by Abby Angel
"Nothing, really. It just needs a more feminine touch," I tell him, grabbing him by the tie and pulling him into me. "Now, I remember you wanting something… What was it?" I ask him, pretending that I’m trying to remember something. "Ah, you wanted to christen this office, didn’t you?"
"That’s right, I did," he chuckles, his hands running down the side of my body. "And it’s high time we do that."
"Seconded," I purr, feeling my heart pump boiling blood straight to between my thighs.
"But you’ll have to obey," Connor continues to say with a grin, a dangerous wickedness flashing behind his eyes.
"Obey?"
"Yes, you’ll obey… and if you do that, you’ll have what you want," he whispers, narrowing his eyes.
"That sounds… fair," I reply, my heart racing faster and faster.
"It is fair. Now … take off your dress."
I take one step back and grin at him, taking my hands up to my shoulders. Obediently I pull down the straps, letting the dress slide down my body. I am wearing only my thong and a black bra in front of him, and now my pussy is so wet that I feel the fabric of my drenched thong sticking to my skin.
"Turn around."
Dutifully, I turn around, my back to him. I feel his fingers on me and wince. His touch is cold but, at the same time, seems to spread a dense heat on my skin. His fingers open the clasp of my bra, releasing it; he lets it fall to the ground, the humid air of the room caressing my erect nipples.
"Take off the rest."
Obedient, and without turning around, I take my fingers down to my waist and pull my thong down, letting it fall down my legs. I'm naked, my back turned to him, but he doesn't say or do anything for several seconds. And I don’t dare say anything. His strong presence is filling the whole room, and I don’t break that atmosphere.
"Turn around."
I turn to him, his eyes meeting mine once more. Finally, he looks at my body, his gaze sweeping every inch of me patiently. I feel the pressure of his gaze slipping from my eyes to my lips, and then to my breasts. His gaze goes lower, down my abdomen, my hips... Between my legs... A wild heat sprouts there, a desire that almost makes my body ache. I'm wet. Wet as only he can make me. I crave his touch; I want to feel it on my lips, I want to feel it on my neck. I want him between my legs, sating that urge.
A smile of approval appears on his lips. He extends his arms to the side and throws his coat to the floor.
"The shirt."
I immediately know what to do. I take my fingers to his neck, touching the collar of his shirt. Loosening his tie, I pull it over his head and then I undo the first button on his shirt slowly; then I just keep going. The skin of his chest is tanned, his ripped muscles calling to me as if they were made of marble. And they really look like marble - his perfectly delineated muscles, the lines of his hard and strong chest... It’s as if his whole body has been brought into existence by the skillful chisel of a sculptor.
I unbutton the last button of his shirt and pull it down, revealing his chest. My fingers touch his skin and I shudder, longing to feel all of him. But I know I can’t do it, not yet.
His hands touch my waist, his long fingers pressed against my skin, and he pulls me closer, our bodies a few inches away. He leans into me, his lips pulling back to reveal two rows of perfect white teeth, and kisses me.
I kiss him back, my hand on his chest. He raises his arm and, grabbing me by the hair, pulls my head back and places his lips on my neck. I shudder, anxious, and feel the cold touch of his teeth brushing against me. He sinks his teeth into my flesh, and then the cold touch of pain fades; it's as if honey is entering my bloodstream, numbing my senses, the beating of my heart the only thing I can hear.
He kisses me again and I enjoy my own taste in my mouth. He pushes me back against the desk and I gasp as I feel my ass pressed against the edge of it.
"I’ve been dreaming of this for too long," he finally says, a grin taking over his lips. Reaching with one arm toward the desk, he swipes everything there to the ground; both the phone and the lamp tumble down to the floor, a few folders and documents follow after them.
Pulling me up, he lies me down on top of the desk and climbs on top of me, hunched like a wild animal preparing to devour his prey. His chest touches mine, my breasts brushing against his soft cool skin, and I lace his waist with my legs, my mind screaming at him to make me his, to subdue and dominate me.
He kisses me again, his waist on mine. My trembling fingers slide down his chest to his pants and, as if moved by an awareness that is not mine, I grab his belt and unbuckle it. My hand touches something hard and by now I'm almost salivating, knowing that he’s hard because of me. Unable to control myself, I wrap my fingers around his cock, over his pants, and press down.
His hands fondle my breasts and then slide down to the inside of my thighs. His fingers brush lightly against the heat between my legs, my moisture transpiring in his hands. Instinctively I push my hips forward against his hand, eager for the touch of his hands and body against my pussy.
He responds brusquely, pushing my body against the desk, his hand pressing hard between my legs.
I pull his belt out and, in a sudden movement, I lower his pants. His hard cock jumps out, elegant and manly, and my whole desire focuses on it. Right now my body’s pulsing with an overwhelming hunger to feel his cock in my hands, in my mouth, inside of me.
I grab his cock with my eager fingers and move my hand up and down, reacting on pure instinct, my body and conscience dissolving into one.
He slides a finger inside me and I moan, my throat producing a sharp sound of pleasure. His finger is deep inside me, and then he slides it out. Again and again, over and over again. I feel two fingers inside me in a continuous movement, a game of in and out, and I struggle hard against the urge to moan as loud as I can. As I do it, I feel a pressure inside of me, acute and chilling, and a shiver of pleasure ruffles my skin.
Without warning he stops and climbs down from the desk. He drops his pants and removes his shoes, throwing them down. How can someone be so handsome? That is the only thought in my mind, my eyes savoring the sight of his naked body. Each sculpted muscle as a perfect verse, his fine tanned skin highlighting them. I've never seen a man so beautiful. But he's not a man ... He's something else, something more impressive.
I get up and get off of the desk; I fall at his feet, on my knees, and let desire guide me. I press my lips on his hard cock, my fingers wrapping it. I open my lips and allow him into my mouth, his flavor the flavor of perfect sin. I let my tongue dance free and fierce around his cock, my lips embracing every inch of his length.
I'm crazy, crazy for him. I feel my pussy completely drenched, its juice dripping down my legs. His hands rest on the top of my head, his strong and confident touch guiding me. Obediently, I sway my head to the rhythm of his touch.
Satisfied, his touch orders me to stand up, and I do so. Between my legs that overwhelming heat keep my whole body in a trance, controlling all of my movements.
Almost unconsciously I know his will and sit up on the desk again, opening my legs. He lunges at me, leaning in, and moves his body to mine. Oh, how I want it, how I want him! My body, my blood, my very soul... everything in me is anxious for him.
And then his legs encase mine, the touch of his body on mine, and I feel him inside me. I sigh, crazy and wild, and doing my best not to scream out. Pleasure bursts into me, shooting down all my senses. It's impossible to describe; his cock fills me perfectly, as if it's shaped for me. But it's more than that; it's something much deeper than a man can ever make me feel. Only someone out of the ordinary, someone supernatural ... can make a woman feel this way.
His body moves in a slow, steady pace, and I take deep breaths with every movement of his thighs. The desire to scream makes my throat go hoarse, and all I allow myself is an almost imperceptible moan. I lace my legs around his torso and pull him toward me, forcing him deep inside my pussy.
As if reading my mind, his
pace increases at that exact moment. I go back to moaning in a whispered tone, the effort clawing at my throat. He leans into me, pulls back his lips and takes his mouth to my neck again. I close my eyes, feeling the very presence of him invading my body. It's as if all of him is in me, making my blood boil and all my senses burst.
I feel the pleasure he feels, I feel my own pleasure. I feel all the muscles of our bodies, tense and taut, singing a song that only we can hear. A dangerous and wild music.
He pulls his body from mine and slips his hand under my ass. With an almost superhuman touch, he forces me to stand; then he makes me turn, my back to him, and forces me to bend over. I place my hands on the desk and do as he wants, jutting my ass back at him.
I feel his hand stroking my pussy, parting its lips, and then he comes back inside me, his cock ravaging me with an uncontrollable rage.
Fast, fast, fast—he moves in an impossible way, his body pressed against mine, his rhythmic movements a frenzied haze. All that I want, he does. He reads my body as if I'm an open book, a solved puzzle.
It continues until my body simply can’t endure more. My mind is exhausted, my muscles tense and pulsating, trembling with pleasure. But he goes on, making me cross a threshold that I don't even know exists.
I close my eyes and surrender to the inevitable. I let go of the world. My muscles tense and the whole universe explodes inside of me, my mind flooded by a tidal wave of pleasure.
I scream, an impossible cry of pleasure. What if the whole floor hears it? Let them enjoy the show, for all I care. My whole body trembles, my face, my arms and my legs. I throw my head back and close my eyes. Again, I feel his teeth digging into my neck and my body explodes once more, an impossible and powerful orgasm shaking every inch of my body and soul.
"I’m going to come," Connor groans, and that unleashes something inside me. Next thing I know, his cock is already out of my pussy and I’m on my knees in front of him; grabbing his thick member, I start stroking him hard. The moment I feel slight spasms running through the length of his shaft, I don’t hesitate, I just open my mouth and dive in, taking his whole cock into my mouth.
Not a second later and he’s gushing his load into my mouth, filling it up to the brim in the blink of an eye. I keep still as that happens, feeling thick strands of cum dripping out of my lips and down my chin, heavy beads of it falling down onto the carpeted floor. Ah, good way to start my career as CEO, staining the carpet.
"Office christened," Connor laughs brightly, sliding his cock out of my mouth and looking down at me. The moment he locks his eyes on mine, I simply swallow all the cum inside my mouth, allowing its saltiness to go down my throat.
"You know," I tell him, grinning as I stand up in front of him, "we should work late nights once in a while."
"More than usual?"
"Yeah … just imagine this whole floor empty. Lots of rooms to christen, don’t you think?" I ask him, and we simply erupt in laughter.
"Now that’s an idea … maybe make a baby on top of the copying machine," he tells me offhandedly, but my heart skips a beat at the mention of the word ‘baby’.
"A baby?" I ask him, my voice more clear than usual.
"A baby," he nods. "Would you like to make one?"
Looking into his eyes, I feel my heart becoming lighter and lighter, a joyous happiness spreading over my soul. A baby? Yeah, I think I’d like that… I think I’d like to be a mother.
And so, I just give him the best answer I can think of.
"I’ll buy the best copying machine available."
Princely Passions
A Royal Romance
By Alexis Angel
Copyright 2017 by Naughty Angels Publishing
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work intended for adults only.
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Derrick
I own the motherfucking world.
Seriously, sometimes it just feels like I am the fucking prince of all fucking creation.
Never more so than when I'm looking out the fucking window of my condo in the fucking clouds high above New York City.
I live in One57. That's right. Right in the center of Manhattan on a street they call Billionaire's Row. You don't get much more fucking materialistic and pretentious than this.
"Your Highness," Pressly, my manservant says to me, coming into the large living room with floor to ceiling windows of the sky. "Your motorcycle is ready. Are you quite able to ride today?"
That's just like Pressly. Always watching out for me. Ever since my mother died when I was thirteen, he's become more like my primary guardian than anything else. He gives off the look and feel of Alfred from Batman, but I know Pressly's had his fun in life. He used to fight for my Kingdom, St. Livy, when we gave forces to the Americans in Vietnam. He lost his wife to cancer - same as my mother, only earlier. I guess we have that going for us. But the number one thing that makes him invaluable is that he doesn't fucking judge me like the rest of the world.
And the world would be fucking judge me right now if they could. I feel like shit. I only got in about fifteen minutes ago - around 5 am. I was at my nightclub in the Meatpacking District, having a fucking orgy with three Russian models in town for one night. Try drinking a bottle of vodka with some Russian birds and then cumming countless times on their eager faces and you'll understand what I mean when I say that I’m fucking tired enough to go mental.
"I've prepared some breakfast for you, Sire," Pressly continues, "It'll help you get some energy for the day ahead."
I turn to look in the mirror. Even for a night of heavy drinking, you’re going to think I’m a cocky fucking asshole when I say I look fucking good. My ice blue eyes are soulfully distant. They can look right into your soul. I have a strong as fuck jawline and a sculpted face. That’s the product of 2000 years of royal fucking blood flowing through me. My chest is cut. My shoulders are fucking broad. I may be a prince, but I look like a King. My arms are the product of over a decade of working out. And my abs. Fuck. Let’s just say that I’ve defined them so well that even if you’re blind, tracing your finger along them will get you fucking hot.
I’ve gotten you fucking hot now too, haven’t I?
Admit it. You’re fucking smiling.
No?
How about now?
Whatever. I’ve never let a bird get me down if she wasn’t feeling me.
Why am I calling girls ‘birds’ you’re wondering? I don’t fucking know. The Brits do. And St. Livy is close enough to them that I guess that shit rubs off.
But enough about me for now. Breakfast sounds like a very good idea after the night I’ve had. I pad over to the breakfast room and sit down at the clear and sleek glass table - a present from my brother in arms, Silas D'Avington. We fought together for St. Penares in Afghanistan - I was in his group and we were trapped in the mountains near Kandahar for close to a week, surviving on our own. Everything I learned about being a fucking badass came from that fucking guy. After Afghanistan, I came to New York, determined not to lose a single day of my life. My goal - simple - indulge in everything that I ever desired. Whether that was liquor, women, or anything else -- it was all fair game. Never really did any drugs though - it would have made it hard to keep my physique. That's right. My fucking body. What drives the birds fucking wild. 6 feet 4 inches of cut, ripped, and sculpted muscles and sinew. A set of abs that was chiseled by fucking Apollo himself. But let’s not forget the raison d'être of this marvelous body - it was all for the 11-inch cock that was swinging between my fucking legs. People call it an organ. I call it a fucking muscle for what I'm able to do with it. For the absolute bliss that I'm able to inflict upon the female population o
f this fine city.
And right now, I'm wolfing down my eggs and bacon, washing it down with some hand squeezed juice and running out the door. The Royal Press Secretary, a woman named Samantha in St. Livy, had booked a spot for me on Today, USA. I fucking hate Samantha. I know she’s fucking my Dad. But I don’t say anything because she’s the mother of Alicia. And Alicia…Fuck, we’ll talk about her later. Anyways, Samantha has me on some fucking morning show for people who slept well enough the night before to be up and at 'em at 6 in the morning. My interview is scheduled for 6 on the dot, and if I ride fast, I'll be there in fifteen minutes.
I bound out of the elevator and out of the steel and glass superstructure that I live in and hop on the motorcycle that the valet had brought out for me. It roars to life and I take off down 7th Avenue heading south to Rockefeller Center.
But first, I have to get through fucking Midtown traffic. Lucky for me, I'm on a bike. Not in a cab or on two feet like the pathetically weak pedestrians.
"Hey buddy, watch where you're going, will ya?" a Bangladeshi cabbie yells at me as I skirt by between two lanes and zip past him. Whatever. I give him the middle finger and dive forward. The light's yellow, but I put my foot to the gas. I'm going to fucking making it.
A fucking MAC truck blares its horns at me, just barely missing me as I zoom down 7th Avenue. I laugh to myself and yell as pedestrians get out of my way. Oh yeah, I may be driving on a sidewalk now.
"Fucking asshole!" some guy in black hoodie yells at me.
I stop the bike. Did I just hear what I think I heard? I'm maybe twenty feet past him but I get off the bike and turn around. I look at him. Wannabe gangsta. Thinks he Jay-fucking-Z.
"What did you say, mate?" I say.
He looks at me. I'm at least a foot fucking taller than this guy. He's got dreads but that's no match for the fucking skull and rose tattoo I have or the rose and thorns adorning both my arms. You can see them because I'm wearing a wife beater. But you can see my fucking muscles too, and right now, I don't mind flexing them.