Page 27 of The Secretary Volume II

His fingers stroke deeper, and I gasp.

He leans in, his breath hot against my ear.“Say it.”

I know what he wants.But I can’t give it to him.

“Always so defiant.”

He doesn’t stop.His fingers move with unforgiving precision, finding the spot that breaks me.I try to hold back.I fail.

A moan escapes—soft, ruined.He smiles, satisfied.

His fingers keep moving, coaxing another sound from me, then another.

I dig my nails into his hand, desperate for control, but he drags me under.

He grabs my wrist, twisting it behind my back.Then I remember—he’s not a fan of pain.

He strokes me through my release, making sure I feel every second of it.

He doesn’t stop until I slump against him, spent.

And not even then.

His fingers linger, tracing the heat between my thighs.

“See how easy that was?”

He lifts his hand, dragging his fingers up my inner thigh—a reminder.

Then he grips my hips, lifting me effortlessly.

I barely have time to catch my breath before I feel the hard, heavy press of him between my legs.He kisses me, deep and possessive.I taste wine and control and something darker.

The belt.The slow slide of leather.The metallic clink of his zipper.

He grips my chin, forcing my gaze to his.“You remember this, don’t you?”

A cruel question.

Clearly, my body does.

He doesn’t wait for an answer.He shifts, pressing forward, pushing into me inch by inch, stretching, claiming, filling.

I gasp—the sudden, overwhelming fullness stealing my breath.

“You’re always so tight for me.”

My nails find their way to his back.But my body adjusts, molds to him, takes him deeper.

He holds me in place, letting me feel every inch of him buried inside me.

I clench around him, waves rolling through me.His smirk deepens.

Then he moves.

A slow withdrawal.A measured thrust.

Deep.