utive Pleasures #3
He found the edge of her lace panties and growled. They were drenched, the fabric heavy and moist with her arousal.
"Look at this," he muttered, his voice a throbbing vibration. "The Head of HR, dripping like a faucet because a man looked at her the right way."
He didn't remove the lace. He simply pushed it aside, his fingers finding her sensitive, swollen clit. He began to rub her, a slow, pounding pressure that made Hannah’s hips arch off the chair. She was horny, her senses screaming as the stretching need in her belly intensified.
"Marcus... I can't... I need..."
"You need to be fucked," he finished for her, his eyes locking onto hers. "You need to feel the weight of a real man inside you, breaking every rule you ever wrote."
He stood up, his hand moving to the zipper of his trousers. The sound of the zipper was a sharp, metallic zip in the quiet room. He freed his thick, veiny cock. It was engorged, the head glistening with a bead of pre-fluid, pulsating with a desperate heat.
Hannah’s breath hitched at the sight of him. He was massive, a rigid promise of the corruption she had been craving.
"Chapter one of your audit," Marcus whispered, his voice dropping to a gravelly register. "And I think you're going to find the results... overwhelming."
He grabbed her waist, his fingers marking her skin, and prepared to breach the final boundary of her fortress. The slow burn was over; the audit had officially begun.
The office felt as though the oxygen had been sucked out of it, replaced by a heavy, electric humidity.
Marcus didn't move immediately; he stood between her splayed thighs, holding his thick, throbbing cock in his hand, watching the way Hannah’s eyes dilated until the blue of her irises was almost gone.
She was a shuddering mess of professional ruin, her hair wild and her blouse damp with sweat and anticipation.
"You’re trembling, Hannah," he noted, his voice a low growl. "Is it the fear of being caught, or the realization that you’re finally about to be fucked?"
"Both," she whispered, her voice breaking.
Marcus didn't use a condom. He wanted the raw, unfiltered heat of her, and he wanted to leave his mark deep inside the woman. He gripped her hips, his large, calloused fingers digging into her soft skin, and positioned the glistening, engorged head of his cock on her pussy.
He didn't ease in. With a single, brutal hard thrust, he buried himself to the absolute hilt.
Hannah’s head snapped back, a jagged, high pitched cry escaping her throat as her body was forced to accommodate his stretching width.
The sensation was massive and a pulsating invasion that reached deep into her core.
She felt her tight walls straining against his veiny shaft, her body clamping down on him in a desperate, instinctive attempt to hold the weight.
"There it is," Marcus groaned, his eyes rolling back for a brief second as the heat of her drenched interior encased him. "You're so tight... like you’ve been saving this just for me."
He began to move, a slow, pounding rhythm that made the heavy mahogany desk creak beneath them.
Each stroke was deliberate and deep, his hips hitting hers with a wet, sloppy squelch that echoed in the silent office.
Hannah was overstimulated, her senses screaming as the friction of his rigid member sent waves of throbbing pleasure through her entire frame.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice a throbbing vibration.
Hannah forced her eyes open, meeting his dark, predatory gaze. She saw the alpha triumph in his expression—the look of a man who had not only breached the fortress but was now systematically dismantling it from the inside.
"I'm the only policy that matters now," he hissed, his pace increasing to a frantic, pumping blur.
He began to fuck her with a savage intensity, his hands moving from her hips to her breasts, squeezing them through the fabric of her blouse.
Every hard thrust sent a shockwave through her, her natural gush making the connection slick and messy.
She was leaking onto the executive chair, the scent of their combined arousal filling the small space.
"Marcus... I'm going to... I'm going to..."
"I know you are," he growled, his breath hot against her neck. "I want you to come so hard you forget your own name. I want you dripping all over me."
The climax hit her like a physical blow. Her tight pussy began to spasm and clench around him in violent, pulsating waves. She arched her back, her fingers scratching at the leather of the chair, her voice rising in a series of broken moans.
Marcus let out a guttural, primal roar, his body going rigid as he reached his own peak.
He buried himself to the very root, his thick member twitching inside her as he erupted.
He pumped a massive, throbbing load of hot seed deep into her womb, creampieing her with a force that made her vision go white.
He stayed there for a long time, both of them gasping for air, the only sound the frantic thumping of their hearts. The creampie began to overflow, a wet, sloppy trail of his dominance dripping down her inner thighs.
"Audit complete," he whispered, his voice dark and satisfied.
He pulled out with a wet, sloppy pop, leaving her leaking and marked in the wreckage of her professional poise. He straightened his trousers and reached for his jacket, looking every bit the senior partner, while Hannah remained in the chair, dazed and overflowing with the evidence of his arrival.
The primary directive had been established: Marcus Thorne didn't just work at Sterling the way he adjusted his cufflinks or leaned against a doorframe told her exactly what he was thinking.
On Thursday afternoon, the sky over the city turned a bruised, electric gray. A summer storm was rolling in, the thunder a distant, pounding echo against the glass. Hannah was in the middle of drafting a disciplinary memo when the internal line on her desk rang.
"Ms. Vance," Marcus’s voice came through the speaker, low and throbbing. "I’m in the third-floor annex. The renovation crew has cleared out for the day, but I’ve found some... inconsistencies in the site safety protocols. I need the Head of HR to verify the scene immediately."
Hannah knew there were no inconsistencies.
The third floor was a labyrinth of exposed studs, plastic sheeting, and raw concrete—a skeletal version of the luxury above.
She stood, her legs feeling heavy, her pussy giving a sharp, moist twitch.
She didn't grab her blazer. She walked to the elevator in her white silk blouse, the fabric feeling thin and exposed against her skin.
The elevator doors opened to a world of shadows and dust. The only light came from the floor-to-ceiling windows, where the lightning flickered across the skyline.
"Marcus?" she called out, her voice echoing in the hollow space.
"Back here, Hannah."
She followed the sound of his voice to a secluded corner behind a wall of hanging plastic sheets.
Marcus was standing there, his tie discarded on a stack of lumber, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his powerful, veiny forearms.
He was leaning against a concrete pillar, watching her approach with a slow smirk.
"You took the stairs, I hope," he said, his voice a primal rumble. "I’d hate to think you were in a hurry to see me."
"I came to check the protocols, Marcus," she replied, though her breath was already hitching.
"The only protocol here is this." He moved with a sudden, fluid speed, catching her waist and swinging her around, pinning her back against the rough concrete of the pillar. The cold stone was a shock against her spine, but Marcus was a furnace.
He didn't waste time with words. He grabbed the collar of her blouse and jerked it down, popping two buttons and exposing the lace of her bra and the flushed skin of her chest.
He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin as he inhaled her scent—the smell of her perfume mixed with the musky, raw aroma of her arousal.
"Your pussy smells so good," he muttered against her skin. "I can smell you through that skirt."
He reached down, his large hand sliding under her hem and finding the lace of her panties. They were drenched, the fabric heavy and moist. He hooked a finger into the side of the lace and tore it, the sound of the ripping fabric lost in a sudden crash of thunder outside.
"Marcus, the security guards... they do rounds," she gasped, even as her hips arched into his hand.
"I’ve already redirected them," he growled.
He freed his thick, veiny cock. It was engorged, the head glistening and pulsating in the dim, flickering light. He hoisted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist, and entered her in one brutal, hard thrust.
Hannah’s scream was muffled by his mouth as he kissed her, his tongue pumping against hers in a rhythmic, pulsating dance.
The sensation of being stuffed against the cold concrete was overwhelming—a raw, unfiltered collision of textures and heat.
He began a relentless, pounding pace, his hips hitting hers with a wet, sloppy squelch that filled the empty floor.
"You're mine," he hissed between strokes, his hands marking her thighs. "Not just in the office. Every floor of this building belongs to me because you’re in it."
He was fucking her with a savage intensity, each hard thrust going deeper, hitting her G spot until her vision blurred.