Page 47

The moment I step into the office and see her waiting by the desk, I shut the door with a hard click and turn the lock. She spins around to face me just as I walk toward her like we’re magnets snapping into place.

We don’t need words right now. We’ve stayed away from each other for long enough. I can’t bear it anymore. I need to feel Lyra. I need to feel her from the inside out and from the way she’s looking at me. And so does she.

We collide, fierce, desperate, and unstoppable.

Her fingers claw at my shirt while my mouth claims hers, all teeth and hunger.

Our bodies fit together with chaotic urgency, our tongues, lips, and groans tangling in each other.

I back her toward the desk, intent on bending her over it, but our feet catch, and we crash to the carpet, and I end up caging her against the floor with my arms.

“You alright?” I mutter, barely able to catch my breath.

“Fine,” Lyra gasps, her hand gripping my collar and dragging me back to her mouth like she can’t bear a second of space between us. Her kiss is wild and reckless, and the soft heat I feel through her skirt only pushes me further over the edge.

“I’m going to fuck you,” I growl into her kiss, my voice nothing but heat and desire. It isn’t a question. It’s a fact. A fucking promise.

My hand slides down her thigh, and I realize she isn’t wearing a damn thing underneath.

“Jesus, Lyra,” I mutter, my fingers brushing bare heat. “You’re so fucking obscene.”

She arches into my hand, silently begging for more, her breath catching as I slide two fingers inside her, fast, deep, and fucking merciless. She is drenched, and her needy little moans only make me rougher, my words turning vile with lust.

“Such a filthy little thing… dripping like this… greedy slut. You love this, don’t you?”

Her hips buck under my hand, and the way her fingers twist into my shirt makes my cock throb. I should feel guilty for the way I’m talking to her right now, but the fire in her eyes tells me she wants it just as bad. Maybe worse.

I crush my mouth to hers, tasting her ragged breath, and shove my boxers low enough to free my cock. Then, I plunge into her with a savage thrust, all heat and friction and raw fucking need.

She wraps her legs tight around my waist, locking me to her like she’s trying to fuse our bodies together, while her arms loop around my neck as if she can’t bear to let me go.

Her mouth is everywhere—my neck, cheek, jaw, lips—hot and frantic and hungry.

Under me, Lyra squirms like a live current is running through her, each movement stoking the fire already burning out of control.

I pound into her, giving in to every demon clawing at my chest—rage, obsession, possessiveness. I want her destroyed by me. Marked by me. I want her wrecked so deeply that no one else would ever dare try. I want to own every sound that falls from her lips and every inch of skin beneath my hands.

I’ll keep fucking her until she forgets what it’s like to be untouched. I’ll keep fucking her until the only name she can remember is mine.

And fuck, I’m close. Every thrust draws me to the edge, and every squeeze of her around me makes it harder to hold back.

But one thought, dark and glinting, refuses to leave me.

I press harder into her, grinding my hips to hit her clit just right.

Her entire body tenses beneath me. She’s nearly there.

“I want to take your ass, Lyra,” I rasp, dragging my nose along the sharp line of her jaw and making her tremble. “Let me fuck your ass.”

She gasps, half moan, half prayer. “Oh God… yes. Please.”

That’s all I need.

There’s no time to move, no need to find someplace better. I have what I need just outside in the cabinet beside the bookshelf, where old first aid kits and other forgotten office junk collect dust. I pull out of her with a groan, my cock flushed and angry, already missing the heat of her.

“Stay,” I order, tucking myself back into my boxers just long enough to walk. She doesn’t move. She’s flat on her back with her legs spread, her skirt bunched around her waist, her hair wild, and her cheeks glowing. It’s a vision I burn into my memory.

After I return and lock the door again, I loom over her. “You’re going to fucking destroy me,” I mutter, dropping to my knees beside her.

I turn her gently, guiding her onto her stomach. Her perfect ass lifts slightly as she adjusts, and I let her settle with her head on her folded arms, submissive, relaxed, and ready to be fucked.

I uncap the little glass vial and drip warm oil onto my fingers, then begin to draw a slick, shimmering circle around the tight bud of her ass. She flinches, her breath hitching, but not from fear. It’s pure anticipation. I can sense it. Her hips shift, and I see her cunt twitch, wet and wanting.

I add more oil, rubbing it between my fingers before easing one gently against her rim, teasing, pressing, and massaging.

She clenches around nothing, her need painting itself across every inch of her skin.

The office is silent except for our breath, the sticky sounds of arousal, and the faint scent of oil hanging like incense in the air—clean, old, and reverent.

“You know what this is?” I ask softly, my voice low in her ear.

She shakes her head against her arm, breathless.

“Healing oil,” I murmur, dragging my fingers along her entrance in slow, reverent circles. “They used to anoint kings with it during the medieval times… but now? Now I’m going to use it to fuck your perfect little ass.”

Her whimper is pure sin, and I feel her body rock slightly, searching for more and silently begging for what comes next.

“It’s an oil for healing and… soothing,” I continue, my palm gliding slowly down the sleek, warm line of her back. She sighs, melting under my touch, and I take that moment to press a finger inside her ass. She gasps, sharp and breathy.

“I’m soothing you, Lyra,” I say, my voice barely contained.

“I’m healing you from the inside out. You feel that?

That’s my finger fucking your ass. And in just a minute…

” I curl it, just enough to make her body shudder.

“It’ll be my cock. I’ll be the one healing you.

Her hand starts to drift downward, instinctive and needy.

I catch it and gently bring it back up near her head, pinning it there against the carpet.

“Don’t touch yourself, Lyra…we’re going to come undone together.”

All the while, I keep working her tight ring, circling and stretching, oil-slick and steady, until her breath starts coming in soft little pants.

She is so tight and so responsive that just imagining her wrapped around my cock has me practically shaking with restraint.

I can’t fucking wait. I need to be inside her now.

Grabbing the vial again, I pour a generous stream of oil into my palm and grip my cock, working the slick down to the base and stroking slowly and firmly while I watch her body shift in anticipation.

The way she moves, her hips rocking gently, her thighs flexing, and her pussy glistening, is enough to unman me.

“Silas,” she says softly, turning her head to look back at me. “I’ve done this before… just never with someone your size.” Her voice is equal parts nervous and aching, her body grinding subtly into the carpet, aching to be filled.

She doesn’t need to say more. I want to tell her that I’ll be gentle, but I also know I’m right on the fucking edge, and the truth is, once I’m inside her, I might not be capable of mercy.

Instead, I say the only thing I can say that matters, which is, “You tell me to stop, and I will. Right then and there. No hesitation. You say the word, and I’m out. ”

She nods, trusting me, and lowers her head again, tilting her hips up just enough and offering herself completely.

I lean in, one hand guiding my cock to her entrance while the other tips more oil down her cleft and over my shaft.

We are dripping with it now—her, me, the carpet beneath us—and still, it doesn’t feel like enough.

Setting the vial aside, I let my hand trail over her back again, grounding her and soothing her with my touch as I begin to push forward, a slow, relentless pressure against her tight hole.

Her body resists, then relents, and I feel the tip of my cock breach her.

She cries out, high and breathless, and I groan so deep that it shakes my chest. Her ass grips me like a velvet vise, the heat and pressure so intense that I have to freeze in place and hang my head, panting hard.

I count to ten. Then to twenty. Trying not to explode too soon, trying to hold it together long enough to savor every fucking inch of her.

“Fuck, Lyra…” I rasp, my voice barely more than a growl. “You feel like sin. Like fire.”

I push a little deeper, inch by inch, and her body gradually adjusts and swallows me in unbelievable tightness. “Oh, baby,” I warn, barely able to think straight, “this is going to be a tight fit…”

And it is tight.

The moment I sink in all the way to the hilt, I freeze, holding her open and giving her body the chance to catch up with the sheer stretch of me.

She is breathing deeply, controlled and careful, until I find her clit with my fingers again and circle.

Then, her inhale turns ragged, needy. I don’t move my hips.

Not yet. I let the fullness of me inside her speak for itself and let her feel every goddamn inch while I keep her wound tight with my hand.

I can feel her teetering there, on that edge I carve just for us.

“Silas… oh God, please…”

She’s so ready to be undone. I don’t need to ask if she wants more because I know she does.

But still, I move slowly and cautiously and watch her carefully for any signal that she needs me to stop, to pause, to soothe.

I lift her hips, gently guiding her onto all fours, and she goes willingly, moaning without restraint.

I pause . Then, I straighten up behind her, still rubbing her clit and watching her arch for me like the offering she is.

I pause again. I withdraw just a breath and then press back in .

I stop for a second, letting her adjust to the sheer size of my cock.

And then, she begins to push into me, at first subtly, but then with more force.

Like a greedy little kitten hungry for milk, she rocks against my cock, keening with frustration when I take my hand away for even a second.

So I give her more. Inch by inch. Stroke by stroke.

Unhurried, controlled, but gaining momentum.

As I fuck her, I praise her, saying, “You’re so fucking beautiful like this, Lyra… on your hands and knees for me.”

I keep touching her, stroking the backs of her thighs, her waist, and her spine, my fingers always drifting back to her clit. My voice stays low, almost worshipful.

“You’re my good girl, aren’t you? My perfect little slut,” I say as I push in deep. “Letting me fuck your ass. Letting me own you like this. My hole. My body. Mine .”

She nods, her whole body trembling beneath me as she swallows every filthy word like it feeds her. Sweat beads on her back and along her neck, her skin glistening in the soft light like marble on the edge of ruin.

And fuck, I mean to wait. I plan to hold her at the brink, to keep her dangling until I finish. But the sight of her, so wrecked and willing, undoes every last scrap of control I have left.

I work her clit harder now, the way I know she likes—tight little circles with just the right pressure.

And within moments, her body snaps. She jerks forward, shoving her ass back hard against my hips, her fingers scrabbling at the carpet as she comes, spasming and breathless, all the elegant walls she carries falling away.

And then she says it. One word.

“Yours.”

That word detonates inside me.

And I lose control.

I grip her hips tight enough to bruise, and I begin slamming into her in a raw, guttural rhythm, chasing the end like it’s salvation—grunting, my teeth clenched, my breath a growl behind my teeth.

Her body grips me like a goddamn vice, slick and molten, and I know I won’t last—I can’t.

The heat, the tightness, the goddamn claiming of her, it all burns up through my spine like fire.

The orgasm hits me like a blackout—violent, endless, soul-ripping.

I pull out at the last second, just in time to see my cum spill across her back and ass in thick, hot streaks, ribbons and droplets painting her skin like she’s my canvas.

It runs down the tight pucker of her entrance and across the curve of her ass, slicking her like I’ve marked my territory. Like I’ve left a fucking signature.

When the haze begins to clear, and my breath returns to my lungs, I take in the sight of her, trembling, panting, and so mine .

Lyra slowly lowers herself to her stomach with a grace that’s almost obscene, her shoulders soft, her thighs still twitching, and her body humming with aftershocks. She turns her head and gives me a lazy, satisfied smirk.

“Clean me up,” she rasps, her voice smug and regal-sounding and utterly wrecked.

“Yes, ma’am,” I mutter, already reaching for the towel. I gladly obey, wipe her down gently, then discard the towel and let my hands roam her hips and back, massaging slowly and sweetly. Worshipful again and gentle, now that the storm has passed.

As I work her body, I whisper to her. I kiss every inch of her skin, my mouth reverent and slow.

She closes her eyes at times, and I see it, the little smile she tries to hide and the way she swallows emotion so deep that it glimmers behind her lashes. Like maybe no one has ever tended to her after, and she doesn’t even know she can be cherished after being wrecked.

No man has ever done this for her before. I know it. I can feel it in my bones.

And I don’t fight the swell of pride in my chest. I don’t want to fight it.

Because she deserves this.

Because she is mine.