Fueling His Hunger

by Sparrow Beckett

  “I love making you scream,” he admitted. “You’re the only one who’ll get embarrassed about that, except maybe for Serena.”

  He grabbed her wrists and held them together behind her back. She struggled, testing his hold, then quivered when he ran his finger along the back waistband of her thong, and followed its trail down the crevice of her ass. The invasion was met with a strangled sob.

  “You’d better not come, Ophelia. I haven’t even pulled down your panties yet.”

  “I’m not! I’m not even turned on. This is dumb. I need to be working.”

  “If you’re not turned on, why are you so wet?” He ran his finger back and forth between her legs, pushing the fabric of her thong between her labia, exploring and spreading the dampness she was helpless to conceal from him.

  “It’s . . . I spilled some water on my lap earlier,” she tried lamely.

  “Uh-huh. Hot water, right on your panties?” He hooked fingers into the wispy fabric and drew them down to mid thigh. She was so slick it was easy to coax two fingers into her pussy. Her mouth opened in a soundless gasp, and she crumpled the papers beneath her in both hands.

  He tsked. “Ophelia! You’re making a mess, young lady.”

  “It’s your fault,” she grumbled. “I was fine until you strolled in here looking all menacing and tattooed. That shirt is so tight I can see your nipple rings, you know. It’s not fair. And you’re hard. I’m supposed to be working!”

  “So work. I’m not stopping you.”

  ‘You’re holding my arms behind my back.”

  “You don’t need your arms to read. Don’t mind me. You keep working and I’ll just use what’s mine and be on my way.”

  “What’s yours?” she echoed in annoyance, then moaned as he stroked her clit. “You can’t just come in here and use me whenever you feel like it.”

  He chuckled. “Hmm. That’s funny—no one is stopping me. I haven’t heard you safeword, so apparently I can do whatever I want.”

  “I should safeword one of these days just to teach you a lesson.”

  “Oh, like you’d deny yourself the chance to have an orgasm.”

  “Not letting me come this morning was mean! I’ve been frustrated all day,” she complained. “Aren’t you supposed to take care of my needs?”

  “Only if you’re a good girl.” He pulled his fingers away from her pussy and leaned over her, covering her body with his own. “Are you a good girl, Ophelia?”

  “Uh-huh.” Her eyes were glassy as she looked over her shoulder at him.

  He tapped her chin and she opened, sucking her own wetness from his fingers when he pushed them into her waiting mouth. Such a good girl, and so well trained now. He could never decide if he liked her better obedient or disobedient. Both were fun in their own way. Her eyes had closed, and she sucked his fingers more and more suggestively.

  He stood, pulling her up by the arms, then sat in her chair and maneuvered her into a kneeling position in front of him. He’d already mussed her perfect hair, and strands of it straggled out of her now-messy bun, giving her the sexy librarian look. Fuck, she was hot. He unbuttoned his jeans, his dick straining for her impatiently.

  “Suck my cock.”

  She reached for his zipper much faster than she would have if she was truly reluctant.

  “Hungry for cock this afternoon?”

  The expression on her face turned naughty as she tugged his zipper down. She gave him a sultry smile, and was rewarded by his hard dick shifting just enough to escape the now open zipper and smack her on the forehead. Losing her composure, she giggled, then backed up so that the tip of his cock slid down her nose to her mouth.

  “Damn it, gravity,” she grumbled. “I was trying to be sexy.”

  “Shut up and suck, Ophelia.”

  A husky sound of pleasure greeted that order, and without hesitation she set to work trying to please him, running her shy kitten tongue over the length of his cock, teasing, tasting, swirling over the head, then back down to his balls, licking him there too. For a girl who’d initially claimed she didn’t know how to give a blow job, she certainly had made an effort to learn. Too damn well.

  The tickle of her tongue, the sucking—hard then soft, fast then slow, satisfying then teasing. God, she made him crazy. The liquid heat of her mouth claimed every bit of his attention—the velvet softness of her lips, the darting of her tongue, the way she suckled him like it brought her as much pleasure as it brought him. She teased him, not keeping a rhythm or letting him get complacent. He gripped the arms of the office chair, doing his best not to moan or swear or force himself down her throat, ending things fast when he could enjoy the longer version.

  Distraction. He needed one.

  In desperation, he leaned down and unbuttoned her blouse then shoved her bra up, enjoying the bounce of her breasts as he freed them. She tried to gasp with his cock halfway down her throat, and he had to pause and think of building garage-door openers so that he didn’t lose control.

  He closed his hands over her breasts and caught her nipples between his fingers, squeezing them until she pulled her mouth off of him and mewled in discomfort.

  “No!” she whined. “I was being a good girl. I was sucking your cock. Why are you hurting me?”

  A thrill of arousal that had nothing to do with the blow job had him hyper-focused on her expression and her sounds of suffering.

  “I’m hurting you because I like hurting you,” he reminded her. “It turns me on.”

  “You’re horrible,” she said, glaring. Her squirm gave her away.

  “Yes.” He pinched harder, until she was panting. “And you love it.” When he let go she sagged against his thigh, sobbing quietly. He grabbed two elastics off the table.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Shh.”

  He wound the small elastics around her nipples until the tips of her breasts stood out red and peaked.

  “Ow!” she protested. “It hurts!”

  “Yes, I’m sure it does.”

  He rubbed gentle fingers back and forth over the tips of her nipples. After a few moments, she gasped and shied away, but then tried to take his throbbing cock in her mouth again.

  “No. Up.” He guided her to her feet again, steadying her as she wobbled on her sexy high heels. Her panties had slid down her legs and were now around her ankles. Being a gentleman, he helped her step out of them and put them in his jacket pocket.

  “Thief.”

  “No, computer tech,” he corrected, with a wink.

  “Mm-hmm.” She shifted, pressing her thighs together, then leaned forward over the boardroom table again, stretching out like a cat in a patch of sun.

  “Are you trying to tell me something?”

  “Yes.” She spread her legs, and the height of her heels displayed her ass at the most enticing of angles.

  “And what’s that?” He palmed her ass, parting it and inspecting her without touching her the way she wanted. The way he wanted to so bad he was almost shaking with frustration, even though he’d just had her a few hours before.

  “Please fuck me, Luke?” She looked back at him over her shoulder and bit her lip.

  Aw hell. She was irresistible, and she damn well knew it.

  By the time he’d lined himself up with her pussy, she was whimpering impatiently. He paused just as the tip of his cock came into contact with her slick heat.

  “I thought you said you were too busy for this,” he reminded her. “You’re right. Maybe I should go.” He backed up and tucked his cock back into his jeans, then zipped them.

  “What? No!” She whirled on him, tottering on her heels and grabbing onto the table to steady herself. “I was wrong.”

  He glanced at the clock. “It’s been a half hour. We have what—fifteen minutes before you need to clean up and compose yourself? That’s not
enough time. We’ll stop now and finish this another time.”

  “But . . .” Her face fell in disappointment. She looked like she might even cry. “But I need you.”

  “Later, sweetheart.” He crouched down and picked up her skirt. His mouth passed so close to her naked pussy, he had to seriously fight the urge to push her up on the table and taste her. When he handed the skirt to her, she took it, but her bottom lip was trembling. He rubbed his thumb across her sexy mouth. “You can have some cock later.”

  “When?” she asked, her tone almost hysterical.

  “Later.”

  “After the meeting?”

  “No,” he said regretfully. “I have a meeting with Lurch later.”

  “Tonight?” Her voice had risen, and she tangled her hand in the hem of his T-shirt, as though she could keep him from leaving. With her hair mussed, blouse hanging open, bra pushed up, and then bare from there down to her red heels, she was a wet fucking dream.

  “No, I’m working tonight.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” she asked faintly. “But . . .” She groaned and grabbed his hand, trying to coax him into touching her, but he didn’t allow it. “But Luke, I can’t wait until tomorrow.”

  Standing on her toes, she brushed her tortured nipples against his shirt, then shuddered. There’d been a time where she never would have done such a thing, but she was getting more brazen in telling him what she needed. It didn’t mean she’d necessarily get it, but he loved that she trusted him enough to ask with her body and with her pretty mouth.

  “Sure you can.”

  “No, please.” She dropped to her knees, and for a moment he thought she’d go for his zipper again, but she only knelt submissively and looked up at him with sweet puppy-dog eyes. “Please, Luke,” she begged, taking his hand and kissing his palm.

  He drew a shaking breath. No woman had ever gone to her knees for him without an order. His dominance tended to be playful and relatively undemanding, but this? Ophelia going submissively to her knees without prompting, and then begging him for sex, both turned him on and blew his mind. It gave him an even bigger rush than her submitting to commands did. He could see this feeling becoming seriously addictive.

  At his feet, Ophelia seemed so tiny and fragile. Such a sweet little piece of fluff, and yet so intelligent and surprisingly tough. She was so, so perfect.

  He twined fingers in her hair and gave it a tug, which made her sigh with pleasure—as though any attention he deigned to give her was appreciated.

  Fuck. By the time he left her, he was going to have to chill out before his meeting. How did hard-core, full-time dominants handle this constant rush of testosterone? He felt like he could bench press a Hummer.

  He should refuse and make her wait, but he just couldn’t. Her gaze was full of guileless trust and adoration, and it made him want to protect more than punish. She made him want to spoil her with attention and give her what she needed. What he needed from her she gave without him having to ask. The whole D/s dynamic they were developing was very . . . satisfying to him. He was starting to fantasize about buying her a pretty collar, but would that freak her out?

  When he reached down and tugged the elastics off her nipples, she moaned as if so deeply in need the pain didn’t register as unpleasant. He couldn’t walk away from her when she was like this.

  “Fine.” He sighed like she was asking a lot of him. “Face down on the table and show me how soaked your little pussy is. There’s no more time for foreplay, so if you’re not ready for me this is going to be uncomfortable.”

  She was in position, belly down on the table before he was finished speaking—her ass angled upward and her legs spread wide. It was easy to see she was very, very ready.

  Without preamble, he opened his jeans and thrust his cock into her with one savage movement. She cried out in pleasure, and he clapped his hand over her mouth, plunging into her hard and rough. From behind his hand, her muffled screams grew louder, and he tugged her panties from her pocket and stuffed them into her mouth, then covered it with his hand again.

  He glanced at the clock. Fuck. Ten minutes until her next meeting. He hammered into her, then slid his hand down the silky skin of her belly to her hot pussy. Her clit was rock hard and easy to find, and he slapped it. From her piercing squeal, he got the impression she approved. One slap. Another.

  She hiccupped, gagged, then screamed into his hand, writhing beneath him, shoving back at him with her sexy ass, her body rhythmically gripping his cock, making his eyes shut and roll behind his lids. The ecstasy she gave him was almost pain, his balls roiling, heavy and aching, desperate for release.

  She squirmed under him, begging for more with short, unintelligible bursts of sound, coming and seeming helpless to stop the torrent of her orgasm. Her hands scrabbled for leverage and she pushed back to meet his driving rhythm, her breaths expelled from her nose every time his cock bottomed out.

  As his orgasm hit, his hips locked, and for a long, blessed moment he was helpless to move, with Ophelia wriggling, whining, impaled on his cock, trying to coax him into motion again. Pleasure surged through him as his body released into her, claiming her with hot jets of come she’d drawn from his suffering balls. When the worst of his lust had passed, his legs wobbled and he collapsed on top of her for a moment before remembering they had to hurry.

  Four minutes until her meeting started.

  Panting, he withdrew, a rush of come following his retreat. He tugged her panties from her mouth, and she lay there stunned while he cleaned her legs with the damp fabric.

  “Come on, baby.” He chuckled, then tried to pull her to her feet, but she refused to get up. “You need to get cleaned up. People will be trying to get in here any minute now.”

  She stirred feebly. Tugging his jeans up, he winced. He was so messy now he needed a shower. He tucked her sodden panties into his jeans pocket. She gazed back at him in starry-eyed confusion, hair mussed and shell-shocked. Her lips were swollen, and her face was still blotchy and pink. She was so damned beautiful.

  Unable to resist, he grabbed the black Sharpie marker off her now-strewn files, and he uncapped it. With a flourish, he wrote on one of her perfect ass cheeks before he helped her step into her skirt and then tugged it up, then zipped it.

  “Pull yourself together, Ophelia,” he admonished. He sat her in her chair, fixed her bra and buttoned her blouse, then took down her hair and finger combed it. When he checked her expression, she was not only dazed, but her eyeliner was smudged. He rubbed at it, cleaning her up as well as he could without water and another fifteen minutes.

  She was tousled and sexy, her lips red, and maybe she was smelling faintly of come, but she was presentable.

  “Hello?” He crouched in front of her. “Are you ready to think with your brain instead of your pussy?” When he bit his lip and held back a laugh, she glared.

  “What did you write on me?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know? I guess you can check later.”

  Quickly, he kissed her, then moved to the door and unlocked it. He went back across the room and slipped out into the blast furnace air of the balcony, then went over the railing and dropped down onto the lawn below. She came out onto the balcony and looked down at him, laughing.

  “You could have gone through the door, dork,” she whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

  “This is more romantic, don’t you think?” He winked at her. “Don’t forget to read your ass later.”

  She rolled her eyes and zinged an elastic at him. It bounced harmlessly off his shoulder, but he raised a brow at her anyway. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth in consternation.

  “Don’t forget,” he prompted.

  “I won’t.”

  He made his way around to the front of the building, and caught a confused glance from the guard a
t the front door.

  As he got into his car, he wondered how pissed she’d be when she found his marriage proposal written on her sweet little ass.

  Epilogue

  Luck was on their side that sunny August day. Yesterday it was damn hot in the valley between the Rocky Mountains, but today, a soft wind from the west kept the temperature perfectly comfortable.

  The wedding wasn’t anything as spectacular as Addison’s was shaping up to be, with the mermaid fountain and free-range peacocks—but it was elegant in its simplicity.

  “You look beautiful!” Priya gushed as Ophelia waited on the porch of Lakeview Lodge for the ceremony to begin. The same place she and Luke had stayed in on their road trip.

  The ceremony would take place lakeside just behind her father’s lodge. He would have loved it.

  They’d flown their close friends and family to the park and blocked off most of the lodge for the days before and after the wedding. Though she hadn’t been chased by photographers in months, she still felt compelled to keep the wedding small and private.

  Chloe moved behind her and straightened the back of Ophelia’s gown while Priya fussed with her hair. She wore it in long curls with a crown of flowers on top. Her dress had a simple Empire waist that flowed gently with her figure. Her mom might have wanted a princess dress with a tiara and the whole giant cliché, but she’d been polite enough not to say so.

  In fact, their relationship had improved now that Ophelia had asserted herself. Her mom had surprisingly backed off and was even supportive now and then. She spotted her in the distance, speaking with the officiant, probably bossing him around.

  And Luke was there too, digging his toe into the gravel beach. He looked as nervous as she felt, which made her smile. She couldn’t wait to be married to that man.

  Fox and Atlas made their way up the porch stairs, wearing matching suits. Atlas smiled and Fox whistled.

  “Do I look okay?” she asked shakily.

  “Gorgeous.” Fox kissed her cheek.

  “Luke is a lucky man,” Atlas agreed. “You ready?”