20. Sofiya
SOFIYA
Anton’s mouth is still on mine when my spine hits the desk, paper crinkling beneath me. The office lights catch the edge of his watch, throwing stray cold glints across warm skin and darker intent.
He tastes like the expensive liquor I made fun of hours ago and the kind of possessiveness that would be annoying if it didn’t pour straight down my throat and catch low and hot in my belly.
“You taste smug,” I whisper against his lips.
“You taste like you’re still deciding whether to let me eat you alive.”
“I already did.”
He chuckles low and the sound sinks into me. His hands bracket my hips, thumbs pressing slow circles through the thin fabric of his shirt—my shirt, technically, though it’s halfway up my thighs now and the scent is all him. He teases along the edge of the hem, lifting it inch by inch.
“Open for me,” he murmurs.
“So polite.”
“I know what I want. Spread, Sofiya.”
I uncurl my legs the way he likes, heels sliding along polished wood until my knees fall apart and the cool air hits the damp between my thighs.
He looks down with something that’s not quite a smirk, not quite awe, cheeks roughened with stubble that already scraped my lips raw, eyes dark enough to make me forget anything but the way he looks at me when he’s about to sin.
“Goddamn,” he says quietly.
“Get on with it.”
“You’re dripping through my damn shirt.”
“Maybe get your shirt off.”
“Not yet.”
He drags a finger up the inside of my thigh, slow enough to make my breath shake. When he reaches the wet lace between my legs he strokes once, twice, like he’s memorizing the way I tremble, then crooks his finger and pulls the fabric aside.
Anton kneels.
“Anton,” I warn, not sure what I’m warning him about except the fact that my body is already leaning into whatever he wants.
“You said not to be gentle,” he says, breath hot against me.
“So don’t be.”
“I’m a very obedient man.”
“Liar.”
He laughs again, then presses his mouth to my slick folds and the rest of the room goes white.
“Ah, fuck.”
He devours me, tongue sliding up with deliberate hunger, lips sealing around my clit, sucking hard until the sound ripping out of me is a strangled, breathless “Aah, Anton!” that he answers with a rough groan, the vibration hitting nerve endings I didn’t know I had.
His hands brace under my thighs, forearms locking me open while he licks, circles, thrusts his tongue inside me like he wants to taste every pulse of heat building in my spine.
“Look at me,” he orders.
I force my eyes down, meet his gaze while his mouth is buried between my legs. The sight almost breaks me. Dark eyes, darker desire, hair falling over his forehead, jaw flexing every time he drags his tongue up to lash my clit and suck it hard enough that my hips jerk.
“Fuck, you’re—Anton, don’t stop—”
He growls into my body, the sound loud and wet and obscene, and I clutch for purchase, fingers scraping across the wood before I grab his hair and hold him to me. He takes it, groaning again, the sound around me like molten electricity. My head tips back, mouth open, thighs quivering.
“Close?” he rumbles against me.
“Yes, yes, don’t—”
He slides one hand up, thumb pressing tight little circles over my clit while his tongue pushes inside me again, fucking me with each desperate stroke until I shatter.
“Ahh—Anton!”
He keeps his mouth on me through it, drinking every tremor, all of it slick on his tongue and chin, and I feel my muscles fluttering against him, giving him every ounce of the climax he just ripped from me.
When he finally pulls back, his lips are swollen and wet with me and he wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, savage satisfaction in his eyes.
“Up,” he says. “On your feet.”
Breathless though I am, I still find a comeback. “Bossy.”
“You get wet when I’m bossy.”
“I get wet when you breathe near me.”
He smirks. “That too.”
He stands and shucks his shirt off with a flex of muscle that makes my mouth dry up, then tosses it to the floor and reaches for my waist, hauling me against his bare chest. Heat radiates from his skin. He tastes like sweat and lust and Sofiya, and I fucking love it.
“You’re blushing,” he murmurs.
“Shut up.”
He kisses me, tongue tracing the seam of my lips before he slips inside, letting me taste myself on him. I groan, and he breathes harder, bracing us both against the desk.
“You feel what you do to me?” he asks.
I do. His cock is rock-hard against my stomach, pressing through his slacks with shameless pressure. I slide my hand down and trace along the length, cupping him just to feel the sharp inhale that shakes his shoulders.
“That’s not fair.”
“Life is hard,” I throw back.
“You’re impossible.”
“You like that,” I say, stroking him once more before I drop to my knees.
His breath stops. “Sofiya.”
“Take your pants off.”
“You planning on begging?”
“I’m planning on owning your dick.”
“Sweetheart,” he grits, “you already—”
I unbuckle his belt, tug his fly open, and shove his pants and briefs down with impatient hands, freeing him in one smooth pull. He springs out, thick and flushed, vein pulsing along the shaft, slick at the tip. My throat tightens.
I look up, meeting his gaze while I wrap one hand around him. “You complain about my mouth. Let me show you why you shouldn’t.”
“Always a teacher.”
“Shut up and let me use you.”
He grunts, bracing one hand on the desk behind me and the other on my shoulder, thumb running along my collarbone. I stroke him slowly, twisting my wrist, sliding along the length just to watch his jaw clench.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re trouble.”
“You love trouble.”
I lean forward and take him into my mouth, sliding my lips over the head, swirling my tongue around it before I sink lower, stretching my throat as he groans, deep and raw.
“Fuck, Sofiya.”
I take more, using both hands—one cupping his balls, the other stroking the slick base while my mouth works over him.
He tastes familiar now, salt and heat, the faint tang of pre-come spreading across my tongue.
I hollow my cheeks and suck hard, letting spit drip down to coat him, my other hand twisting, milking.
“Look at me,” he grinds out.
I glance up, mouth full of him, and the look on his face is primal. Sweat runs down his neck. He bites his lip, that scar at the edge of his mouth pulling tight, and when I hum around him, the sound sends him lurching, hips thrusting into my mouth.
“Fuck, yes—just like that. Good girl.”
I take the thrusts, letting him use my mouth, hollowing my cheeks to draw more of him in, breathing through my nose as he hits the back of my throat.
Tears prick my eyes at the stretch, but he groans my name in this reverent, feral way that makes me moan with him, the vibration making his cock jerk against my tongue.
“Goddamn, you’re perfect,” he growls, fingers tangling in my hair. “I’m close.”
I pull back just enough to circle the head with my tongue, teasing the underside, then descend again, slower, deeper, swallowing around him until he snarls, hips shaking.
“Fuck—Sofiya, I’m gonna—”
I tighten my grip at the base, holding him still, and pull off with a wet pop, stroking him with my hand while I lick his head in teasing flicks. He stares down with murder in his eyes.
“Cruel woman.”
Smiling, I lean in, lick up the vein along his shaft, then stand, kiss him again. He kisses back like it’s punishment, tongue stroking every inch he can reach while his hand slides between my thighs and finds me wet again, fingers circling, pressing.
“Bed?” I breathe.
“No time.”
“Anton.”
His eyes flash. “Desk, then couch, then bed. You’re getting all of it.”
“Greedy.”
“With you? Always.”
He spins me, bending me over the desk, my chest pressing against the scattered papers. His hand splays across my lower back, pinning me there, while his other hand glides under the open shirt and up to cup my breast, fingers tweaking my nipple until I gasp.
“Say my name,” he orders.
“Anton.”
“Again.”
“Anton.”
He groans, leaning forward to bite the back of my shoulder. I shiver, muscles clenching. His fingers trail back down, slip between my thighs, and he slides two inside me without warning.
“Ahh, fuuu—”
“So tight,” he mutters, working them in and out, knuckles dragging against my swollen walls. “You want my cock.”
“Yes.”
“You’re dripping for it.”
“I know.”
“Beg me.”
“No.”
His rhythm slows cruelly.
“Anton.”
“Beg.”
“I hate you.”
He crooks his fingers, hitting a spot so deep I almost scream.
“Beg.”
“Anton, I want your cock. I want all of you. Fuck me.”
“Better.”
He pulls his fingers out, and I hear him slick his cock through my wetness, though he doesn’t push in yet. He teases, rubbing the head against my entrance, tapping my clit just to hear me curse.
“You smell like me,” he says. “I’m going to taste you every time I breathe.”
“Then fuck me and finish what you started.”
His hand settles hard on my hip, fingers digging in, holding me still. I brace my palms against the desk, muscles trembling, heart pounding.
He lines up, presses the head in slow, splitting me open inch by inch until I whimper.
“Ready?” he whispers, and I nearly sob at the heat curling down my spine.
“Yes.”
Anton thrusts, burying himself to the hilt in a single, brutal stroke that tears a cry out of both of us, his hips slamming against my ass, his breath ragged at my ear as the desk shudders under us.