Chapter 11 More, Please
Dante’s grip on her hips tightened like iron as he pushed her back hard against the cold, unforgiving surface of the table. The sharp edge pressed into the bare skin of her thighs, sending a thrilling jolt straight through her nerves. His dark eyes burned into hers, wild and hungry.
“No running,” he growled low, voice thick with command.
Her breath hitched as his mouth crashed onto hers, teeth scraping her bottom lip in a rough, claiming bite. His tongue forced inside, demanding, swirling with hers like fire and ice. She whimpered into him, fingers digging into his broad shoulders.
His hands didn’t stop at her hips. They slid up under her shirt, fingers trailing hot, possessive lines along the soft skin of her ribs, pulling her tighter against him. “You feel so fucking good,” he muttered against her mouth, his voice rough, thick with need.
Then, without warning, his mouth left hers and trailed down her neck, teeth nipping and tongue flicking over the sensitive skin until she was gasping, arching her neck to give him better access. His lips sucked hard on the pulse point just below her jaw, leaving a bruising kiss, and she shuddered at the sting.
“Dante…” she moaned, voice trembling, hands clutching at the table’s edge.
He growled, lips brushing over her collarbone before diving lower, licking slow and wet trails across the curve of her breasts, tongue flicking over the hard, begging nipple through the thin fabric of her silk shirt. His teeth scraped lightly, biting just enough to make her gasp and writhe beneath him, heat pooling low in her belly.
His hands squeezed her hips firmly, then slid between her legs, fingers pressing through the thin layers of her skirt and delicate silk, seeking the warmth already soaked with need. “Soft,” he murmured against her skin, voice thick and dark with desire.
His fingers suddenly pushed aside the thin panties, and slipped inside her slick folds, curling expertly to stroke the most sensitive spots, igniting waves of pleasure that made her cry out, her hips rising involuntarily to meet his touch.
Anya’s breath hitched. “Dante… please,” she gasped, fingers clutching the edge of the table as her body trembled.
His dark eyes flickered with hunger as he released her hips, hands moving swiftly to the buttons of her silk shirt. He peeled the delicate fabric off her, along with her bra, exposing the soft, pale skin of her chest to the cool air. His lips followed the path the shirt had left bare, trailing kisses down the smooth expanse, sucking hard over the tender skin beneath her collarbone, leaving a mark that burned deliciously.
Anya’s fingers fisted the edge of the table, trying to steady herself as his hands moved down to the waistband of her skirt. “Wait,” she whispered, but he only licked her harder, reaching beneath the fabric to unfasten the clasp. His fingers slid beneath the soft material, inching the skirt lower until it pooled around her ankles, and then fell down, freeing her legs and revealing the delicate curve of her hips and thighs.
He tore his eyes from her exposed skin, his hands busy undoing the buttons of his own crisp white shirt beneath his tailored suit jacket. The jacket fell to the floor with a heavy thud, and then his shirt followed, muscles coiling beneath the fabric now freed. His tie was next — loosened and slipped off with a rough tug — leaving his neck bare and vulnerable.
His jaw was clenched, his dark eyes dragging over her like he could devour her right there.
He stepped closer, closing the last bit of distance between them.
“Turn around,” he ordered, voice low, dangerous.
Anya’s heart thundered. Her legs felt weak, but she obeyed, slowly turning so her back faced him. The cool air kissed her now-exposed skin, her skirt gone, panties damp and clinging between her thighs. As if on cue, his fingers hooked on the waistband of her panties, dragging it down her legs, and watching it fall to the ground.
And then he grabbed her waist, spun her fully around, and bent her forward over the polished surface of his office desk. The wood was cold against her chest, her palms splayed over the smooth grain as her breath caught in her throat.
Then, his large hand hooked under her thigh, lifting her right leg up and resting it on the edge of the desk, opening her wider for him.
“Good girl,” he murmured behind her, and her breath caught again.
His fingers found her again—this time with no barrier, no teasing. Just him. Raw. Demanding.
He spread her open, fingers sliding back into her wetness with a filthy sound that made her moan aloud. “So fucking soft,” he hissed, curling two fingers deep inside her.
“Dante—ah—” Her voice cracked as her hips jerked involuntarily, his fingers curling just right, pressing into the sensitive spot that made her knees buckle.
“Don’t move,” he growled.
He withdrew, only to thrust in again—faster, rougher. Over and over, until she was gasping, grinding back against him with every desperate breath. She tried to steady herself, nails digging into the wood as the sound of his fingers plunging into her filled the room, along with her own breathless cries.
“Do you know how hard it is to control myself around you?” he snarled against her neck as he leaned in, his chest pressed against her bare back, his other hand coming up to squeeze her breast. “You walk around in these tight skirts, fucking teasing me every goddamn minute of my day, looking like this—”
His teeth grazed her shoulder.
“You were made to be taken like this.”
Her entire body arched when he twisted his fingers inside her again, pressing harder, faster. Her leg shook where it rested on the desk. Heat built in her belly, her breath getting shorter, broken by helpless moans.
“Please…” she whimpered, eyes fluttering shut.
“Not yet.”
He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down. She was close, too close, but then he pulled his fingers out of her with a slick sound and a guttural growl.
“Fuck. Look at this,” he muttered as he brought his fingers to her lips. “Taste what you do to me.”
Anya’s lips parted instinctively, and he slid his soaked fingers into her mouth, watching her with a gaze that burned. She moaned around him, her eyes half-lidded.
Then suddenly, she felt him behind her again. The sound of his belt unbuckling made her heart stutter.
“Keep your leg up,” he ordered. “Don’t you dare let it fall.”
She didn’t get a chance to answer. His hands gripped her hips hard, dragging her body back against him. Then she felt the thick pressure of him, blunt and hot, pressing against her slick entrance.
She barely got out a breath before he thrust deep inside her with a rough groan.
“Dante—oh God—”
He didn’t give her time to adjust. He gripped her hips tight and began to move, each thrust deep and fast, pounding into her with a rough rhythm that made her cry out with every motion. Her leg shook from the strain, but he didn’t let her move—he was in full control, dominating her body, her breath, her very thoughts.
“You feel this?” he growled, slamming into her again. “You were made for me.”
She tried to answer, but her moans swallowed her words. All she could do was cling to the desk and take everything he gave her.
His hands moved again—one pressing between her shoulder blades, forcing her further down, the other sliding around to rub that sensitive spot between her legs in time with every thrust.
She shattered around him with a loud cry, her walls clenching hard, body trembling. But he didn’t stop. He kept moving, drawing out every ripple of her release.
“Again,” he growled.
“Dante—I can’t—I—” Her words melted into another moan as he angled his hips, thrusting even deeper, rubbing against every raw nerve she had.
“Yes, you can,” he bit out. “You’ll take it. You’ll take all of me.”
Her leg nearly gave out, but he held her up, fucking her through it, hand steady against her thigh.
She came again—harder, her voice breaking as she whimpered his name, body spasming with pleasure that bordered on pain.
Only then did he slow, and even then, it was to pull her upright against him, her back flush with his sweat-slicked chest. He kissed her shoulder—just once—but it felt like a brand. His girth still hard, still inside her, pulsing with restrained fury.
“I’m not done,” he whispered, voice low and rough against her ear. “You cum so fucking easily.”
Dante’s breath came hot against her ear, his grip still hard on her hips. He didn’t pull out. He stayed buried deep inside her, his hand pressed firmly over her abdomen as if to feel the way she clenched around him.
Then, slowly, he pulled out, dragging a groan from both their throats. His hands seized her shoulders and turned her around in one swift motion, lifting her effortlessly onto the edge of the desk, legs parted and trembling.
“Lie back,” he commanded.
Anya obeyed, leaning onto her elbows as he knelt between her legs. He hooked one thigh over his shoulder and dragged his fingers along her slick folds again, slow this time—teasing, circling her entrance but not yet plunging back in.
“You're shaking,” he murmured, the corners of his lips curling. “And I’ve barely even started.”
His fingers slid back inside her—two at once, curling up with that maddening precision that made her body tense and writhe. But then—his other hand moved lower. Lower.
She gasped, hips jolting as his slick fingers brushed between the cheeks of her ass.
“Dante—”
“Shh,” he whispered darkly. “Let me.”
He coated her thoroughly, the wetness from her earlier release making it easy for him to rub slow, firm circles around her most sensitive spots, both front and back, switching from one to the other in a rhythm that left her breathless. He was exploring her body like it was his to own. And it was. She felt it in every touch, every growl, every possessive word.
“I want all of you,” he said through gritted teeth. “Every inch. Every part.”
His hands didn’t stop moving. He had her arching off the desk again, moaning, begging, as he brought her to another edge—one she hadn’t even realized she was near.
She cried out as she came again, trembling beneath his touch, body quaking, completely undone by the wicked rhythm of his fingers.
But he didn’t let her rest.
He stood between her trembling legs, and for the first time, his movements slowed. His expression changed—still dark, still hungry—but his touch gentled. His hand slid over her stomach, fingers splayed wide, grounding her.
He lined himself up again, brushing the head of his rod against her wet entrance, and this time, he eased in slowly—inch by thick inch—making her feel every stretch, every pull of skin and heat.
Anya’s head fell back, mouth parting in a silent gasp.
He kissed her collarbone. “Look at me,” he ordered gently.
She did. Her eyes met his, and in them she saw something dangerous—but also something unspoken. Something that made her chest tighten even as her body burned.
He rocked into her slowly, his grip on her thigh firm, his other hand stroking along her side like he was calming a storm. “Feel this,” he murmured. “Every time I move, I want you to remember—this is mine.”
She nodded weakly, breath stuttering as he thrust again, a slow, deep motion that made her toes curl and her eyes sting from the pressure building again. He kept the rhythm unhurried, controlled, watching her fall apart beneath him with every motion.
But as her walls tightened again around him, as her nails raked down his arms, and her lips parted with another desperate moan—something snapped in him.
“Enough,” he growled.
The pace changed in an instant.
He gripped her thighs, slammed her further up onto the desk, and drove into her hard, fast, relentless. His body crashed into hers over and over, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the room, her cries of pleasure swallowed by his mouth when he crushed his lips to hers again.
She was nearly sobbing his name now, body rocking with every punishing thrust.
“You take me so well,” he groaned, voice rough with strain. “So tight. So wet. And you still want more?”
“Y-yes,” she choked, barely able to get the word out between gasps.
He thrust harder. “Say it.”
“I want more—please, Dante—don’t stop—”
“Good girl.”
He gritted his teeth and moved faster, every muscle in his body coiled tight, his grip brutal and steady as she shattered again beneath him—her back arched, body limp with release.
And then he followed, with a guttural groan torn from his chest as he buried himself deep one last time, holding her tight, his breath ragged against her neck.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The only sound was their heavy breathing, the faint creak of the desk beneath them.
Then, Dante leaned down, kissed her softly on the lips, and whispered against her skin—
“We’re not done.”
Dante didn’t give her a moment to recover.
Before she could even catch her breath, his fingers were back on her—deep, precise, relentless.
He didn’t ease up. He didn’t give her mercy.
Her body jolted as he curled his fingers just right, hitting her g-spot, making her vision blur, making her cry out his name like a prayer and a curse all in one. Again and again, he worked that spot inside her, watching her squirm and sob and soak his desk without shame.
“You’re making a mess,” he said roughly, voice low with satisfaction. “Look what you’re doing to my table.”
But he didn’t stop.
Her thighs trembled violently, her voice cracked from the screams she couldn’t hold in, and yet his hand never slowed—turning her most sensitive place into his playground, his tempo merciless and calculated.
By the time he was done, her body was wrecked, trembling, slick, her chest rising and falling in erratic gasps. And he—still composed, still hard, still not finished—stepped back, licking his fingers slowly as he eyed her like she was the only thing he craved.
“Come here.”
He moved to his leather chair, sinking into it with the kind of effortless confidence that made her knees weaken further. He spread his legs and patted his lap.
She stumbled forward, dazed, barely able to stand on shaking legs.
“Climb on,” he ordered, voice smoother now, dark honey dripping with intent. “Show me how much more you can take.”
Anya straddled him, her body already aching, but the moment she sank down onto him, all thought disappeared. He filled her again, stretching her to the edge of pain and pleasure.
He gripped her hips and guided her rhythm, slow at first, watching her fall apart all over again as she rode him with shaky, desperate movements.
He didn’t stop until he came—once, twice, a third time—growling her name against her skin, his hands holding her tightly, like letting go would tear him apart.
And she came with him, again and again, her voice hoarse, her body spent, until there were no numbers left to count how many times she’d cum riding him.
When he was finally satisfied, he pulled her forward into his lap, fully, protectively.
She collapsed against his chest, completely limp, her head resting against his shoulder as her legs trembled violently around him.
Her body couldn’t move.
He wrapped both arms around her, holding her close, letting her melt into him as his lips found the shell of her ear.
“We’ll continue in five minutes,” he murmured against her skin, voice like velvet and fire. “I don’t have any meetings until four.”
Anya couldn’t even breathe. Her heart pounded in her chest, her lungs shallow, her body shaking with exhaustion.
Dante pressed a soft kiss to her neck, then another, trailing warmth along her skin. One hand moved to her breast, fingers caressing gently, soothing the sensitive skin while his mouth kissed around the curve of her throat.
She closed her eyes and sank into him, his thick girth still buried inside her.
***
Three hours later, Anya stepped out of Dante’s office looking absolutely wrecked.
Her blouse was creased, her lips still tingling, and her legs slightly shaky. She looked flustered, dazed—like someone caught in a dream she hadn’t yet woken from.
She lowered her gaze to the floor as she walked back to her desk, trying to shake off the lingering heat in her body.
"Anya." A voice called out to her, pulling her from her thoughts.
She looked up to see Eric, his blonde hair falling messily over his forehead, approaching her with a smug smile, folding his arms across his chest.
"Where were you for so many hours?" Eric asked, his tone playful but filled with knowing. "I went to your desk an hour ago, and now you're coming out of Dante’s office."
Anya took a deep breath, her heart still racing. "I had... work," she replied, trying to play it off.
Eric raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "Don’t lie. I know exactly what you were doing in there."
Anya’s eyes snapped to his face, shocked. “What?!”
He pointed at her, snickering. “Your face is all red and flushed. It’s obvious. You cried, didn’t you? Did he scold you so badly that you started crying in front of him?”
She exhaled slowly, trying to calm the chaos in her chest. Then straightened and gave a small smile. “No, Eric. He didn’t scold me.”
“Lies,” he said again with a knowing shake of his head. “Be honest. Were you having an affair with him in that office or what?”
Anya raised a brow, folded her arms, and gave him the exact smug look he was wearing. “Yeah. I was having an affair,” she said flatly. “And it was great. Didn’t expect it to last that long either.”
Eric’s smug expression faltered. “You shouldn’t joke about your career,” he said seriously. “There’s no use seducing him. He’s clearly not interested in being with a woman. Look at his track record.”
Anya had to stifle a laugh, her amusement barely contained. ‘Not interested in women?’ she thought. ‘That man doesn’t let me out of his grasp unless I threaten to never be alone with him again.