Hot wet pain from teeth on her throat
Hamilton yanked Keri flush against the hard wall of his chest, teeth sinking deep into the side of her throat. Hot wet pain flared white behind her eyes and her gasp choked itself off against the palm he clamped over her mouth before it could even form a shape. Just beyond the frosted glass the board voices droned on, sharp and clipped, a fist cracking the table. The door rattled once on its frame. She flinched at the sound, heart slamming so hard she thought it might be audible through the wood, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t even pause. His mouth just moved lower, teeth scraping, and some traitor part of her arched into it instead of away.
His free hand ripped her blouse open. Buttons skittered across the carpet, tiny and loud in her ringing ears. He shoved the fabric aside and bit again, sucking a dark mark into the soft give of her breast, and she bucked, a whimper building in her throat that never made it past his hand. His fingers shoved under her skirt and found her already soaked, and she wanted to die of that, wanted to disappear into the floor at how wet she already was for a man who terrified her twenty minutes ago in a meeting. Two thick fingers speared into her without warning. Her knees buckled. Wet obscene sounds filled the small dead space between their bodies, and she heard herself trying to say something, no or please or his name, and none of it survived the vault of his palm. He fucked those fingers into her hard, curling, dragging her open, and she bit down on the meat of his hand to keep from screaming.
He dropped to his knees like something unleashed rather than lowered, and his hand finally tore away from her mouth, needing it now to yank her thighs apart. Mouth crushing against her, tongue shoving deep, greedy, loud. She grabbed the edge of the credenza behind her to stay upright, vision already swimming, the boardroom voices and the wet suction of his mouth blurring into one continuous roar in her skull. He licked and sucked and caught her clit between his teeth until her hips rocked helplessly into his face, chasing something she should not have wanted this badly, not here, not with him. Her hands fisted in his hair, yanking without meaning to, and he growled into her, a sound she felt more than heard, vibrating up through her thighs. Juice smeared his chin. He lapped it up like it belonged to him. Two fingers shoved back inside while he sucked, stretching her, and with his hand no longer sealing her mouth, every slick sound she made now carried, thin and desperate, until she clamped her own lips shut, biting down until she tasted copper, staring at the top of his head, thinking dimly, deliriously, that she had absolutely no idea what was happening behind his eyes. Whether this was hunger or ownership or something colder. She couldn’t read him. She never could.
Then his mouth was gone. The loss of it hit her like cold air after a fever, a full-body lurch of absence that left her open and empty and confused for half a second before he surged upright, tearing at his own belt, popping the button of his fly with a violence that made the fabric snap. His hands closed over her shoulders and pressed down, and her knees hit the carpet hard enough to sting. He came down with her, still facing her, dropping to his own knees before her so they knelt level, face to face, close enough that she felt him there before she saw him — hot, blood-thick, leaking against her stomach for one suspended second before he hauled her up higher against him.
Face to face. Both of them upright on their knees, skirt bunched at her waist, his cock out and heavy and dragging a wet line down her stomach. He gripped her hips and yanked her forward until her soaked slit ground straight down the underside of him, and the first drag of it punched a broken sound out of her that he swallowed instantly with his mouth. He forced her to ride the length of him like that, grinding her clit raw against the ridge of him, her arms locking around his neck because their knees were matched height now and it was that or fall backward. Tongues fought. Teeth clacked hard enough to hurt. He gripped her ass in both hands and slammed her down against him harder, rubbing her open along every inch until she was shaking, dripping down onto his thighs, onto the carpet, onto both of them, and still he didn’t let her come. Still he just used her like that, grinding, growling low words into her mouth she couldn’t catch because her brain had stopped processing language somewhere around the second thrust.
He broke the kiss only far enough to snarl against her lips. “Quiet.” His voice was wrecked, low, almost pained with the effort of it. One hand left her ass and closed over her jaw instead, pressing, silent warning, and God help her, the roughness of it only made her wetter. She nodded against his grip, some fractured half-sound escaping anyway.
Then he moved fast. His hand dropped from her jaw to her wrist, prying her arm loose from around his neck, forcing the other free a heartbeat later, and before she could recover the grip he shoved her backward. Her back hit the floor, air punching out of her lungs. He hooked his forearms behind both her knees and drove them up and wide, pinning her ankles back near her own ears, folding her nearly in half until her hips tilted up to meet him and every muscle in her thighs screamed in protest at the stretch. Once her legs were braced tight against his chest, weight doing the work his arms no longer had to, one hand slid free to plant beside her head, the other hovering, ready. She felt impossibly open like this, spread and pinned and utterly at his mercy, staring straight up into his face as he loomed over her, jaw tight, eyes black, unreadable in a way that scared her more than any of it. She didn’t know if what she saw there was want or conquest or nothing at all beyond animal need. Before she could decide, he drove home.
His cock punched straight to the root in one savage thrust. She felt every thick inch rearranging her from the inside, a stretch that bordered on too much and landed somewhere past it. Her mouth fell open on a scream that never got the chance to exist — his free hand slapped back over it, and he started fucking her like he meant to take her apart from the base up. Deep. Punishing. Skin slapping wet against her ass on every brutal bottom-out. The desk rattled somewhere behind them. Outside the door, someone laughed at some joke that had nothing to do with the two of them wrecking each other on the floor six feet away. He didn’t slow. He drove deeper, hips snapping, cock battering something inside her that made her vision white out at the edges, her muffled screams dying uselessly against his hand, half-words breaking apart before they could form — no, god, please, don’t, more, all of it dissolving into the same wet, choked syllable against his palm.
“Don’t you dare,” he growled, feeling her clench, feeling something building that she couldn’t hide from him even if her voice was stolen. “Not yet.”
Sweat slicked between them. Her thighs trembled where they rested against his chest, hamstrings burning from how far he’d folded her, and still he pistoned into her like the position cost him nothing. Her walls clenched hard around him, involuntary, a warning she had no ability to control. He felt it. Of course he felt it. He leaned down over her folded body, mouth at her ear, breath scalding and ragged against her skin.
“That’s it. That’s my good girl.” His voice scraped out low, wrecked at the edges. “Taking every fucking inch like you were built for it. Perfect tight cunt. Mine.”
Something in her chest cracked open at that word, mine, low and rough and utterly certain, and it punched down through her gut and detonated. Her orgasm tore free violently, a full-body lock, thighs shaking against his hold, and she screamed straight into his palm as her pussy clamped and pulsed and gushed around him in hard rhythmic spasms. He didn’t stop. He fucked her straight through it, chasing his own release now, growling raw and unintelligible against her ear until his hips stuttered and he slammed home one last brutal time, flooding her deep, pulse after pulse, while she trembled and clenched helplessly around every twitch of him.
Footsteps halted right outside the door.
Hamilton ripped free of her so fast her body screamed at the sudden emptiness. They scrambled — her skirt yanked down, his cock shoved back and buttoned away still wet, her blouse dragged closed over bare skin with no buttons left to close it. She felt him leaking down the inside of her thigh, obscene and warm, and had no time to do anything about it. They stood there breathing hard, chests heaving, eyes locked. He reached out once, fixed a strand of her hair with two fingers, an oddly gentle motion that made no sense against everything that had just happened on the floor between them, and she understood in that single heartbeat that she had no idea what she was to him now, boss or something else, and that not knowing was its own kind of terror.
The handle turned.