That’s another lie she’s told herself.
I scoff. “You like being bad.” It’s not a question, but it confuses her, and I know that from the frown that’s drawn on her face now.
I ignore the look and trail my eyes down her neck, over her collarbone, taking in the heart-shaped birthmark at the edge of her left shoulder. Arloe flinches when I kiss her there, but her body settles almost immediately. Like I said, she’s a liar.
“What are we going to do about you disobeying me?” I ask, my tone low and harsh on its way out.
I finally touch her leg and goosebumps form along the skin of her thigh. A soft gasp falls off her tongue as I hook my finger beneath the slit that stops at her hip bone before forcing the fabric away to dig my fingertips into her flesh, kneading her aggressively.
She rocks into me, her pelvis up against mine, and I know I’m right. My rings tighten around my knuckles when I squeeze the side of her ass again, but I ignore them biting into me. I inch up her side, taking her panty line in my touch and yank, ripping them from her body in one motion.
With my knee, I spread her legs, and something flashes in her eyes—finally the fear she claims has reared its ugly head. And when I touch her sex, we both groan, deep and guttural.
I cup her pussy and rub my thumb over her clit. Arloe bucks, her legs attempting to close around me. I force them apart again, still using my legs to keep her open for me.
I stroke her bud a second time, and it’s almost like she expects it. I see the fist she makes from the corner of my eye, realizing she’s tensing up. She doesn’t want to let herself go, but something tells me she also doesn’t want me to stop. She wants this, even if she’s pretending as if being here is all because I say so.
Over and over, I rub her clit, slow, being sure to take my time, and with each stroke it grows harder against my touch. And with every passing second her breathing increases, but she’s still fighting, still holding on—still defying me.
“You’re mine, Arloe,” I grunt out, this time petting her pussy harder than before.
Her breathing grows shaky, and her thighs clench again, but still, she’s refusing to let go. But she will, it’s right there, the crack that’ll break the dam inside her, it’s already leaking, and soon it’ll flood over. And when it does, I’ll live in it. I’ll writhe, knowing I did it to her.
“You do what I say,” I add, and continue to please her.
Now I rub circles around her pearl, and her lips part for me. Her eyes are hooded slits, and her hips seem to move on their own. But she’s still not where I want her, she’s still fighting me.
We lock eyes almost like she’s silently challenging me, trying to show me how strong she is. But, I’ll get my way, I always do. And furthermore, I have to.
“You don’t leave without me.”
I slide a finger into her cunt, and she gasps while her wetness surrounds me. I groan, a surge of regret hitting me because it’s not my dick that is coated with her arousal.
“And you don’t get jealous,” I add and thrust into her pussy again, still slow and torturous.
Finally, I release my hold on her hair, using my free hand to move her dress out of the way. I want to see her pussy. It’s pink and her lips are swollen. My dick strains against my zipper. She’s clean shaven, and I can’t help wondering if she did this for me, or if it’s just a part of her normal routine.
Arloe balances herself with her palms on the desk, her eyes closing for the first time. That’s my girl, let it go, I think to myself and increase my efforts, angling my wrist so I hit her spot just right.
“And, amore,” I add through gritted teeth. “Look at me,” I demand, and she doesn’t, so I pump my fingers harder and grab her by the hair.
She meets my gaze. There’s water pooling in her eyes, probably a combination of her building orgasm and her desire to keep from giving in to me.
“When I tell you to wear your fucking hair up, I expect you obey me.”
I slam my digits into her again, bringing a moan from her lips. And in that instant she shatters, wide-open and beautiful. She shuts her eyes, and she grips me, holding on to the arm that’s hooked around her neck, bracing herself for the rapture building in her core. I feel it, her orgasm hanging in the balance, preparing to rip through her.
But I slow my pace, which causes her to peer up at me, a single tear trailing her cheek and falling onto her chest. I lean forward, using my tongue to lick it up, and her other arm finds its place on my shoulder, holding me close. I crane my neck to watch her, not caring about the tightness forming through my back from being hunched like this. All that matters is her and the grip her pussy makes on my fingers.
I hook my fingers, and she humps forward, riding my hand, and I know I found her G-spot. Everything around us fades into the background, leaving only the sound of her cries against the humming bass from the music. I lose myself in her, drowning out everything else in my mind, only thoughts of her.
The way she feels.
The smell of her.
The tremor of her bottom lip.
“I want you to come for me, Arloe,” I mutter in her ear. “Can you do that?”
She nods with her palms on the desk again, and I lean back to look at her.
My wrist moves faster, and her pussy cries out for me. The sound of her wetness fills the air as she contracts her muscles and falls back on the hard surface.
“Ah, fuck,” she lets out.
It’s a weak plea, but flows through me nonetheless.
“That’s my girl. Let me hear you.”
I continue fucking her with my fingers, a groan trapping itself in my throat.
“I’m—” She pauses to breathe, a long harsh inhale to brace herself. “You’re—you’re going to make me ruin this dress.”
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “You think I give a fuck about this dress? Now come, gorgeous, and call my name when you do.”
And she does.
“E—Easton,” she bellows out around the explosion that is her climax.
Her back arching, rising off the cold desk as she twists her head from side to side. Her legs tighten around my wrist, locking me between her thighs, and I push them back open so I can see her pussy convulse. She doesn’t fight me.
She continues to come—long, hard, and violently. And when she’s done, when I’m certain I’ve wrung her dry, I pull out of her soaked cunt. Pride fills my chest, and satisfaction is evident in my grin.
Arloe lies there, sated and spent until she can breathe again. I step back, picking up her torn panties from the floor, and use them to wipe her arousal from my rings. I yank the dark-green pocket square from my breast pocket and replace it with her underwear.
I offer her a hand, but she ignores it as she lifts herself and scoots off the desk. My ears take in the music again and the voices from patrons outside the door. She notices it, too, and I can see the slight panic in her eyes when she darts them to the door, probably worried they heard us.
I huff with a smirk and adjust the sleeves of my tux. “Now, we have an event to finish.”
Arloe shimmies her dress in place and looks around until her sight lands on an object on the desk. I notice the sharp letter opener sticking out from the pen holder and my back stiffens.
Don’t be stupid, amore, I think, and grip the handle of the gun tucked into my pants at my back.