Chapter 10 Corin #2
“Open,” I growl against her mouth, and she obeys instantly. Our tongues slide together in slick, heated strokes that mimic what I’ll do to her later. I explore every corner, the silken roof of her mouth, the sensitive inner cheek, the sharp edge of her teeth.
Her whimpers turn urgent and her hips arch off the desk, grinding against the hard ridge of my erection trapped behind my trousers. I break the kiss to watch her swollen lips glisten under the lamp-light.
“More?” I murmur, dragging my mouth along her jaw.
“More.” Her voice is wrecked already.
I claim her mouth again, slower now. Devouring. My free hand slides up her ribs, fingers spreading wide beneath the weight of her breast. Through the soaked lace of her bra, her nipple is a hard pebble against my palm. I roll it deliberately, the wet fabric creating exquisite friction.
She cries out into my mouth, her back bowing violently as she grinds against my thigh. She makes a desperate, keening sob that goes straight to my cock.
I swallow every vibration, every gasp, tasting her pleasure on my tongue.
When I finally break for air, a glistening strand connects our lips for one breathless second before snapping. Her eyes are glazed with need.
“Do you feel what you do to me?” I grind my erection against her hip, letting her feel every throbbing inch. “This is yours. Yours.”
Her nails score down my back as my thumb finds that taut peak again. “Corin—”
I unhook her bra one-handed. Let it fall. Then I lower my mouth to her taut nipple and suck.
She gasps. “Corin, please.”
“Please what?” I murmur against her skin. I flick her nipple with a calloused finger.
“Touch me,” she begs.
“How badly do you want me you?” I murmur, sucking her nipple hard.
She makes a frustrated sound. Reaches for my belt.
I gently catch her wrist. “Not yet.”
I pull back slightly and slide my hand between her thighs. The linen trousers she’s wearing are soaked from the rain, clinging to her skin. I can feel the heat of her through the fabric.
I press my palm against her pussy and she shudders.
“Off,” I say, tugging at the waistband.
She lifts her hips. I peel the trousers and her underwear down in one motion, and then she’s naked on my desk while I’m still mostly clothed.
I drop to my knees.
“Corin?” Her voice is breathy.
“Shh.” I spread her thighs.
She’s wet.
Not from the rain, here.
I drag my tongue up her center, slow and deliberate, and she makes a sound that’s half moan, half sob.
Good.
I want her wrecked.
I work her with my mouth and fingers, bringing her right to the edge. My tongue swirls around her swollen clit, savoring the salt-sweet taste of her arousal mingling with rainwater.
Her thighs instantly clamp around my ears, trembling.
I slide two fingers deep inside her, curling upward until she gasps and her inner walls flutter against my knuckles.
Her breath hitches into ragged, broken gasps.
Almost there.
I feel her body coil tighter, tighter. Her hips lift off the desk, her back arches like a drawn bow.
Her hands fist in my hair, pulling hard enough to sting.
“Corin— Corin—”
Not yet.
I pull back completely, my mouth leaving her with a soft wet sound.
Her cry is pure frustration.
“Look at me.” Her eyes snap open, dazed and dark with need.
I hold her gaze as I slowly lick my lips, tasting her on my skin. “This is mine. Every gasp. Every tremble. You don’t cum until I say you’ve earned it.”
She whimpers, her hips straining toward me. I chuckle. “Patience.”
When I dive back in with my tongue, I’m merciless.
My tongue flicks her clit in rapid circles while my fingers piston in and out, the heel of my hand grinding against her. The scent of her, so musky, so desperate, it fills my lungs.
Sweat beads between her breasts.
Her legs shake so violently I have to brace them over my shoulders.
Now.
I suck her clit hard between my lips just as I thrust three fingers deep.
She shatters with a scream, her cunt clenching around my fingers like a hot, wet fist, like it’s trying to keep me there or pull me deeper inside.
I don’t let up. I lap at her through the spasms until she’s sobbing, oversensitive and writhing.
Only when her thighs fall limp against the desk do I finally pull away, my jaw aching, my mouth glistening.
“Beautiful,” I rasp. “Wrecked just for me.”
I could do this forever. Just watch her. Just bring her pleasure and ask for nothing in return.
Except I’m so hard it’s actually painful, and when she opens her eyes and looks at me with that dazed expression, I know I’m not walking away from this.
I stand. Undo my belt. Shove my rain-damp pants down just enough to free my cock.
She reaches for me. Her small hand wraps around my cock, and I hiss at the contact.
Her palm is soft but determined, sliding from root to tip in one slow stroke.
Pre-come beads at my slit, slicking her fingers as she pumps me.
Her thumb swipes over the swollen head, spreading wetness in maddening circles.
“Look what you do to me,” I growl, watching her fist glide over my length.
Her eyes are locked on my cock.
She leans forward, her breath hot against my shaft, and I feel the tip of her tongue trace the thick vein underneath.
Fuck.
My hips jerk.
“Suck it,” I command, my voice shredded. “Show me how much you want this.”
She takes me into her mouth until her lips meet her knuckles. Her tongue presses hard against the underside as she pulls back, hollowing her cheeks.
The suction is filthy, wet, perfect.
I fist her hair, guiding her rhythm, resisting the urge to fuck her throat raw.
When her teeth graze me lightly, I almost lose it.
“Eyes on me,” I grit out.
She looks up through her lashes, mouth stretched obscenely around my cock. The sight alone could make me spill.
I tug her off with a loud pop.
“Later,” I promise darkly. “Right now I need to be inside you.”
She shivers.
I reach into my pocket, pull out the condom I’ve been carrying since New Year’s Eve like some kind of pathetic optimist.
I tear it open. Roll it on with one hand while my thumb stays at her jaw, holding her gaze.
“Still with me?” I ask.
She nods once, her eyes transfixed by my cock.
I line myself up at her entrance, the broad head of my cock pressing against her slick heat.
“Breathe,” I murmur, and push inside.
Christ.
So fucking tight, clenching around me like a vise.
Her walls shudder as I sink deeper, stretching her inch by inch.
Her gasp turns into a moan when I finally bottom out, my hips flush against her ass.
I stay there, buried to the hilt, feeling her pulse around me.
“Good?” I grind out, sweat dripping down my temples.
“Yes,” she whimpers. Her hand squeezes my forearm three times.
Our signal.
And I start to move.
Slow.
Deep.
Withdrawing almost completely before slamming back in.
Then I speed up.
Faster.
Faster.
Pounding.
Harder.
The slap of skin on skin echoes in the room.
Her cunt grips me like it’s trying to milk me dry.
I pin one of her legs over my shoulder, driving deeper, hitting that spot that makes her scream.
“Look at you,” I groan. “Taking me so fucking good. So wet for it.”
Her nails rake down my back. “Harder— Corin— please— please— please—”
I oblige.
Fucking her now in sharp, brutal thrusts.
The desk groans beneath us.
Papers fly.
Her breasts bounce with each snap of my hips.
Every sound she makes, every choked sob, every gasp of my name, feeds the fire in my loins.
I slide a hand between us, my thumb finding her clit.
I rub in hard, fast circles.
“Cum for me,” I order. “Now.”
Her back arches violently as she shatters, her cunt clamping down so hard I see stars.
The sheer pressure tears my own release from me.
I drive in one last time, spilling into the condom with a roar, biting her shoulder to muffle the sound.
Every pulse of my cock draws another tremor from her.
From me.
Then I collapse on her.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
Then I pull out carefully. Deal with the condom. Toss it in the small wastebasket near the desk.
When I turn back, she’s sitting up. Her hair is a mess. Her lips are swollen. And not just the lips on her face. She looks thoroughly fucked and absolutely beautiful.
Outside, the rain continues to hammer the windows. Inside, I’m with the woman I thought I’d lost forever, and for the first time in five years, I can think clearly.
And that’s exactly the problem.
Because I’m thinking too clearly now.
Post-orgasm clarity is a bitch, and it’s showing me all the ways I just fucked up the one good thing I’ve managed to build in the last couple of weeks.
I’m her employer. She’s my employee. We have a contract. A professional relationship. Foundation funding and regulatory scrutiny all hinging on the credibility of this pilot program.
And I just bent her over my desk like some kind of asshole who can’t keep his hands to himself.
Fuck.
“Amara,” I say quietly, pulling on my pants.
She lifts her head. Her eyes are still soft, still trusting, and that makes what I’m about to say even worse.
“We can’t do this again.”
The words land like a slap. I watch her expression shift from contentment to confusion to something harder.
“Excuse me?” she says.
I force myself to continue. “Not while you’re working for me. It brings up too many problems. Ethics violations. Power dynamics.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, covering her breasts. “You could have thought of that before you fucked me on your desk,” she says flatly.
The barb hits exactly where she aimed it.
But you kissed me first, I want to argue. Because she did.
But I’m the one who escalated. I could have stopped. Should have.
But I didn’t.
I lost control.
I brace for the rest. For her to tell me I’m a hypocrite. That I’m using professional ethics as an excuse to run from her again. That I’m exactly the coward she thought I was five years ago.
I deserve all of it.
But instead, she goes quiet. I watch her face shift from anger to something cooler. More controlled. The lawyer sliding back into place like a shield.
“You’re right,” she says finally.
Wait.
What?
“The optics are terrible,” she continues, her voice steady now. “If anyone found out, it would undermine everything we’ve built. The clinic’s credibility. The foundation’s reputation. My professional standing.”
She’s agreeing with me.
She’s actually fucking agreeing with me.
And somehow that feels worse than if she’d slapped me.
“So we wait until the contract ends,” she says, already moving past me to gather her wet clothes from where they’re scattered across the floor. “Four more weeks. Then we reassess. That’s logical.”
Logical.
The word sits wrong in my chest.
“Amara—”
“Deal,” she says, cutting me off. She’s pulling on her damp dress with efficient movements. No hesitation. No lingering looks. Just task completion.
Like I’m a line item on her legal pad.
I expected resistance. Expected her to fight me on this or at least make me work for the boundary I just erected between us.
Instead, she’s already halfway to the door.
“The guest cottage,” I manage. “I’ll show you—”
“I can find it.” She snaps. “Separate from the villa, right?”
“Yeah,” I tell her. “East side. Stone path.”
She nods once. Opens the door. The sound of rain rushes in.
Then she’s gone.
I stay at the window, watching her run through the rain until I’m sure she’s reached the guest cottage, then I lean back against the desk.
And so I’m standing alone again in my soundproof study, in wet clothes, with the taste of her still on my tongue and the growing realization that I just made a catastrophic error.
Because when you tell someone you can’t be with them for professional reasons, you expect them to care enough to argue.
Her immediate agreement suggests either she’s a better strategist than I am—
Or she doesn’t care as much as I thought she did.
Either way, I’ve fucked it up, yet again.