Page 31 of Wolfish Player
“Come for me,” I order.
Her moans tear through the office as she shatters, trembling against me. I feel every pulse of her release, wet and hot around my hand, and it only makes my cock ache harder.
Before she can recover, I spin her around and bend her over the desk, shoving papers and promo boxes aside. I yank her panties down and free myself, groaning at the sight of her spread open for me.
Her breath hitches when she hears the rip of foil. “You’re actually?—”
“Bend over and don’t move while I wrap up,” I cut her off, sliding the condom down my length. “I’m not giving you an excuse to run later.”
She gasps as I push inside, burying myself to the hilt, stretching her around me.
“Fuck,” I hiss, gripping her hip. “You’re already dripping all over my cock, soaking my desk like you belong here.”
She cries out, gripping the edge of the desk, arching back into me like she’s been waiting for this all along.
I slam into her again and again, each thrust harder, deeper, the sound of papers tearing and boxes toppling filling the office.
“Adrian… oh god—” she gasps, and I grab a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back so I can bite her shoulder.
“You’re mine when you’re in this office,” I growl, pounding into her harder. “Say it.”
Her walls flutter, gripping me tighter. “Yours…” she moans, wrecked.
“That’s right.” I thrust deeper, circling her clit with my thumb. “Come on my cock, Miss Barrett. Right now.”
Her scream tears through the office as she comes again, clenching so hard around me I see stars. I groan her name, slamming deep one last time as I spill into the condom, every muscle straining with the force of it.
For a long moment, the only sound is our breathing—ragged, desperate, spent.
I pull out slowly, tie off the condom, and watch her collapse forward against the desk, trembling, her dress bunched around her waist, lace panties torn at her thighs. She looks wrecked, flushed, perfect.
I fix my shirt, jaw tight, and force myself back into control. “You’ll still need to pay me back for those boxes.”
She glares over her shoulder, lips swollen, eyes burning with defiance.
I leave her like that—panting, ruined, but unbroken—knowing this war between us has just crossed a line we’ll never come back from.
THE AUTHOR
HEATHER
The next morning, I show up to work praying for space from Adrian. I need distance, but I hate how my brain won’t stop replaying him fucking me, like my body is conspiring against me.
“We have a change of plans,” he says. “I need you to come with me somewhere.”
“I think we need some, uh, space.”
“The town car is outside waiting for us.” He grabs my hand without engaging any further.
My body is still on edge from yesterday, in limbo between wanting more and savoring the memories in case it never happens again.
“Good morning, Miss Barrett. Mr. Wolfson.” The driver holds the backseat door open for us and we slide inside.
“Where are we going exactly?” I ask Adrian as we hit the road.
“You’re going to help me check out some spaces for a writing retreat for some authors.”
“Okay…” I lean back against the seat as he eyes me. I try to keep my breathing even, try to keep my pulse from giving me away.
