Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 49814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 249(@200wpm)___ 199(@250wpm)___ 166(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 249(@200wpm)___ 199(@250wpm)___ 166(@300wpm)
Oh, my god. He's insane. Or maybe I am, because nothing he's saying is raising the red flags it should definitely be raising. Instead, my vagina is waving the white flag like she's ready to be pillaged and conquered. Clearly, she and I need to get on the same page.
Solidarity, vagina. Solidarity.
"We're not having sex in the office," I protest feebly. I think we both know I've already lost this argument, though. He definitely knows it, because he just smirks at me, all dark devil and sin incarnate as he takes another step around the side of the desk.
"Then run. Let's see how far you get. But if I catch you…"
I don't think. I bolt like a frightened little rabbit, racing toward the door in my three-inch heels and all my desperation. But at this point, I'm not sure if I'm running to outpace him or simply to be caught. Dammit all, I want to be bent over the desk exactly like he said. I want this man to break my rules and ruin me, just to prove he can.
He slams into me before I even clear the desk, pinning me against the wall with his hard body. A picture crashes to the floor at our feet. He doesn't even spare it a glance as he slams my hands back against the plaster beside my head, his mouth crashing down on mine.
And even though I'm glad he caught me, I still bite his bottom lip. I still fight him. Because I think he loves the fight and the chase as much as I do. I think he loves that I don't bend easily or give him exactly what he wants. He lives for my defiance and disobedience, just as much as I live for the way he itches to mold me into shape.
"Goddamn," he growls, spinning me around. His hand comes down on my ass in a hard slap.
I choke on his name, my head falling back against his shoulder.
He yanks my slacks down to my knees, leaving me trapped in them. Cool air kisses my skin before he smacks my ass again, the sound of flesh on flesh echoing around the room.
A second later, his fingers twist in the thin band of my thong, wrenching it away from my sex.
I sob his name as the lace tears in his grip.
"Open," he demands, his mouth at my ear.
"Fuck off."
He cranes my head back, attacking my throat with punishing bites. I forget that I'm supposed to be resisting him. I forget the tattered and torn thong in his hand. I sob his name.
He slips the wet fabric into my mouth, gagging me with it.
And that should make me mad as hell. Except…it doesn't. He's already spinning me again, pressing against my shoulder to bend me over my desk. His other hand is on my hip, yanking me back to position me right where he wants me.
I knock half my stuff onto the floor when he drops to his knees behind me, burying his face in me from behind. He's loud and messy as he eats me, holding my cheeks apart to allow him to get even closer.
I moan into my makeshift gag, rocking back against him, already desperate. So damn needy.
God, if I had any inhibitions, I think he fucked them out of me last night. All that's left now is want and take and need.
He drags me right to the edge of an orgasm in seconds, but he doesn't let me come. Instead, he leaves me hovering there in that void where everything hurts and doesn't hurt enough.
I hear his zipper inch down. Feel his breath pelting my ear.
"You taste fucking delicious," he rasps. "Better than the best wine we've ever made here, baby."
I moan against my gag again, pushing back against him as one hand curls around my hip to hold me in place. His cock slides through my folds, the only warning I get before he's right there, pushing his way inside in one hard thrust.
I fall forward over the desk, my arms losing the power to hold me up. Bastian doesn't stop. He just growls, a low, possessive sound that vibrates straight to my core, and then starts moving. Every powerful thrust has me flailing against the desk, knocking more stuff onto the floor.
"That's it," he growls. "Go wild for me just like that, baby."
I do. God, I do. I'm practically screaming, not even the gag doing much to muffle the sounds of ecstasy fighting to escape with every wicked thrust. It feels too damn good. He's hitting some place deep inside that feels like heaven every single time. My inner muscles are achy and sore in the most delicious way, and every strike only has that ache bleeding to intense, soul-numbing pleasure.
"Come," he growls. "I know you want to. I feel it."