Page 53 of Devious Secrets

“Hands on your head. I’m tired of fighting you. You’re going to learn once and for all who is in charge here.” His voice is firm, raw, unwavering.

Raising my hands over my head, I lay them one on top of the other. My nipples pull tight as my face erupts into an inferno.

“See, not so difficult.” He kisses my shoulder as his arms wrap around my middle. His touch is light, feathering upward to my breasts.

My breath catches as he takes both nipples between his fingers and pinches. When he releases me, he kisses my neck.

“You need to be punished.” He drags his teeth along the soft flesh of my neck.

“No, I don’t.” A mouse makes more noise than me at this point. It’s his fault for all his leather and spice smell, his heated body next to me, and his fingers still trailing along my body, outlining me.

“You do.” He grabs my hips and spins me around to face him, lifting me at the same time and hoisting me onto his desk. The stapler and other desk items are knocked out of the way as he pushes me farther onto the desk.

I catch his gaze; the simmering chocolate of his eyes heats me to my core. It shouldn’t be so easy for him to get into my head. Just a look, a simple touch, and I’m melting for him.

It’s not fair.

Using both hands, he pushes my hair from my face. “No more lying.”

“I already promised.”

“Say it again,” he orders roughly.

“I promise. No more lying.”

“Unbuckle my belt.” He grabs my wrists and puts them at his waist. If he wasn’t staring down at me with such severity, maybe I’d be able to tell him to go to hell a little easier.

Pulling the thick leather through the loop of his trousers and then working it through the buckle, a flood of warmth settles deep inside of me. Was this the belt he put around my neck the other night? It feels heavy, as that one did, but I’m sure a man like Alexander has more than one belt.

“Now undo my pants.” He brushes another hair away when it falls forward. The button opens easily, and I grasp the zipper.

A pang of unease cuts through the heat pooling low in my core. If I refuse him, what will happen to me, to Mira? Is this the price for his protection… to become his plaything, to sell myself to him? It feels like an invisible collar around my throat. And worse, I can’t decide if I hate it or crave it.

“Megan.” My answer is in the way he says my name. It’s softer, sensual.

When I tilt my eyes up to his, I instantly lose myself in the molten chocolate of his gaze. He won’t take more than I’m willing to give. And in this moment, I seem more willing than ever to give over to him completely.

He steps closer, enveloping me in the masculine scent of his aftershave and the warmth of his body, allowing me to undo his zipper with more ease. The room is silent, save for the teeth of the zipper opening.

“Good girl. Reach in and pull out my cock,” he whispers into my ear, sending a tremor through my body.

He steps even closer, making it easier to slip my hand into the opening of his trousers. Sliding my hand beneath the elastic of his black boxers, the tips of my fingers brush against him.

His breath catches as I glide my hand along the thick length of him and wrap my hand around the base of his cock. It’s so warm and solid, so fucking hard. With my free hand, I shove his trousers and boxers down enough for his cock to spring free.

“Good girl.” He wraps his hand around the back of my neck, drawing me up to him, and kisses me. It’s a harsh kiss, one screaming of possession.

When he breaks the kiss, he spreads my legs open, wraps his arm around my waist, and pulls me to the edge of the desk.

Slowly, I stroke his cock, feeling the strength of him in my palm. I squeeze a little, determined to show him he’s not the only one with power.

He lets loose a guttural sound and shoves my hand away. He sweeps my right leg up and cradles it in his elbow while he drives forward in one thrust.

I have to lean back a little as his cock fills me, stretches me. He gives me no time to adjust to his size as he thrusts into me again and again, pulling me closer to him with each thrust.

Grabbing on to the edge of the desk, I use it as an anchor as his thrusts get harder. My ass edges across the desk with each movement.

“Look at me, Megan,” he demands and my gaze flicks to his. His brow pulls tight as he drives into me. “Lean back,” he orders, sliding his hand from behind my neck and slowing his movements.

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