I walked into his study with a cup of coffee, the room dimly lit by the golden glow of the setting sun. He sat in his leather chair, gaze fixed out the window, lost in thought. But the moment he heard my footsteps, he turned slightly, one strong hand reaching out to pull me gently—but firmly—onto his lap.
My breath caught as my body landed softly against his. His chest was warm against my back, his presence overwhelming, consuming. I tried to offer him the coffee, but he didn't even glance at it. His voice, low and commanding, echoed against my skin.
"Eyes on me."
I turned to face him, our faces just inches apart, and his eyes burned into mine with something primal, something raw.
His hand slid slowly up my thigh, lifting my skirt with deliberate patience, and I trembled. My breath hitched as his fingers brushed the thin fabric between my legs, and when they dipped beneath, a quiet gasp escaped my lips before I could stop it.
"Say my name," he murmured.
I whispered, "Master."
His lips curved in a dark smile. "Good girl."
With excruciating slowness, he began to stroke me, circling his fingers, teasing, until I was writhing softly in his lap, clutching his shoulders. When he finally pushed two fingers inside me, I gasped—a sharp sound that was quickly muffled as he covered my mouth with his palm.
"Quiet," he said, his tone low and serious. "You don't want anyone to hear, do you?"
His fingers moved in and out, deep and sure, until I shattered around them—my body tightening, breath ragged. When he withdrew, his fingers glistened with my release. He held them up between us and slowly, unhurriedly, licked them clean, never breaking eye contact. Then he kissed me—possessive, hungry.
"Stand up," he ordered, and I obeyed.
He loosened his belt, his pants already tight from the obvious bulge beneath. With one look, he said, "On your knees."
I sank to the floor, my hands wrapping around him. I looked up at him as I began to stroke—slow, then faster—until he groaned, his hand tangled in my hair, guiding me, controlling me.
"Eyes on me," he growled.
And I didn't dare look away.
My lips parted around him, and the weight of him filled my mouth, stretching my limits. He was thick, hard, pulsing with heat. I tried to take more, pushing past the ache, but he was too big. Still, I didn't stop. I looked up, eyes locked on his, and began moving—slow, then deeper, faster. His hand gripped the back of my head, guiding my rhythm, controlling every motion of my mouth.
"Just like that," he murmured, voice strained with pleasure. "Good girl… don't stop."
The air around us felt electric, heavy with need. My throat ached, my lips were swollen, but the way he moaned—dark and guttural—only made me want to push further, to please him more. Every time I tried to pull away for breath, he pulled me back in, harder. He wanted control, and I gave it to him—completely.
Then, suddenly, he pulled away. I looked up, confused, panting.
"Wipe your mouth," he commanded. "Then climb on me."
I swallowed hard, heart racing. My thighs trembled as I straddled him, the muscles in his arms flexing as he grabbed my hips. I felt his part press against me—hard, hot, eager—and the anticipation made my whole body ache.
"Take me in," he said, his voice low and dangerous.
I sank down, slowly, inch by inch, my breath catching as he stretched me. My hands clutched his shoulders for balance, and for a second, I couldn't even breathe—he filled me completely, deeply.
But he didn't give me time to adjust. His grip tightened, and with a sharp thrust, he pushed himself all the way in. I gasped, digging my nails into his skin. He held me there, buried deep, letting me feel the full intensity of him.
Then he started moving.
His pace was brutal, relentless—his hips driving up into me again and again. My body responded instinctively, meeting his rhythm, chasing another high I knew only he could give. His hand moved to my throat, not choking, just claiming. Our bodies slapped together in raw, rhythmic motion. The chair creaked beneath us, but he didn't care. I didn't care.
I was already close again, trembling, falling apart in his arms. But he wasn't done. He was insatiable. He wanted to take everything I had and more.
And I gave it.
My legs gave out the moment he stopped moving, and I collapsed against his chest, breathless and trembling. My heartbeat pounded against my ribs, erratic, raw. He didn't let go. One arm wrapped tightly around my waist, holding me in place, keeping me full with him still inside me.
I swallowed hard,
He finally pulled out, slowly, deliberately, as if to remind me of everything he'd just claimed. I shivered, both from the loss of him and the intensity of his gaze. He looked at me like he was carving my soul into memory.
I stood on shaky legs, trying to find my balance—physically, emotionally. But before I could step away, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me back into his lap.
"We're not done," he murmured, come tonight over my bedroom. I'll be waiting and don't be late or else you will be punished hard than ever!
My throat tightened, heat pooling between my thighs all over again. But I couldn't give in. Not fully. Not yet. Because I knew—if I gave him everything, there'd be no coming back.
And maybe… I didn't want to come back.