Page 26 of Groom Gamble

My fiancé.

It all returns in a rush. I’m going to be married to my boss, and we’re in his bed together. He took my virginity and promised to marry me and give me his baby. Mr Streatham said I was his good girl.

I shift experimentally, and something solid touches my bottom.

“Mmm.” Behind me, Mr Streatham gives a rumbling purr. “Sore?” he asks.

“No.” And the word is hardly out of my mouth, but he’s got me bent at the waist, revealing where I’m wet and needy.

“Is this what you want, little one?” The hot, silken tip of his cock nudges against my thigh. “Breeding practice?”

No, I want his love. I wish this was a real engagement, but that’s delusional.

“Yes,” I whisper, trying to wiggle to get him inside me. Because if I can’t have his love, then this is an acceptable second.

“Let’s try it this way,” he murmurs and flips me so I’m on my front, underneath him in one fluid movement. His knees push between mine, and he’s feeding that massive thing into me, inch by glorious inch.

It’s easier this time. My body knows his, and I breathe through the sting.

He pauses at the hilt. Then he starts to move.

Oh my god.

If I ever thought Mr Streatham was big, I had no idea. Because above me and inside me, he’s enormous. He’s overwhelming.

I’m entirely at his mercy, trapped, being pushed into the mattress with every push of him into me. He’s infuriatingly slow, as though he has forever to get all the way into me with that long, thick cock.

But he’s effective. So, very thorough, that I come even more easily this time. Once. And then again, holding my face into the pillow as I scream and shudder.

“My god, Sophia.” He gives a low chuckle when I turn my head and try to see him, my orgasm dying away. “The things you do to me…”

He slides out of me with a wet pop, and I’m immediately bereft. Empty, or rather, even more empty.

“Not make you come,” I mutter.

“Not yet, darling,” he says lightly, pushing off the covers.

Something dark and prickly twists in my chest. I didn’t anticipate this being frustrating. Surely it shouldn’t matter whether he finds release? I’m getting a higher chance of becoming pregnant. That should be enough, and yet I’m left feeling more and more denied every time Mr Streatham doesn’t climax.

I cast a sideways look at his erection. It’s glistening with my juices, and he’s in control. It’s ridiculous, but I want him tocome more than I want another orgasm myself. I wish he was as affected by this relationship as I am.

Honestly, I’m chasing the impossible: for my severe boss to love me.

He rolls out of bed, and I peek at his gloriously naked body. He’s beautiful. He might be older than me and nearly forty, but he’s trim and muscular. I’ve never seen a man in real life, naked, not close to. And certainly not nude and aroused. I’m entranced. His cock from this angle is a thing of beauty, long, proudly jutting up, smooth. My mouth waters.

I will never get used to seeing him like this, not in a month of Mondays…

It’s only then that I realise it’s a weekday and I have no idea what the time is. “Mr Streatham?”

“Dex.” He turns and regards me, hands on his tie. “You should call me Dex since you’re going to be my wife.”

There’s an emphasis on those last two words that sizzles across my skin. His wife.

“Dex.” His name is illicit and powerful on my tongue. “What about work?”

“We’re taking the day off to get married.”

Up until yesterday, I thought I was unshockable. I’m the private assistant to a mobster, after all. I’ve seen Mr Streatham covered in blood. I’ve seen people coming in for meetings and never leaving. I’ve booked drug raids into his schedule and typed up notes from interrogations.