29. Max

She goes slack-jawed with disbelief at my curveball and I mentally punch the air as I pull my heavy swivel chair away from my desk and take a seat. I make a show of settling into a comfortable position and shoot her a cocky grin.

‘Go on. I'm waiting.'

‘Such a twat,' she mouths, but I can tell by the heat in her glare that she wants this, too.

‘What's your point?' I ask. ‘Get on with it, for God's sake.'

She reaches for the top of her flimsy little sundress. I already know she's not wearing a bra—the weight of her tit, full and heavy through the fabric told me that. I could flip the top down in a second and have both tits untethered, but it's also deeply gratifying to have Darcy expose herself for me.

She doesn't flip it, instead tugging at the sides and dragging it down her body. She shimmies a little as she pulls it over her hips, and then it's falling to the ground in a soft white cloud that she neatly side-steps.

‘What an obedient girl you are,' I drawl in a voice dripping with sarcasm, because we both know no one in their right mind would call Darcy obedient. ‘Is that a thong? Give me a look.'

She smiles and twirls around slowly, her arms floating above her head in a way that recalls that wonderful dance she gave me, hips swaying slightly as she moves. I adore everything about this woman, but most of all I adore how utterly unselfconscious she is in her own skin. Her thong is white and flimsy, intersecting that creamy expanse of hip and arse in a way that makes me want to go over there and tug it in two.

But after I ruined her custom-made bodystocking, she made me promise not to ravage her clothes or I wouldn't get nice things. So I behave myself.

‘Off,' I grunt. ‘Then get over here.'

She spins back around to face me and shoots me a dazzling smile. I swear, I wasn't joking about that flowery headdress bullshit. She looks like a pre-Raphaelite nymph come to life, and I am powerless to resist her siren's song.

The powerlessness of my resistance is now manifesting as a rock-fucking-hard cock, so I lean back in my seat and unbuckle my belt. I need to stick it in some part of her glorious body without delay.

I take in her stupendous curves, those pale tits, the taut little furls of her nipples. I take in the strip of fair hair as she tugs her thong down and sashays towards me. The little beauty.

‘Fuck me,' I groan, freeing my cock from my boxer briefs and fisting it as she comes around the desk to stand in front of me. I rake my gaze hungrily over her body.

It might come as a shock to everyone who knows me that I haven't christened this office yet, but I've had no fucking time. This IPO will be the death of me, and it hasn't even kicked off yet. But in this moment I'm in the office I fought tooth and nail for, behind the desk that stands for every ounce of influence I've won in this company.

In this corporate kingdom, I'm the king, and I both wield the power and bear the burden that goes with that poisoned chalice.

What I say goes.

And what I say is that it would be a crying shame not to bend this auburn-haired beauty over my desk and bury my face in her cunt before I let her loose on my desperate cock.

‘Come here,' I say, slapping the desk with the hand that's not wrapped around the base of my cock. ‘Sit up and let me see.'

She licks her lips and tosses her hair over her shoulders as she plants her very nice bottom on the edge of the desk.

‘Let me see,' I repeat in a voice that brooks no argument, and she obliges, gripping the edge of the desk with her hands as she manoeuvres her legs wide. I keep my eyes on her face, my gaze boring into her as she positions herself. We both want this. Need it. We both crave that sacred exchange where she yields her power and I cradle it in my hands so I can deliver what she truly desires.

Only when she's in place do I let my eyes flicker to that rosy, hallowed spot. I sigh when I see it, because she's fucking perfection.

I scoot my chair forward so my knees are between her legs and allow myself a single upward stroke of my cock. It feels so good. So right. ‘Hold yourself open for me,' I order her in my coldest voice, and she makes the tiniest noise at the back of her throat, as if she's been waiting and hoping for exactly that instruction.

Her long fingers with those gold rings part her delicate outer lips, and I lean right in. In towards that pretty pink cunt, its centre slick for me and its clever little bud already greedy and swollen and pulsing, this most private sanctum of her body betraying that Darcy is indeed mine to use as I like.

I slide a single finger inside her, two knuckles deep, her body sucking me in, her gasp audible. My thumb hovers over her clit. A glance up at her face shows me her head bent forward, lips parted, eyes fixed on the spot where I'm touching her.

‘Legs on the arms,' sweetheart,' I tell her, and she grips the desk harder as she hikes her legs up gracefully, one on each arm of my chair, putting her in the same position she'd be in at a gynaecological exam.

Mmm. There's an idea for a role play.

I pull my fingers out and hold both her ankles in place so I can lean forward and dip my head for a taste. And as my tongue slices through her soaking flesh I observe that this is already the best lunch I've had since I took over this office.