I thought it wasn’t a good idea quite yet to remind him that he'd engaged with me transactionally as well. "Then why their country house? We could go someplace else."
"Because it's beautiful, even in the winter. Especially in the winter. I want to share it with you.”
Almost as an afterthought, he said, “And I want them to meet you. Even though they don't deserve to know you."
Silently, I ran my hand flat along the surface I had just cleared on the desk, overwhelmed by the things he’d just said. When I found my voice again, I agreed. "I'd like to go there. Please. I'd like to meet them."
"We’re driving out at four sharp on Friday. Have everything you need here and ready by then. We'll take a driver so we can even work on the ride up. I can help you with anything you're behind on. I should have all my operations projections in place before we leave."
"All that sounds really fucking fantastic."
He was staring at me, hard and deep, the way he did when he was unearthing me, bringing what was buried inside me to the surface.
Also the way he looked at me when he was scheming. When he wanted to test my boundaries. When he wanted to play.
I was afraid to ask. "What?"
"Take off your panties."
"What?" I'd heard him, I just didn't know if he was teasing or not.
"It's after nine. You and I are the last people here. Take off your panties."
What was I thinking? He was never just teasing.
"Why?" I wasn’t disagreeing. But I wanted to know.
"I'm going to fuck you on Weston's desk."
Oh God.
Now I needed to take off my panties because they were drenched. Why did that turn me on so fucking much? Because it was someone else's property? Because it was my boss’s desk? Because I could sense the primitive alpha reasoning behind Donovan's desire to do it?
"There are probably cameras," I said, scanning the most likely spots for their location.
"I know there are cameras. They are visual only. Weston will be able to see everything we do if he decides to look through the security footage. Don't tell me that doesn't turn you on, because we both know it does."
Yep. That sure did.
My breath shuddered as I drew it in. The reality was Weston would have no reason to look at the footage. I'd been there for three months and we’d never looked at security footage. In all my years at Now, Inc. we’d never once looked at the cameras. They were always there, “just in case.” “Just in case” never happened.
But. There was always the possibility that Weston could.
I was already going to do it. I was already slipping on my shoes, standing up, coming around the desk to Donovan.
“What about you? Are you into this because the voyeurism turns you on as well, or because you want to show Weston I’m yours?" I pulled the skirt of my dress up so that my panties were visible and turned, as if making a show of it for the cameras. Then I tugged them down my legs seductively, maneuvered them over my heels and handed them to Donovan.
His expression said he was pleased with my performance, if not also a bit surprised. He took the panties I offered him, sniffed them, and tucked them in his front suit pocket. “Both,” he answered. "Definitely both."
He pulled me to him and kissed me, sucking on my tongue, before swiftly turning me around and bending me over the desk. The skirt I was wearing was full and easy to gather. Donovan pulled it up around my waist so that my pussy and backside were on display.
I felt vulnerable and exposed—so very exposed—knowing that there were cameras in the room. Knowing that Weston could see any of this one day. Even certain that he would never watch, I wasn't sure I would do this if it was anybody but Weston. He had seen me naked before. He wasn’t seeing anything new.
But what about Donovan? How did he feel about exposing me to another man? Was he not bothered by the idea that Weston, specifically, might see me?
I was both tormented and turned on by that strange juxtaposition of ideas—Donovan wanting to keep me to himself and also owning me so completely that it was his prerogative if he wanted to show me off.
It turned out he had his own conflicting desires.
He removed his jacket, undid the cufflinks at his wrists, and put them in his pocket. After he pushed up the sleeves of his shirt, he glided his palm along my ass. "All of this, Sabrina, belongs to me," he said, definitively. "No one gets to touch your ass but me." He moved his fingers to my pussy and dipped inside. "No one gets to touch your pussy but me. No one gets to see any of this but me."
I moaned as he stroked in and out of my hole. He hadn't even touched my clit, but I was so aroused, I didn't need it.
"Do you understand? This, right now, in front of these cameras, is on my terms. And it's the last time Weston has a chance of ever seeing you like this. Tell me you understand, Sabrina."
"I understand." Two words and they were so hard to get out while he was massaging that spot inside me.
But I understood. I got it. Donovan was claiming me, and I had absolutely zero problem with it.
Suddenly, his hand was gone. Then it was back, landing on my behind with a crisp smack.
I jumped with a yelp but Donovan was already smoothing away the ache.
“That was for teasing me, Sabrina. For flirting with Weston in front of me that night at the restaurant."
Uh, what?
He spanked me again, this time on my other cheek, harder. I whimpered as he chased the pain with a circular massage of his palm. "This is for dancing with him at his wedding when you should've been in my arms."
He was punishing me. Punishing me for being with Weston.
Fuck. That was hot.
I pressed my thighs together as though that could ease the buzz between them, as though it could stop the liquid dripping from my cunt.
Another smack and my orgasm was already building. "That was for accepting the job when he offered it to you, when I worked so hard to provide you with a nice career in Los Angeles." His tone was more strained, more ragged with each new strike.
The next hit came closer in spacing, with barely enough time to achieve relief from the last. "This is for the doe eyes you gave him every day for half a semester at Harvard. And this one is for thinking even for one minute that he could ever give you anything you needed."
That blow was the worst, the pain bringing tears to my eyes, but it wasn't any worse than hearing the pain in Donovan's voice, pain he’d carried for years. Pain I'd never known about, that he'd never truly blamed me for, and if I could in this small way feel it for him, then I would take a hundred more blows.
But that wasn't what he had in mind for me.
"And this," he said as I heard his belt being worked open, his zipper being drawn down. "This is for spending a weekend in his bed. You were never his to give him what you let him take."
I reached across the desk and held onto the opposite edge, attempting to prepare for Donovan's thrust.
Still, he caught me off guard, slamming into me with such force that it felt like he was hitting the very end of me, like he’d found every single part of me there was to know, every last secret, every last hidden sin, and had driven it out of me with his entry.
He didn't let up, pounding into me with quick, frenzied, punishing strokes, and I knew he was chasing his own demons, and that this fuck was maybe more for him than any other time I'd spread my legs.