Page 39 of His Verdict
With his free hand, he skims down my body, over my ribs, my stomach, until his fingers find the hem of my dress. He bunches the expensive fabric in his fist, pulling it up, higher and higher, until it is gathered around my waist, exposing my legs, my hips, my silk-clad cunt to the cool air of the office.
“So perfect,” he murmurs, his gaze devouring me. “So fucking perfect for me.”
His fingers brush against the wet silk of my panties. I am already soaking for him. The game, the chase, the raw hunger in his eyes—it has been a devastatingly effective foreplay. I let out a low, needy whimper, my hips bucking instinctively against the empty air.
“Patience,” he whispers, a cruel, teasing smile in his voice.
He hooks two fingers into the sides of my panties and rips them down my legs in one swift, tearing motion. The sound of the silk giving way is a raw, primal sound that makes my clit throb. He doesn't even bother to take them off completely, just leaves them dangling around one of my ankles, a trophy of his conquest.
Then his fingers are on me. Two of them, slick with my own wetness, sliding over my folds, teasing my entrance. “Look at this,” he says, his voice thick with possessive pride. “Already dripping for me. You can’t even hide it, can you? How much you want this.”
He slides one finger deep inside me, then two. I cry out, my head thrashing against the door. He is thick, filling me,stretching me. His thumb finds my clit and begins to move in a slow, relentless, maddening circle.
“That’s it,” he praises, his voice a hypnotic rumble against my ear. “Come apart for me, Olivia. Right here, against my office door. Let me feel you shatter.”
I am a mess, a writhing, sobbing collection of raw nerves and pure pleasure. The feeling of being so completely restrained, so utterly at his mercy, is an incredible aphrodisiac. My world narrows to the pressure of his fingers inside me, the magic of his thumb against my clit, the solid wall at my back, and the city lights glittering through the window behind him.
“Please, Jasper,” I beg, not even sure what I'm asking for. The orgasm is a tight, coiling knot in my belly, getting closer and closer, an unbearable, exquisite tension.
“Please what?” he taunts, his rhythm becoming faster, harder. “Beg for it. Tell me what you want.”
“I want to come,” I sob, the admission ripped from me. “Please let me come.”
“Then come,” he commands, his thumb pressing down hard, his fingers fucking into me with a fast, brutal rhythm that sends me over the edge.
The orgasm is a violent, white-hot explosion. A scream is torn from my throat as my entire body convulses, a blinding, shattering release that leaves me boneless and trembling. I sag against the door, my wrists still pinned above my head, my legs shaking uncontrollably.
He lets me ride the aftershocks for a long moment, his fingers still buried deep inside me, feeling the frantic, flutteringpulse of my climax. Then, slowly, he withdraws his fingers, slick and glistening with my cunt juice. He doesn't release my wrists. He brings his wet fingers to his own cock, which is now free from his trousers, thick, long, and ferociously hard. He strokes himself once, twice, coating his length with my essence.
“My turn,” he growls.
He positions himself between my spread thighs, his hips pressing against mine. And then he thrusts into me.
I scream his name as he fills me, stretching me, burying himself to the hilt in one deep, powerful motion. He hooks an arm under my ass, lifting me with an ease that is terrifying, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He holds my entire weight against the door as he begins to fuck me, his rhythm hard, fast, and punishingly deep.
“You feel this?” he grunts, his lips finding mine for another bruising, open-mouthed kiss. “This is where you belong. Pinned, filled, and screaming my name.”
Every thrust is a collision of flesh, a branding. The sound of our bodies slapping together echoes in the vast, silent office. He is a force of nature, a storm, and I am at the center of it, being completely, utterly undone. He fucks me like he owns me, which he does, and I meet every one of his savage thrusts with a desperate, hungry energy of my own.
His release is a guttural roar, his body going rigid as he pulses inside me, flooding me with his hot, thick seed. He buries his face in my neck, his teeth grazing my skin as he comes, his own body shuddering with the force of his climax.
He lets me slide down his body until my feet touch the floor, but he doesn't pull out. He just holds me there, pinned against the door, both of us panting, our bodies slick with sweat.
After a long moment, he releases my wrists. My arms, numb and tingling, fall to my sides. I lean my head back against the door, my eyes fluttering shut, completely and utterly spent.
But something has shifted. The fire he has reignited is still burning. The satiation is temporary. My body, after weeks of dormancy, has reawakened with a voracious hunger.
I open my eyes and look at him. He is watching me, a look of smug, possessive satisfaction on his face. He slips out gently but I’m not done. I reach down and wrap my fingers around his cock, which is still half-hard. I give him a slow squeeze.
His eyes widen in surprise.
I pull him by the hand, away from the door, toward the center of the room. “We’re not done,” I say, my voice a husky invitation.
He follows, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. I push him down into his massive leather desk chair. I kneel before him on the plush, expensive rug. Without a word, I take his cock into my mouth. I suck him with a desperate, ravenous energy, my eyes locked on his, watching his expression shift from surprise to raw, unadulterated pleasure. He groans, his hands tangling in my hair, but he doesn’t direct me. He lets me have control.
And I am insatiable. I want more.
When he is fully, painfully hard again, rock solid in my mouth, I pull back. I stand, my body still humming, my cunt still dripping with our mingled juices.