2. Angie #2
Holy fuck. I catch a glimpse of him. Massive, thick, a huge outline under his cotton underwear.
“You’re incredible, angel. Fuck, you are beautiful.”
“What else do you want, Mr. Maguire?”
I’m fully in the role now. Good-girl Angie’s dead and gone. I’m his angel now, and she’s a filthy slut.
“Turn around. On your knees.”
I smile to myself. Another classic. I know exactly what he wants. I shift my weight, getting up on the cushions, my elbows on the back of the couch. I keep my knees spread, back arched so my spine looks long and my ass is pressed out, and turn to look over my shoulder.
“Like this?”
He moans, stroking himself. “Just like that. Fuck, where have you been hiding?”
“Accounting.”
“One hand on your ass.”
I touch myself the way he’s asking. “More?”
“Move that hand slowly… like that… slowly around your hips and down between your legs.”
I shiver, staring as he keeps stroking. His slacks sink down his hips, down to his knees.
His thighs are covered in ink.
His cock is rock hard and huge.
It doesn’t take much convincing. I let him watch as I reach around my hips, find my pussy, and place my hand over myself.
I’m burning hot and dripping wet.
“Like this?”
“Oh, fuck,” he moans. “Look at you, angel.”
“Do you like to watch me, Mr. Maguire?”
“Yes, I fucking do.” His eyes burn with need. He comes closer. “Do you like this, angel? Do you like that I’m touching my cock while watching you right now?”
“Yes,” I say and really, really mean it.
“Stroke yourself. Slowly. Do it now.”
Oh, god.
I obey, because I desperately want to. My hand presses as I move down my pussy, pressing against my lips, palm then fingers grazing against my swollen, aroused clit.
“Like this?”
“Just like that, angel. Up and down. Does that feel good?”
“So good,” I say, a moan escaping my lips. It’s so dirty and I shouldn’t be making noise like that, but I also shouldn’t be letting my boss watch me like this, so it’s time to let go. I stroke a little firmer. “Oh, fuck, Mr. Maguire.”
“You dirty girl,” he groans. How the hell am I making him come undone? Just by touching myself? “Hand inside your panties now.”
I do it eagerly. I’m so freaking wet it’s amazing. My fingers slide up and down and I moan louder. “Mr. Maguire,” I whimper. “You’re staring.”
“Fingers inside. Deep inside.”
I gasp, arching, as I do it. I sink them in, shoulders balling, chin to my chest. “Fuck.”
“Just like that. Look at you, angel, you’re trembling. You’re so beautiful it makes me want to ruin you.”
“Please,” I whisper.
I look over my shoulder. He’s closer, stroking himself faster. “Please, what?”
“More.”
“More, what?”
“I want… I want more.” I bite my lips, whimpering, moaning as I touch myself. “Don’t make me say it.”
“But you have to, angel. Tell me what you want. Obey me.”
I gasp at that word, obey, and cry out with pleasure. “I want you to fuck me, please.”
He lets out a growl of need, pure lust and animal want.
He crosses to me, his briefs coming off, getting kicked aside.
My eyes widen at his cock—it’s thick, vein-covered, massive.
Ink comes right to the edge of his shaft, some spilling onto the bottom.
Roses and flowers. How much of him is covered in tattoos?
His hand grabs my wrist, the one between my legs. I whimper, breathing fast, afraid. Connor Maguire is huge. His cock is enormous. He could break me. No, he’s going to break me. I’ll be ruined after this, but I don’t care. Nothing matters, not anymore.
Only him.
Slowly, he pulls my hand from between my legs, and lifts it to his lips.
I almost scream, it’s so sexy, as he licks my fingers. He sucks them, his tongue soft and warm, low growls in his throat like he’s loving it. “Honey, salt, heaven,” he says against my skin. “You taste so fucking good.”
“Mr. Maguire…”
He puts my hand back on the couch and tugs my panties down. I yelp, breathing hard.
“Tell me you want me to fuck you now, angel.”
“Do I have to obey?”
His palm grips my hair and tugs my head back. I gasp in surprise at the sudden, powerful display of control. “Yes, angel, you know that. You don’t get what you want unless you do as I say.”
“Please, Mr. Maguire.”
“Tell me you want me to fuck you now.”
“I want you to fuck me now.” My eyes lock on his, daring him, pleading with him, afraid, aroused, on the edge of breaking already, ready for him to pull me to pieces. “Please, Mr. Maguire.”
He moans, spits in his hand, rubs it all around his tip, and then?—
Sinks between my legs.
Fuuuuck. He’s so big. He slips inside me, slowly at first. His moans are heaven as I’m stretched to my limits, on the verge of breaking completely. It hurts, feels good, feels like I’m so full I’m going to scream.
“Good fucking girl, angel,” he whispers in my ear, kissing my neck. His grip on my hair tightens. “You’re going to take every inch, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Mr. Maguire.”
He moans, strokes deep into me, and slowly slides back out.
“I’m going to fucking break inside you, angel,” he says, tone trembling. “God, you’re so sexy, it’s wrong.”
“It’s wrong,” I agree, and shimmy my hips. “But I want more.”
He gives me everything. His cock sinks in with a thrust and I’m gone, I’m done.
I can’t breathe. His masculine groan of bliss destroys what’s left of my self-control.
I grind into him as he fucks me on the couch, driving deep into my pussy, one hand in my hair and the other on my hips.
I’ve never been more broken, never been flying closer to the edge.
I cry out his name, moaning it, gasping.
Mr. Maguire! And he likes that, it makes him fuck me harder, his teeth sinking into my shoulder.
“God damn it, angel, you feel so fucking good,” he says, nipping my neck. “I’m so close. I can’t hold on.”
“More,” I whimper, greedily, grinding into him. “More, please, more.”
He thrusts again, and again, until I feel my core clench down tight, the tension reaching peak.
“Come for me, angel, while I fill you to the brim.”
My trigger pulls and I shatter. I break for him, just like he wanted, and I feel his desperate thrusts, his grip tightening, his moans getting wild.
I feel his warmth as he comes, sending my orgasm into the next level, my skin flushed, sweat dripping down my body, my vision tunneling into black.
I’m left gasping for air, pinned against the couch, boneless and weak as he leans over me and pulls my head to the side?—
And crushes his mouth to mine.
Our first kiss, I think stupidly. His tongue is bourbon and mint. It’s sweet and dark, oaky and warm. I kiss him back, maybe too eagerly. He stays inside me for a beat, forehead to mine, breathing in deep.
“You feel so fucking good, Ms. Bellandi,” he says gently, voice shaking. “Can I ask for one more favor?”
“You want more? Aren’t you getting greedy now, Mr. Maguire?”
His grip on my ass tightens. “You don’t know how greedy I can be, Ms. Bellandi.”
“What do you want?”
“Three pictures from your folder. Three and no more.”
“You don’t want them all?”
“Fuck,” he moans. “If I keep more, I’ll spend the rest of my life beating my cock to a pulp. I have work to do, Ms. Bellandi. I can’t afford a distraction like you.”
“Then three is acceptable, Mr. Maguire.”
He slips out and moves away. I turn, flushed, happy, still floating from the orgasm.
He stands in front of me like a god, tattooed and beautiful, more man than I’ve ever seen.
His cock’s still half hard and it’s enormous, swollen and lovely.
I have the impulse to kiss the tip, but I don’t.
Instead, I shimmy my panties back into place and start getting dressed.
“You don’t have to worry,” he says, doing the same.
“It’s fine. You said we have an hour. How long was that?”
“I lost track,” he admits, checking his watch. It’s a shiny silver Rolex. “Damn.”
“I should get going.”
He adjusts his shirt and buttons it. “You don’t have to.”
“Really, it’s fine. This was—“ I don’t even know how to describe it. Insane? Reckless? Incredible? I walk over and kiss him on the cheek. “Keep the pictures if you want. I don’t care.”
“Only three.” His hand presses to the small of my back. “I won’t ask for more.”
I hear the implication. There won’t be a second round.
And strangely, that’s okay with me.
It’s ideal.
This man’s all wrong. Everything about him screams danger. Nadia’s right: he’s shady as hell in ways I’m not sure I’m ready to understand.
And while I can be his filthy angel for an hour, that’s not who I am, not really.
I pull on my pants, tug on my undershirt, and slip into my frumpy sweater.
I’m boring, good-girl Angie, and always will be.
“How do I look?” I ask, pulling my hair back into position.
His gaze is longing. He tears it away, back to the laptop. “You look perfect, Ms. Bellandi.”
“Then I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow, Mr. Maguire.”
“Oh, and Ms. Bellandi? One more thing.”
I unsnap the lock on his door and look back. “Yes, sir?”
He shivers at that.
“No more dirty pictures in my office.”
I do my best not to smile. “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”