Page 31 of Stuffed

“Fuuuuuck,” he groans, the veins on his neck bulging against his skin. “Your pussy is a fantasy.” He’s losing control. His hands go to my hips, gripping me tightly as he pulls me farther down onto his cock. He’s holding back; I can see it in the way his collar strains against his neck.

“Fuck me hard,” I say, my voice almost unrecognizable. I don’t have to say it twice. His fingers dig against my hip bones, my tits bouncing with every thrust.

“I’m going to give you so much more tonight, you’re not going to be able to handle another cock for at least a week.”

I want to focus on what he just said, on the jarring thought of another man doing this to me, but I can’t. Not right now. I’m too lost in the pleasure that’s taking over my body. And as Zane proceeds to thoroughly ruin me for all other men, I can't bring myself to care.

Because sometimes getting exactly what you want is better than wanting what you can't have. Even if it means ending up on Santa's naughty list yourself.

I watchas Zane straightens his tie in the reflection of my office window. The city lights twinkle behind him like stars, casting shadows across his sharp features. He looks perfect again, put together, while I'm still trying to gather my scattered thoughts.

"Here," he says softly, picking up my cardigan from where it landed on my desk chair. He holds it out for me, helping me slip my arms through the sleeves. The gesture is surprisingly tender, at odds with his usual demeanor.

"Thanks," I murmur, turning to face him. "Zane, I?—"

"Don't." His hands linger on my shoulders. "Whatever you're about to say, just… don't."

I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. "No. We need to talk about this. About us."

His jaw clenches. "There is no us, Tessa."

"Isn't there?" I step closer, placing my hand on his chest. "You can't tell me you don't feel something here. That this is just?—"

"Physical?" His hand covers mine, but I can't tell if he's about to push it away or pull me closer. "That's all it can be."

"Why?" I challenge. "Because you're scared? Because it's easier to keep everyone at arm's length than risk actually feeling something?"

"Because I'll hurt you." His voice is rough. "I always do. It's what I'm good at."

"Or maybe," I say softly, "you're afraid I'll hurt you."

Something flickers in his dark eyes. "Tessa…"

"I see you, Zane Mercer. The real you. Not the brooding businessman or the grumpy asshole everyone thinks you are. And I think that terrifies you."

He steps back, breaking our contact. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" I move to my desk, straightening papers that don't need straightening. "You know what I think? I think you want this as much as I do. I think you've wanted it since high school."

"What I want doesn't matter."

"It matters to me." I turn back to him. "Everything about you matters to me."

He runs a hand through his hair, messing up its perfect styling. "I can't give you what you want, Tessa. I'm not— I don't know how to be what you need. I’m not Asher."

"I'm not asking you to be anything other than who you are. I’m not asking you to be Asher. Is that what this is about?”

“That whole thing with him and Ivy.” He shakes his head like he’s going to say something but then decides against it.

I step toward him again. "Just… let me in. Stop pushing me away every time we get close."

For a moment, I see his walls crumble. See the vulnerability in his eyes, the longing. But then it's gone, replaced by that carefully neutral expression I'm coming to hate.

"I should go," he says, reaching for his jacket. "Early meeting tomorrow."

"Right." I wrap my arms around myself. "Always a meeting."

He pauses at the door. "Lock up behind me this time. The neighborhood's not safe at night."

---