1. Ophelia #5
“I strongly suggest you start taking it regularly from now on, Miss Bennett,” says Salvatore, rubbing my nipples through his fingertips, examining me. “Through no fault of my own, I have a tendency to get women pregnant.”
“When was the last time you had sex?”
“Last month,” he answers. “But in truth, the last time I took a woman to bed, I imagined she was you.”
My heart skips a beat, my breath catching.
“You’re blushing, Miss Bennett,” he murmurs in the shell of my ear, drawing his finger down between my legs, running it through my folds.
He glances down briefly at my pussy before returning his gaze.
“Your complexion is so fair, my darling, your pussy the same sweet color as your cheeks.” He guides the finger back up to my face, caressing my cheek.
“Here,” he says, slipping the finger between my parted lips. “Have a taste of yourself.”
I moan, the fire in my belly now impossible to ignore.
I lick the wetness off his finger, both aroused and mortified to be tasting myself. The last thread of consciousness snaps as I focus on sucking Mr. Moretti’s finger, needing more of him. My eyelids close, the fire burning in my belly starting to expand. I have to take action.
“What did I tell you about those eyes, Miss Bennett?” barks Salvatore.
Before I can even apologize, he locks his hand behind my neck, ripping me from the desk. My chin hits the wood, my ass high in the air as Salvatore stands behind me removing his clothes, his belt buckle ringing through the office as he undoes his pants, casting the belt aside.
The belt lands with a metallic thud against the laminate flooring, loud enough for someone else on this floor to hear.
Mr. Moretti slaps my ass forcefully, excitement rushing through me as he takes control of my hips and slides all the way into my pussy doggystyle.
I gasp, the sound ringing even louder through the air as he takes me by surprise. I arch my back, fitting more of him in. This size will take some getting used to, but my muscles are already working, stretching to accommodate to his length.
I stabilize myself on the desk, cushioning my chin by placing my arms underneath. I’ve never had sex in this position before, bent over a desk, my ass on show to the whole of Manhattan.
Pain forms in my pelvis, but that only increases the pleasure, pushing me closer toward climax. The wood creaks, keeping a count of Mr. Matteo’s thrusts as he drives all the way into me, our bare skin slapping together.
His fingers remain hooked around my hips, keeping them square. “How does it feel to put yourself first, Miss Bennett, instead of letting the opinions of others determine how you live your life?”
“Yeah,” I choke out a moan between staggered breaths. “It feels pretty good.”
“Only pretty good?” grunts Mr. Moretti, sending his cock all the way into my pussy, our hips crashing together.
The ball of fire in my stomach expands, moving through my entire body, caressing every nerve, every cell, bringing me to the ultimate high.
“You’re already close,” states Salvatore, chuckling lowly.
“Don’t act like you’re any different,” I quip.
“Your respect for me vanished with your clothes, Miss Bennett. Remember who hired you. I’m still your boss.”
“Not for much longer,” I mumble under my breath, chasing my own orgasm.
Mr. Moretti’s thrusts turn erratic, his cock hitting several sweet spots inside of me. His length allows him to reach places no other man has found, not even myself.
And I fall right over the edge.
I scream, fingers flexing against the desk as the orgasm thrusts me into another dimension.
His warm seed fills me, spilling out of my pussy as he withdraws. “Here,” he says, presenting his finger, soaked in his own cum. “Have a taste.”
I take his finger into my mouth, swallowing the most expensive cum I’ll ever taste in my life. Every woman in the world would kill to be in my position, and as the moment passes, I even envy myself, wanting to do it all over again.
Still, I pick myself up from the desk. The moment has passed, and now it’s my time to collect my purse from the meeting room and hand in my resignation, putting a stop to this nonsense before it can really begin.
Because there’s no going back once you’ve bent over your boss’s desk, and Mr. Moretti is an addiction I’ll never be able to get my fill of, unless I physically never see him again…
But when I turn around to look at him, the world tilts on its axis. The defined muscles were expected, since I can always see them through his shirt, but the huge tattoo embellished across his chest was not expected at all.
A black crow covers his chest, the wings outstretched, designed to look like the crow is in flight.
Although the tattoo is faded, the shape is clear. That’s definitely a crow.
Time stops, my breathing amplified in my own ears as I remember what my mother told me before she passed.
But being told to stay away from the “crows” only makes me want to take a step closer, now I realize she was actually giving me a warning.
Who the fuck are the crows? And why does this city’s most powerful billionaire have a tattoo of one inked across his chest?
Then again, maybe it’s just a coincidence.
A very strange one.