Page 21 of Filthy Rich Silver Foxes

“I was working,” I breathe, nails digging into his shoulders.

He grips my jaw, thumb brushing my cheek. “And now you’re not.”

His mouth returns to mine as his hands push my skirt higher. He spins me before I can react, palms flat on my lower back, bending me forward over the massive oak desk. My chest hits the cool wood. My breathing stutters. He yanks my panties down with no preamble, baring me completely, and the sudden rush of air makes me shiver.

“Look at you,” he says, voice low and cruel. “Already wet. Just from the thought of being used like this.”

I want to deny it. I don’t. It would be a lie.

He spreads me with both hands, thumbs dragging along the slick heat between my thighs. “You didn’t even ask what I wanted to discuss.”

I manage a breath. “What do you want to discuss?”

He unzips his pants. The sound makes my mouth go dry.

“Fucking you,” he says simply. “Raw.”

My body jolts.

“No condom this time.” He notches the head of his cock at my entrance, slow, deliberate, not yet pushing in. “I want to feel all of you. You going to let me?”

“I’m not on anything,” I whisper. “But I know my cycle. It’s safe.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

He thrusts in one brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt.

My scream is muffled by my own palm. I’m stretched too far, filled to the edge, every nerve ending lit up like a live wire.

He doesn’t give me time to adjust. His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back so I’m arched for him, open, owned.

“You’ll take it,” he grits. “Every inch. Every thrust. And when I come inside you, you’ll feel it dripping down your thighs while you walk around the rest of the day trying to pretend you’re still in control.”

He slams into me again. And again.

The desk rattles under me. My hips bruise against the edge. He fucks me without restraint, without hesitation, like this was inevitable from the second we met. And I take it.

I push back into every thrust, soaked and swollen, my body trembling from the pressure, the stretch, the sheer domination of it all.

His hand slips around my throat, not choking, just holding. Possessive. Anchoring.

“You’re mine,” he says, his voice a growl. “Every time you come, it’s for me. You understand?”

“Yes,” I sob. “Yes—please—Sebastian?—”

I come fast and hard, muscles locking, stars exploding behind my eyelids. He follows with a vicious groan, hips stuttering, cock twitching deep as he empties himself inside me without hesitation.

Neither of us moves for a moment.

The only sound is our breathing—harsh, uneven.

Then he pulls out.

I feel it immediately—the slick, warm aftermath of him spilling inside me. It slides down the inside of my thighs as I brace against the desk. I feel boneless, so dazed I can barely think.

He drags my skirt back down, then turns me in his arms and kisses me—slower this time. Deeper. His hands cradle my face like he hasn’t just ruined me, like he wants to do it again.