I was still in a good place because of Mom being released from the hospital three nights ago. Both of us were so relieved to escape those sterile walls. I used to volunteer at a busy hospital in Philadelphia, but I now know that it’s totally different from being there with a loved one. It’s strangely exhausting sitting by a bedside for hours on end, and she was desperate to get home.
She’ll need more tests, but for now, she’s back in her little house and loving it. I stayed with her the first night, but she chased me out the next day, saying I had to get back to work so I could be employee of the month again. She’s a big fan of Drake’s, of course. As am I. Or Iwas, anyway.
On my way into the office this morning, I was so looking forward to seeing him. We’ve spent more time apart the past few days because of my mom’s release, and I miss him.
Problem number one on the day from hell occurred when my usual subway stop was closed due to a power outage. I ended up having to walk the rest of the way in highly unsuitable heels. Problem number two—more like a bad omen really—was when I saw my favorite coffee truck was closed, its shutters down. Okay, not a big deal, they have coffee inside the building, I told myself as my blistered feet carried me into the James and James lobby.
Problem three came in the form of Linda from HR. Our relationship has improved slightly since we performed a karaoke duet of “You’re the One That I Want” on the night of the team-building event—she was the Sandy to my Danny. But today, she was very much in monster form, pulling me aside and telling me we needed to have a meeting because of my “unacceptable undocumented absence” last week. Shocked, I told her my mom had been in the hospital and that Mr. James had authorized the two measly afternoons I took off. I hated feeling like I was using his name to buy myself special treatment, and I felt even worse when she said he had done no such thing and that she needed his signature on the forms to clear the absence.
We left it at her telling me she would check with him, me telling her she should do just that, and then we went our separate ways. At my desk, I sat rubbing my sore feet and convincing myself it was a simple misunderstanding.
But problem number four—and by far the biggest—was Drake himself. He rolled up late, which he pretty much never does, and was in a bad mood from the get-go, giving me only a curt nod of greeting as he strode past my desk with his phone glued to his ear.
“Good morning,” I said, popping my head into his office a few minutes later. “May I ask you a favor?”
He gestured me in and was scowling at his mortal enemy—the coffee machine. “Are you okay?” I asked, getting him an espresso before he killed the poor thing.
“Fine. Just family stuff.”