Page 109 of Beauty and the Daddy
I pull almost all the way out, then slam back in.
She feels like heaven—wet, tight, perfect. Each thrust pushes a little cry from her throat, a sound that goes straight to my cock.
"That's it," I growl, setting a punishing pace. "Take it all."
All I feel and hear is the quick, filthy rhythm that lives in the bones of men like me. My hand fists in her hair, the other braced at her hip. The desk creaks. The blinds rattle. The world funnels down to just Belle.
My hand tightens in her hair, pulling just enough to arch her back further. The new angle lets me hit deeper, and she sobs my name like a prayer.
"Luca, oh God, right there?—"
"Fuck, Belle. You like that, yeah?" I drag her up just enough to kiss the corner of her mouth, then drive back in.
She claws at the far edge of the desk; I cover her hand with mine and hold. "Look at me," I order, and when her eyes find mine over her shoulder I push a fraction deeper, angle mean and perfect. Her mouth drops open in a cry.
"That's it," I coach, losing the rails and welcoming it. "Take me. Take all of me."
I can feel her tightening around me, getting close…
My free hand slides around to find her clit, circling in tune with my thrusts. She's so slick, so responsive, her body singing under my touch.
The sounds she makes should be illegal. The sounds I make are worse. I'm close; she's closer. My hand slides from her hair to her throat, just a cradle, just a claim, never pressure. She shivers and flies beneath my other hand, still on her clit.
"Oh my God, Luca!" she sob-cries into the room in a scream, her body going taut, then shattering. I muffle her up with my hand over her mouth—there are men outside, after all. She's a pulse around my cock, milking me, dragging me closer to the edge.
"Fuck," I hiss, driving into her harder now, chasing my own release. "You feel so fucking good."
The vise of her pulls me right after. I sink as deep as I can go and let go, groaning against her shoulder, devotion burning up every place anger lived. My vision blurs at the edges, pleasure crashing through me in waves. For a moment, there's nothing but Belle and me.
Reality seeps back in slowly. I ease my grip on her hair, smoothing it back from her face. My other hand strokes her hip, soothing where I know I've left marks. I pull out gently, watching as some of me trickles down her thigh.
Mine. She's mine. Marked inside and out.
Belle turns, still lying flat against the desk, her chest heaving. Her eyes are soft, her lips swollen from our kisses. I tuck myself back into my pants, fastening them as she pulls her panties and shorts back up her legs.
She pulls herself up and perches on the edge of the desk, hair wild, barely decent, cheeks flushed with the kind of color that makes a man want to start over.
The door opens without a knock.
Conor freezes in the doorway, his face stuck betweenoh Godandof course.
"Spit it out."
"Boss, it's Declan." He keeps his eyes on me. "He's been leaking intel for months."
I roll my eyes, then jerk my chin toward Belle. "She beat you to it."
26
BELLE
Nothing quite prepares you for watching your future brother-in-law poison your fiancé's scotch.
It really redefines "family dysfunction."
The post-sex endorphins are still humming through my system, but my brain has already shifted into tactical mode.
Because Declan isn't just a threat anymore—he's a dead man walking.
