Page 24 of Hero Worship

"This what you wanted?" I growled in his ear, grinding my cock against his ass so he could feel exactly how hard I was. "To feel this again?"

"Please, Daddy," he whimpered, pressing back against me.

"Please what?" I bit down on his neck, marking him. Mine. "Use your words, baby. Tell me exactly what you need."

"Need you to fuck me," he gasped, writhing against my grip. "Need you to make me yours. Please, Daddy, I've been so good..."

I spun him around, needing to see his face. His pupils were blown wide with arousal, lips parted and swollen where he'd been biting them. Beautiful. But I needed to be sure.

"Tell me to stop," I said roughly, sliding my hand under his skirt to find lace beneath. "Tell me this isn't what you really want."

Instead of answering, he grabbed my tie and yanked me down into a bruising kiss. It was messy and desperate, all teeth and tongue as years of repressed need finally broke free. He tasted like cherry lip gloss and danger, and I couldn't get enough.

I hitched him up, hands gripping his thighs as I carried him to my desk. The strength in his legs and firm muscle under my fingers made my head spin with want.

Papers scattered as I set him down, but I couldn't bring myself to care. Not when he was spreading his legs for me, skirt riding up to show those pretty pink panties. The sight of him like this made my mouth water. My beautiful baby, all laid out and wanting.

"You wearing these for me?" I traced over his cock through the delicate fabric.

"Fuck," he gasped as I rubbed him through the lace, his hips jerking up. "Please..."

His response hit me hard. The desperation in his voice, the way he moved under my touch… I wanted to consume him, possess him completely. Every gasp, every shiver belonged to me.

"So fucking perfect," I growled, watching him writhe. "Look at you."

"Please," he whimpered, grinding against my hand. "Need you to fuck me. Make it hurt."

Heat flooded my body at his words. "Yeah? Want me to wreck you?" I pressed my fingers against his entrance through the lace, feeling him clench. "Show you exactly who owns this?"

"God, yes," he gasped, fumbling for my belt. "Please, I need-"

A sharp knock at the door made us both freeze.

"Agent Valentine?" Algerone's voice carried through the wood, arctic and precise. "A word about tomorrow's mission parameters?"

Reality crashed back like a bucket of ice water. Christ. What the fuck was I doing? This was my boss's son, my trainee, someone I was supposed to be protecting. Not bending over my desk like some cheap fantasy.

I jerked away from Xander like I'd been burned, straightening my clothes with shaking hands. They stayed perched on my desk, lips swollen and skirt hiked up, looking utterly debauched. He met my gaze with defiant heat.

“Go on,” I whispered. “Hop down and make yourself decent.”

He complied with that same fluid grace, though I caught the hurt that flashed across his face before his mask slipped back into place. By the time I opened the door, he was the picture of innocence, perched primly in a visitor's chair with his legs crossed.

But I could still see the mark I'd left on his neck, dark against pale skin. Still smell sex and cherry lip gloss in the air. Still feel the phantom press of lace under my fingers.

I opened the door to find Algerone immaculate as always, his expression unreadable as those cold green eyes took in the scene. The same eyes Xander had inherited, though his burned with life where his father's held nothing but calculation.

"Is this a bad time?" Algerone's voice dripped with subtle venom.

"Not at all." I gestured him in, keeping my voice steady. "We were just reviewing mission parameters."

"Indeed." His gaze flickered to where Xander sat, catching the mark on his neck before moving to the scattered papers on my desk. "Xander, you're dismissed. I need to speak with Agent Valentine alone."

Xander rose with fluid grace, smoothing his hands over his skirt. "Yes, sir." His voice was perfectly controlled, almost bored. Only someone who knew them well would hear the hurt beneath their practiced indifference. The mask they'd perfected long before joining the agency slipped firmly back into place.

He paused at the door, glancing back at me. For a moment, his mask slipped, and I saw neediness in those green eyes. Needfor validation, for connection, for any sign that what had just happened meant something.

I looked away.

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