Page 95 of The Beast's Broken Angel

His hands skimmed down my sides, slow and possessive, until they gripped the waistband of my jeans and tugged them down with my briefs in one smooth motion.

He paused behind me, and I heard the unmistakable sound of lube being opened.

“I’m going to ruin you for anyone else,” he said, slick fingers sliding between my cheeks to toy with my hole. “You understand that?”

“Yes—please?—”

“Stay still,” he ordered. “Don’t fucking move.”

One finger pushed in, slow and tight. I bit my lip, knuckles white against the desk, held open and trembling. He curled the finger, then added another. Stretching me wide, twisting just enough to make my thighs shake.

“So fucking tight,” he muttered, fingers driving deeper. “And so wet for me already. Youwantthis. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

“I’m not—fuck, Adrian?—”

“Stay. Still.”

He slapped my inner thigh—not hard, just enough to make me freeze. “You move again, and I stop.”

I whimpered, breath shuddering out of me.

“You’ll come on my terms,” he whispered near my ear. “Not yours.”

He kept working me open with slick precision—three fingers now, thrusting slow and firm, the lube dripping down my thighs.

My cock pressed against the desk, aching, untouched.

“I want you tofeelthis,” he said. “Every second of it. You’ll remember how I made you beg.”

He pulled his fingers out, leaving me empty and gasping, then lined up behind me.

The blunt head of his cock pressed against my hole.

“I said don’t move.”

I held my breath. Didn’t dare twitch.

He pushed in slowly, unbearably slow, until he bottomed out with a low, animal sound. “So deep,” he groaned. “So fucking good.”

“Please—Adrian?—”

“Stay still.”

His cock dragged out and slammed back in, making me cry out, but I held myself as steady as I could. He gripped my hips, hard enough to bruise, fucking me with rough, measured thrusts.

“Look at you,” he growled. “Shaking, sweating, moaning—and you haven’t even touched your cock.”

“I can’t—fuck—please?—”

“You’ll come when I say. Not a second before.”

His hand slid up my spine and wrapped gently around the back of my neck, pressing me lower onto the desk. “Let go,” he whispered. “Let me own you for a little while.”

I did.

He fucked me deep and slow, each thrust landing with purpose, his cock sliding slick and perfect inside me. I was gone—sweat slick, moaning his name, begging without shame.

“You take me so well,” he murmured. “This hole was made for me. I should keep you tied up like this all the time. Just waiting. Open.”