30. Darcy

Max eating me in his office in the middle of the day is hotter than hell. I'm naked and trussed up on his Big Dick desk for him, legs spread and pussy on display while he's impeccably suited, and the power imbalance is so fucking skewed and such a turn on I can hardly bear it.

I plant my palms behind me and lean my weight back, giving him even more access. The appraising glance he gives me as he looks up at my naked body tells me he approves. I have a feeling, though, that the way he's tending to my pussy isn't for me. The licks, the sucks—they're decadent and ravenous and perfect, but they're taking licks and taking sucks.

Knowing he's using me for his own pleasure, his own reward, has arousal coursing through me even more than his skilful ministrations. I'm the entertaining little intermission in an otherwise busy day of wheeling and dealing and power playing and whatever other high-finance stuff he does, and I love it. I love serving him.

On which note, I want to service him. I want to be naked under that desk, sucking him off.

‘I want a turn,' I tell him as articulately I can given the astonishing pleasure he's unleashing on my body.

He bestows one long lick upon me, from my entrance to my clit, and then glances up, his gorgeous face bright with desire. ‘Fuck, yeah,' he says roughly. ‘Get down here and earn the rest.'

He releases my ankles and helps me drop my feet to the floor, and then I'm clambering down, my knees hitting that velvety carpet. From this position, he cuts an even more imposing figure. His poor cock is still standing to attention, long and thick and so hard the skin around it is stretched satin-smooth. There's precum beading temptingly at the tip, but when I look up at him, he's smirking like he's not a man driven to the precipice by sexual frustration. He wraps his fingers around the edge of the armrests and shifts his arse—and dick—forward, leaning back as if he's settling in for a nice rest.

‘You look even better at my feet like that,' he tells me from his lofty, Big Dick position. ‘Show me what a good little whore you are, sucking me under my desk. If someone came in, they wouldn't even know you were here, would they?'

‘No,' I say, launching myself forward. His words are a lit match to the petrol trail of desire he's laid. God knows, no one in their right mind would call me submissive, so why the fucking hell does the idea of being the good little whore, tucked away like this and existing solely for this powerful man's needs, make my primed, swollen pussy throb even harder?

I wrap my fingers around the base of his cock. I can't get to his balls like this with just his flies undone, so I use my other hand to grip the taut muscle of his thigh as I flick my tongue over the precum. It's salty and unctuous and just for me. He shudders and makes a noise that's half laugh, half groan, like even the tip of my tongue is too much to bear.

I know how you feel, mister.

It's time to go for it. I let myself lick and lave, swirling my tongue around the smooth heat of his crown, smearing the precum as I go. He smells clean and aroused and masculine, and I fucking love it. I lick him kind of like I dance: instinctively, naturally, with lavish sweeps of my tongue and sensual strokes of my lips.

I tease his frenulum, and he moans loudly. I lick along the big vein running down the underside of his dick, and he shudders. He's unabashed, losing himself in his own pleasure. And when I take as much of him as I can in my mouth, his entire body tenses beneath me and he claws at my hair, fisting handfuls of it. I expect him to grab my jaw and demand to set the pace as he fucks my mouth, but when I'm mid-deep-throat he hauls me off him and kisses me greedily, his tongue plundering my mouth with hungry strokes.

‘You're too good,' he mutters against my lips when he comes up for air. ‘I need to fuck you.'

And, with that, he spins me around and, with a decisive hand between my shoulder blades, hinges me forward until I'm bent over the desk, arms outstretched. He holds me in place like that, my pussy exposed and screaming, the antique dark-green leather surface cool against my cheek and far too smooth against my poor, needy nipples, as he rummages in a drawer. Then there's the telltale rip of foil and he removes his hand while he busies himself with the condom.

The rough dig of his fingertips into my left hip is the only warning I get before he's notching his tip at my entrance and shoving in, hard. It's rougher than I expected, and his is not the easiest dick to accommodate, but I'm so primed, so wet, that I take him. And then he's in, his hand going back to splay between my shoulder blades as he prepares to move.

It's indescribable, the sheer, overwhelming completeness that wipes every thought from my mind except how to survive the onslaught and how badly I need to come. His thighs are flush against mine, the wool of his half-undone trousers bunching against my skin. He withdraws slowly, and I swear I feel every single millimetre as he drags himself against my inner walls.

The fingers on my hip caress my arse as the hand on my back entangles itself in my hair. ‘Fuck me,' he says softly. ‘I don't even know which way I like you best. Straddling my chair; crouching under my desk; bent over my desk with all your holes on display for me… So. Fucking. Beautiful.'

As he utters the last word, he drives forward, burying himself up to the hilt inside me, slamming my hips into the jutting edge of the desk and knocking the breath right out of my lungs. I cry out because Jesus Christ it's perfect, and I need him to do this to me over and over and over, exactly like that, until he's forced every last morsel of frustration and need out of me.

‘You want it rough, sweetheart?' he asks, satisfaction lancing through his tone.

‘Yes,' I whimper, because I need it like this from him. I need him to use me and fuck me and unleash himself on me, and I'm willing to sport a straight line of bruises from hip to hip for the rest of the week if it means I can come the way I want so badly.

He sucks a harsh breath in through his teeth. ‘Good. Hang on.'

His body is shaking against mine, such is the effort of holding himself off, but he stays bottomed out in me for a moment as he wedges his hands between me and the desk, and I push down with my palms and arch a little to give him the space he needs. He cups my boobs in both hands, squeezing and weighing before he pinches my nipples so viciously I practically come right here and now.

‘Oh my God.' He can't get any deeper inside me, but that doesn't stop my hips from slamming back against him of their own accord.

‘Needy little nipples,' he grits out. ‘Needy, needy nipples from a needy little whore. God, I wish I had a roomful of guys right now so they could touch every perfect inch of you while I pound you into fucking oblivion.'

He twists them hard again, as if to underscore his point, before releasing them, and I collapse back across the desk. In this bright, shining moment of hyper-arousal, I wish everything he says could be true. God knows, I'd take it all. I'd take every lick and suck and touch from every single guy he put in front of me. I'd be the greediest girl in the world, lapping it up while a roomful of men wound me so high they could shoot me through the stratosphere.

‘I want that,' I manage as he pulls out of me.

‘You'll get it,' he promises darkly before he grabs a fistful of my hair so hard I yelp and really lets me have it.