Page 17 of Bosshole Daddy

"Such a good girl," he breathed against my lips, fingers hooking into the waistband of my panties. "Taking your punishment so well. Do you know what good girls get, little one?"

I shook my head, beyond words, beyond thought, existing only in the space between his hands.

"They get rewarded."

He tugged my skirt and panties down with deliberate slowness, the fabric dragging against sensitized skin. I lifted automatically, helping him remove the garments, watching through heavy-lidded eyes as he tucked my panties into his pocket with the same casual possession he'd shown with my rabbit.

"Spread your knees," he commanded softly, and I obeyed without thought, letting my legs fall open despite the vulnerability of the position. His eyes darkened to storm clouds as he took in the sight of me—skirt rucked up, blouse disheveled, completely exposed on my own desk.

"Perfect," he said, and the raw honesty in his voice made fresh tears prick at my eyes. "You are perfect, little one."

Then he was sinking to his knees, and my brain short-circuited entirely. Damian Stone, billionaire CEO, was kneeling between my spread thighs with hunger in his eyes.

"Daddy's going to take care of you now," he murmured, hands sliding up my thighs with reverent touches. "Going to show you what happens when you're my good girl."

His breath ghosted over my sensitive flesh, making me whimper and clutch at the desk edges. Then his mouth was on me, and I forgot how to breathe.

The first touch of his tongue was electric, precise and knowing, finding exactly where I needed him most. He worked me with the same focused intensity he brought to everything—learning my responses, cataloguing what made me gasp, what made me moan, what made my thighs tremble against his shoulders.

"Daddy," I sobbed, one hand flying to his hair, tangling in the dark strands. "Please, I can't—"

"Yes, you can," he murmured against me, the vibration making me arch off the desk. "You can take everything Daddy gives you."

He proved it with his mouth, with fingers that joined his tongue in a rhythm that had me climbing higher, higher, teetering on an edge that felt too vast to survive. Every nerve in my body centered on where he touched me, played me, owned me with a skill that should have been illegal.

"Look at me," he commanded, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes. His face was intense, lips glistening, and the sight of him like this—wrecked by pleasing me—nearly undid me completely. "I want to see those pretty eyes when you come for Daddy."

Then his mouth was back, fierce and demanding, and I shattered.

The orgasm ripped through me like lightning, bowing my back, tearing his name from my throat in a cry that echoed through the empty office.

He worked me through it, gentling his touch as I shook and sobbed, until I collapsed back onto the desk in a boneless heap.

"Such a good girl," he praised, pressing kisses to my inner thighs as I struggled to remember how lungs worked.

He stood slowly, deliberately, and I watched through hazy eyes as he surveyed the destruction he'd wrought. My files were scattered, the Henderson reports probably ruined, everything evidence of what we'd done in this professional space.

With one sweep of his arm, he cleared the rest of the desk, sending papers and pens crashing to the floor. The sound made me jump, but his hands were already on me, lifting and repositioning until I lay back across the surface, my head at one edge, legs dangling off the other.

"Mine," he said, the single word carrying the weight of a vow. His hands went to his belt, and the sound of leather sliding through loops made my still-sensitive body clench with fresh need. "Say it."

"Yours," I breathed, watching him reveal himself with hands that moved too slowly, too controlled. "Yours, Daddy."

When he finally freed himself, I couldn't look away.

His cock was a thing of brutal beauty—long and thick, jutting proudly from his body with a slight upward curve that made my mouth water.

The shaft was veined, throbbing with his heartbeat, the skin smooth and taut.

The head was broad, flushed a deep purple-red, and already glistening with a bead of pre-cum that made me want to lean forward and lick it off.

I must have made some sound—a gasp, a whimper—because his eyes snapped to mine, dark with hunger and something more dangerous.

"Do you see what you do to me?" he growled, one hand wrapping around his length, giving it a slow stroke that made my thighs clench.

"See how hard Daddy gets for his good girl? "

All I could do was nod, transfixed by the sight of him pleasuring himself while watching me with those stormy eyes.

He moved with that careful control, positioning himself at my entrance, letting me feel him there without pushing forward.

"Tell me you want this," he demanded, hands gripping my hips with bruising force. "Tell me you need Daddy inside you."

"Please," I sobbed, trying to arch toward him, seeking the connection we both craved. "Please, Daddy, I need you. Need you inside me. Need to be yours."

He snarled, "You already are mine," and with that, he drove forward, impaling me in a single fluid motion that drew a raw, primal moan from both of us.

The sensation was all-consuming—the sharp stretch, the exquisite fullness, the sheer carnal perfection of having him buried deep within me.

I'd never experienced anything so intense, so completely possessing, as if every inch of me was made solely for his claim.

My hands clawed at the smooth desk, desperately seeking anchor, finally gripping his steely forearms, holding on as if he were the only stable thing in a world spinning wildly out of control.

"So fucking perfect," he rasped, holding himself still with a visible strain that made his muscles tremble. "So tight, little one. Like a velvet vice. Perfect for Daddy."

I could only moan in response, my body yielding to his invasion, nerves sparking with a pleasure so acute it obliterated thought. He filled me utterly, possessed me completely, and I never wanted this primal connection to end.

He began to move with a torturous slowness, withdrawing until I whimpered at the vacancy, then plunging back with a control that ignited every nerve ending. Each thrust was calculated, deliberate, designed to stoke the flames of my need until I was a writhing, panting mess beneath him.

"Feel that?" he groaned, his voice a rough, hungry rumble. "Feel how perfectly your body takes me? Like you were molded for this. Molded for me."

I could only nod desperately, words lost to the overwhelming sensation of him moving within me. He filled me so completely, each withdrawal leaving me hollow and aching until he drove back in, deeper each time, until I swore I could feel him in every pulse of my body.

His hands roved over me with possessive, greedy touches—thumbs circling my nipples through my blouse, making them peak and throb. When that wasn't enough, he roughly yanked the fabric up, exposing me to his ravenous gaze and skilled fingers.

"So fucking beautiful," he growled, pinching one nipple just hard enough to make me arch off the desk with a cry, offering myself up to him like a sacrifice. "All spread out for Daddy like a fucking feast."

The praise and the sensation combined to push me higher, that familiar tension building low in my belly. But just as I started to climb toward release, his movements slowed, became teasing, keeping me balanced on a knife's edge of need.

"Not yet, little one," he commanded when I whimpered in protest. "Good girls come when Daddy says."

The authority in his voice made me clench around him, drawing a harsh groan from his throat. His control slipped for a moment, hips snapping forward harder, faster, before he caught himself.

"Turn over," he ordered suddenly, pulling out of me with a loss that made me sob.

His hands guided me, firm but gentle, until I was face down across the desk, the cool surface a shock against my heated skin. This position made me feel even more vulnerable, more exposed, completely at his mercy.

"That's it," he praised as I arched my back, presenting myself to him. His hand smoothed over the curve of my ass, still tender from his earlier attention. "My perfect girl, so eager to please."

When he slid back inside me, the angle was different, deeper, hitting spots that made stars explode behind my eyelids. I bit my lip hard, trying to muffle the sounds escaping me, but he wasn't having it.

"Let me hear you," he commanded, one hand tangling in my hair, pulling just enough to arch my neck. "Want everyone to know who you belong to."

His pace increased then, all pretense of control abandoning him as he claimed me with powerful thrusts that had me sliding across the desk. I braced myself as best I could, pushing back to meet him, lost in the rhythm we created together.

"Please," I gasped when the tension became unbearable, every muscle coiled tight with need. "Please, Daddy, I need—"

"I know what you need," he growled, his free hand sliding around to find my clit. The first touch of his fingers there made me scream, the sensation too much and not enough all at once. "But you'll wait. You'll be good for me."

He played my body like an instrument he'd studied for years, building me up to the edge of orgasm before pulling back, again and again, until I was sobbing with need. Tears streamed down my face, my whole body shaking with the effort of holding back, of being good, of waiting for his permission.

"Daddy, please," I begged, dignity long abandoned. "I can't—I need—please let me come. Please."

"Look at you," he said, voice filled with dark satisfaction. " Tell me who you belong to."

"You!" I cried out as he thrust particularly deep. "I belong to you, Daddy. Only you."

"That's right." He pulled me up suddenly, my back to his chest, one arm banded around my waist while the other hand continued its torture between my legs. "Mine to pleasure. Mine to deny. Mine to control."

His teeth found my shoulder, biting down just hard enough to mark, and the sharp sensation nearly undid me completely. I was balanced on the finest edge, one touch away from shattering, but still he held me there, proving his dominance with every second that passed.

Then he was lifting me, turning me again with that effortless strength, and I found myself looking into his eyes as he pressed me back against the desk. The intensity I found there—possession and pride and something deeper I didn't have words for—made my heart stutter.

"I want to see your face," he said roughly, sliding back inside me with one smooth thrust. "Want to watch you fall apart for me."

His thumb found my clit again, circling with exactly the right pressure, and I felt myself climbing toward that peak one final time. But this time, I saw in his eyes that he wouldn't deny me. This time, he was climbing with me.

"That's it," he encouraged as my body tightened around him. "That's my good girl. Come for Daddy. Now."

The permission broke the dam I'd been holding back.

The orgasm crashed over me with the force of a hurricane, bowing my back, tearing screams from my throat that echoed through the empty office.

I clenched around him rhythmically, pulling him deeper, needing him with a desperation that bordered on violence.

"Fuck," he groaned, hips stuttering as my orgasm triggered his. "That's it, take it all. Take everything Daddy gives you."

I felt him pulse inside me, filling me with his release, marking me internally as thoroughly as he'd marked my external submission. We clung to each other through the aftershocks, both shaking, both wrecked by the intensity of what we'd shared.

When the world finally stopped spinning, he gathered me against his chest, still buried inside me, neither of us willing to separate just yet. His lips pressed soft kisses to my temple, my cheek, my jaw, gentle worship after the storm.

"My perfect little one," he murmured, voice rough with satisfaction. "You did so well. So good for me."

The praise washed over me like warm honey, soothing all the raw edges he'd exposed. I nuzzled into his neck, breathing in his scent, feeling safer than I'd ever felt despite being near-naked and debauched on my office desk.

Eventually, reluctantly, he withdrew from me, both of us making soft sounds at the loss. But he didn't go far, lifting me into his arms with the same ease he'd shown all evening.

He carried me to the small couch in the corner of my office, settling with me in his lap, my head on his shoulder. His hands stroked soothing patterns on my back while I floated in that peaceful space between satisfaction and sleep.

"You're going to follow my rules from now on, aren't you?" he said eventually, but there was no real sternness to it now, just fond exasperation.

"Yes, Daddy," I breathed against his neck, meaning it this time. After this, after being so thoroughly claimed and cared for, the idea of disappointing him again was unbearable.

"That's my good girl." His arms tightened around me, and I felt him press a kiss to the top of my head. "Mine to take care of. Mine to protect. Mine to love."

The last word made my breath catch, but before I could process it, he was shifting us, tucking me more securely against his chest.

"Rest now," he commanded softly. "Daddy's got you."