Page 13 of Filthy Business (Obsessive Age Gap #1)

Iris

He was so easy. I never knew this was the kind of power a woman could wield over a man. It was intoxicating. I spread my legs when I felt his cock brush against me, gripping onto his desk for balance.

He slid higher, nudging against my asshole, and I froze for a second.

“I know exactly how to punish you when we get home,”

he murmured.

“My filthy little brat will get a taste of Daddy’s wrath.”

I relaxed. We’d already discussed anal plugs.

“Sorry, Daddy,”

I said, trying to sound contrite.

He pressed his cock into me, and I gasped. That perfect stretch. The beautiful ache of him spreading me open again—God, it was exactly what I needed. He gripped my shoulders and thrust hard, plunging deep.

I cried out as I clamped down around him, feeling his bare cock inside me.

“Right there, my filthy girl. Take it all,”

he groaned.

The hard edge of the desk dug into my hips. My breasts pressed against the polished wood, nipples tight against the cool surface. Every time he slammed into me, the desk creaked, and my body jolted forward.

I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

Only feel.

He gripped my hips with bruising force, dragging me back to meet every ruthless thrust.

“Fuck, baby—so tight. So wet for me,”

he growled, his breath hot against my spine.

I whimpered, unable to respond. My fingers clawed at the smooth surface, trying to find purchase. My legs were shaking, toes curling in my heels. My thighs were already sticky with slick and his filthy promises.

“You were made for me,”

he rasped.

“Look at you—taking every inch like a good little fucktoy.”

He reached forward, fisting my hair, yanking my head up. My mouth dropped open on a moan as he leaned in, tongue flicking against the shell of my ear.

“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.

He didn’t speak for a moment. Just stayed buried deep, cock twitching like it hadn’t finished making its point. Then his hands slid around my waist. He pulled out slowly, only to grab my hips and haul me up.

“Come here,”

he murmured, voice rough, and sat down in his chair.

I was already aching and shaky, but when he pulled me onto his lap, I didn’t resist. He guided me back onto his cock—slow, thick, still hard—and I gasped as he stretched me open again.

“Fuck, Magnus,”

I whimpered, bracing on his shoulders.

“You’re still hard?”

“For you? Always,”

he said, kissing my jaw.

His hands cupped my ass, keeping me flush to him, fully seated. He didn’t move. Neither did I.

We just…sat.

Wrapped around him. Plugged full of him. Soaked in filth and smugness.

He brushed his nose along my cheek, soft lips pressing reverent kisses over my jaw, temple, down my throat.

“I’ll never get enough of you,”

he whispered.

“You already have me,”

I murmured, looping my arms around his neck.

His hand slid up to the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair. He kissed me—softly at first, then deeper, tongues tangling as I shifted slightly on his cock and felt him throb inside me again.

He growled into my mouth.

“I need a goddamn muzzle. One kiss and I need to fuck you again,”

he muttered.

“You’re going to ruin me.”

I just smiled and rolled my hips, lazily.

“I think we’re past the point of ruin.”

And I could feel it, pooling inside me.

Warm.

Claimed.

Still his.

Still full.

Still seated on the throne I’d built between my legs, with the king still buried inside me.