Page 30 of Filthy Business

“Tell me who owns this cunt.”

“You do,” I gasped, hips rocking back for more.

“Damn right,” he snarled, snapping his hips forward.

The slap of skin against skin echoed around the office like applause.

And I didn’t care who heard.

Not when he was fucking me like that.

Not when my orgasm was coiling again, fast and punishing.

Not when I was about to fall apart for him—again.

He let go of my hair and slammed his hand flat on the desk beside my head, caging me in. The other squeezed my ass, spreading me wider as he fucked me harder—deeper—like he wanted to ruin me. And maybe he was. Maybe I wanted that.

I was whining now. Babbling. My brain wasn’t working.

The desk was slick beneath my chest from my own sweat and drool. His cock pistoned into me, unrelenting, filling me so deep it felt like I was coming apart around him.

“I can feel you clenching. You gonna come, sweetheart?” he rasped, voice shaking.

I nodded frantically, cheek pressed to the desk.

“Use your words.”

“Yes,” I cried out.“I’m going to come—don’t stop, please—”

“Then do it,” he growled.“Show me who owns you.”

My orgasm tore through me like lightning, hips jerking, legs trembling as pleasure shot down my spine. I screamed, face buried in the crook of my arm. My cunt squeezed him like a vice, and he swore violently behind me.

“Fuck—Iris—”

He slammed in hard and stayed there, his whole body shaking as he emptied himself inside me. Again. No condom. No regrets.

I felt every pulse, every possessive pump of his cock as he bred me full.

Again.

I smirked into the desk, body boneless, used and satisfied.

He collapsed over my back for a moment, both of us breathing hard, sweat-slicked skin sticking.

“That was a working lunch,” I said weakly, voice muffled.

He groaned into my neck.“You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Or the mother of your child. You didn’t pull out,” I groaned.

He stilled. I could feel his cock twitch inside me.

Then he laughed.

Deep, dark and filthy.

I knew I’d won this round.