Page 70 of Off the Rim
Ashton grabs the last of the files from my hands and leans forward, his tongue flicking out against my earlobe.
"You know what I think? I think where you need to be is inside me, taking out all your frustrations on my ass.”
That gets my attention.
Should I be more concerned with getting out of this office than I am with getting my dick in Ashton? Yes.
Am I? Apparently not.
For someone who’s spent most of his life being the responsible guy who makes logical, non-self-destructive choices, this feels like solid proof that I've fully lost the plot. I don't know who I am anymore as I follow Ashton out of the file room, eyes glued to his tight ass that I know is wet, stretched, and ready for me.
CHAPTER 32
ASHTON
The glazed look in Marcus' eyes as he follows me out of the file room makes me feel freaking powerful. He doesn't think this is a good idea, has been saying all night that it's a terrible risk. Yet he's still following me, eyes on my ass like he's in a trance.
True to the good boy he is, Marcus makes a feeble attempt at protesting. "Maybe we should take this somewhere else?" But there's no real feeling behind the words. He wants me as badly as I want him, and watching me squirm all night has made him just as horny as I am.
Once I lead him around my father's massive mahogany desk, I turn and look at him pointedly.
"I have had your little surprise inside me for over two hours. There's lube dripping down my ass crack, and every step I take puts more pressure on my prostate. I'm lucky I was able to kneel down in that file room without blowing my load before you even touch me. I've dreamed of this, right here. Being bent over and ravaged in the one place he considers sacred. I want to sweat and cum all over his precious desk, while getting railed by the one person he feels threatened by."
I'm breathing heavily just from spitting all of that out in quick succession, most of my words blending together and probably not making sense. I know it's probably not healthy to want to defile your father's desk, but there's a sick part inside me that wants to do something he can't ignore. He's ignored me most of my life unless he needed me for a business deal, until Marcus Vell came into the picture. He wants to take him away from me. And I want to show him I can't be controlled.
Marcus stares at me, his blue eyes sharp. A curl flops over his forehead, reminding me of how he looked when he was younger, when his hair was longer and more unruly. The stern, heated look on his face, however, doesn't remind me of anything but sex. My cock pulses at the unspoken danger in his gaze.
Without taking his eyes off me, Marcus leans down and swipes an arm over the desk. The keyboard clatters to the ground, a whole stack of files slides across the desk, papers go flying, picture frames topple.
"Come. Here." He says, voice almost menacing.
I don't waste a fucking beat. Like a puppet on a string, I'm an inch in front of him in no time at all, the desk pressing into the backs of my thighs.
"Jacket," Marcus murmurs, and I start working the buttons of my tux while Marcus unfastens my pants. I toss the jacket at the same time my pants slide down my thighs and pool around my ankles, leaving me in my white dress shirt, silky purple bow tie, and matching purple jock that's about a size too small. The elastic bands are digging into my skin, my cock protesting captivity behind the purple silk. Half the fabric is drenched with precum.
"I want to rip the shirt off you, but you'll need to wear it out."
He thinks I actually give a fuck?
Unbuttoning the first two buttons under my bow tie, I grip both sides of the lapel and tear the shirt down the middle. Buttons fly off and ping everywhere. I struggle a little with the cufflinks that I forgot about, then I'm finally free of the stupid garment.
Marcus is fully clothed, looking like fucking James Bond if he was a porn star. One hand in his pocket, the other makes a circular motion with his finger, instructing me to spin. As I follow his instruction, I realize just how exposed I am. I'm wearing nothing but my bow tie, the too-tight jock, and black dress socks. Maybe I should feel silly, or embarrassed, but the way Marcus is looking at me right now could rid me of any need for porn for the remainder of my life. All I need to do is lock that expression away in my mind's eye, and I'll have effective spank bank material every time. I keep turning until my back is to him, showing off my ass in the jock, with the straps digging into my skin.
"Bend over."
My body folds, palms slapping against the polished wood without a nanosecond's hesitation.
Marcus steps up behind me, running his fingertips down my back, my sides, over my hips, and down my thighs. He fits a finger under one of the straps cupping my ass and snaps it, and the sound echoes in the room. A small whimper escapes me and I hope he didn't hear it, because I'd like to pretend to have some semblance of dignity.
Oh, who am I kidding?
"Please, Marc."
"Shhhh, baby. I'm admiring how your ass looks for me right now. It's so pretty and ready, your hole clenched around that toy I got you." His fingers tickle down my crack, stopping over the base of the plug he put inside me before we got dressed. He taps it, and a shiver runs through me.
"You—” I clear my throat, "You like how it looks?"
"You have no idea how pretty you are, baby." He drapes his chest over my back, running his hands up the sides of my waist, lips brushing my spine. "But it'll look even prettier when it's swollen and red and dripping with my cum."
