Page 62 of Blood Heir

His belt is next—his fingers make quick work of it, then his zipper, the metallic sound loud in the heavy silence. He shoves his pants and briefs down in one motion, releasing his thick length, already hard, veined, and heavy.

My breath catches, lips parting as I stare for a moment, my body pulsing with a mixture of anticipation and raw need.

My breath shakes as I reach between us, wrapping my fingers around his thick cock. His skin is hot and smooth under my touch, the weight of him heavy in my palm. I stroke him at first, my thumb brushing over the slick bead of moisture at the tip.

A deep groan rumbles from his chest, low and guttural, as his hips twitch forward, chasing the friction.

I feel his muscles tense beneath my fingertips as I stroke him a little harder, watching the way his jaw clenches, how his breathing grows heavier with every movement of my hand. His eyes flicker down to where my fingers glide along his length, and there’s something raw, almost feral in his gaze.

When I finally can’t take it any longer, I guide him toward me, positioning him at my entrance. My core pulses, already dripping and desperate for him. He slides the head of his cockagainst my slick folds, teasing me for just a moment before pressing forward.

The thick crown stretches me as he pushes inside, inch by inch. The pressure is intense—my walls straining to accommodate him—and a sharp gasp escapes my lips. His groan mingles with mine, both of us breathless at the tight fit.

“Jesus,” he growls, gripping my hips tighter. “So fucking tight.”

I clutch at his shoulders, my nails biting into his skin as he finally sinks all the way inside, filling me completely. My body shudders, stretched and aching in the most delicious way.

He pauses for a moment, his chest heaving, giving me a second to adjust, but the hunger burning in his eyes tells me he’s barely holding back.

Then he moves.

He pulls out slowly, almost to the tip, before thrusting back into me in one deep, claiming stroke. My head falls back, a moan ripping from my throat as the desk creaks beneath us.

His mouth crashes onto mine, devouring me with hot, open-mouthed kisses as he sets a steady rhythm—hard, deep thrusts that make my toes curl. One hand holds my waist, steadying me with every powerful stroke, while the other slides up to cup my breast, squeezing it roughly, his thumb flicking over my nipple.

The sensation sends sparks through me—his cock filling me over and over, his mouth stealing my breath, his hand kneading my breast with delicious pressure. I whimper into his mouth, completely lost to him, my body trembling under his control.

“Fuck—” he pants against my lips, his voice shaking. “You feel so goddamn perfect.”

He pulls back from my lips, eyes burning as his thrusts slow for a moment. His breath is ragged, chest heaving, sweat glistening along his brow.

“Down,” he growls, voice low, rough, thick with desire.

Before I can even respond, his hands slide under my thighs, lifting me off the desk effortlessly. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist as he carries me a few steps to the open floor, lowering me gently onto the cool hardwood.

The air leaves my lungs in a breathless gasp as my back touches the ground, but before I can adjust, he’s already guiding me, turning me over onto my stomach.

“I want to feel you from behind.”

I obey, my breath shaking, heart pounding in my chest. My hands press to the floor, my back arching as I lift my hips for him, completely exposed. I feel his hands slide along my waist, thumbs digging into my skin as he positions me exactly where he wants me.

“Perfect,” he growls, his voice thick with hunger.

The head of his cock presses against my entrance again, and I shiver, biting my lip as he pushes back inside. The stretch feels even deeper like this, his thick length sliding in with a slick, aching resistance that makes both of us moan.

He draws his hips back and thrusts forward sharply, filling me again in one hard, deep stroke. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the office, mixing with the wet sounds of our bodies, the desk still creaking softly behind us.

He picks up the pace—harder, deeper—his hips slamming into me as his grip on my waist tightens, anchoring me to him as he drives in again and again. My moans turn breathless, broken, the rhythm of his pounding leaving me dizzy and trembling.

“Yes,” I whimper, barely able to breathe. “Oh my God—yes—don’t stop.”

He groans in response, slamming into me even harder, his cock driving so deep I swear I can feel him everywhere—the pressure, the fullness, the sheer overwhelming pleasure spiraling inside me.

The air is thick with our panting, the raw sounds of skin on skin, and the wet, messy slaps of his body driving into mine, faster and deeper with every stroke.

“Fucking perfect,” he growls again, his voice breaking into a groan as his pace grows almost frantic, like he’s barely holding himself together anymore.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, wet, filthy, beautiful. His breathing grows heavier, rougher behind me. I can hear him losing control, feel the way his rhythm starts to falter—deeper now, harder, like he’s chasing that last impossible inch inside me.

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