Harper
Killian’s body against mine is hot and hard and everything I don’t want to admit is craving, but I’ve never felt so desperate while pissed the fuck off at a man than I do right now.
He pins me against the wall, the cool marble biting into my shoulder blades, and kisses me deep, a claiming kind of kiss that feels less like affection and more like a takeover.
He lifts me, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, the smooth fabric of his trousers bunching beneath my thighs.
He pushes my panties to the side, calloused fingers spreading me open, and begins to finger me hard, a rough, insistent rhythm while his thumb rubs circles around my clit.
“Good girl,” he growls into my hair, the sound vibrating through my skull. “You like that, don’t you? All that righteous anger… makes you so wet for me.”
I bite down on my lip, a whimper escaping, hating myself for responding, for letting him break down my walls with nothing but pressure and a whispered command.
His kisses deepen, chasing mine, a hungry exploration that leaves me breathless.
He bites my lower lip, a sharp, possessive tug, and then kisses his way down my neck to my cleavage, teasing the lace of my bra with his tongue.
My arms are wrapped around his neck, fingers digging into his hair, pulling him closer, wanting to both submit and claw his eyes out.
The pressure builds between my legs, a throbbing ache that’s quickly spiraling out of control.
He practically tears open the button of my blouse, revealing the lace bralette beneath, and moves to my breasts, his hands warm and heavy, kneading the soft flesh.
He cups one, milking it gently, before sinking his teeth into my nipple, a sharp, exquisite pain that sends a shockwave through my body. I scream, a raw, desperate sound, and he uses it as fuel, his touch becoming more demanding, more relentless.
“That’s it, Princess,” he breathes, his voice rough with desire. “Scream for me. Let me hear how much you want me. Let me hear how wet you are.”
God, I’m so fucking wet I can hear as his fingers fuck me.
The shame of it burns, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the sensation, the building pressure, the complete loss of control.
His fingers dance between my legs, finding that sweet spot—the G-spot—and rubbing in a way that makes me arch my back and grind against his hardness.
His thumb continues its relentless rhythm, coaxing and teasing, and I can feel myself spiraling, the edges of my awareness blurring.
A wave crashes over me, and I moan, my body convulsing, legs squeezing, and I feel him thrust deeper, a final, overwhelming push that sends me over the edge.
The sound of my release is embarrassingly loud, a wet, gasping sound that echoes in the room, and Killian loves it.
He drinks it in, his body rigid with his own rising arousal, and then he’s thrusting again, fingers digging deep, his thumb still rubbing, and I’m coming again, faster this time, a frantic, desperate release that leaves me trembling and spent.
He pulls back slightly, angling us so I’m bent over his desk.
His fist tangles in my hair, holding my head steady as he unbuckles his belt, the leather clicking softly in the otherwise silent room.
The feeling of his hard cock slapping against my ass is shocking, assertive.
He brings up the encrypted documents, the stylus and stylus pad already open, waiting.
I start to ask what he’s doing, what this is, but he smacks my ass, a sharp, stinging blow.
“I’m just as much in this relationship as you,” he growls low into my ear, his voice a coarse, possessive rumble I can feel vibrating through my entire body, “but I won’t apologize—not ever—for taking care of you or our baby, regardless if they’re biologically mine or not.”
His grip tightens in my hair, a sharp, anchoring pain that roots me to the spot.
He forces the cold, slender stylus into my trembling hand, curling my stiff fingers around it, and then guides my wrist, angling my hand toward the glowing pad on the desk’s surface.
The screen displays the lines for my signature, stark and demanding against the soft light.
“So you’re going to be a good girl and sign,” he continues, his breath hot against my neck, “because you know I did all this from a good place and you’re just being difficult for difficult’s sake.
And you’re going to make sure each signature is legible—perfectly legible—while I remind you who you belong to, Princess. ”
A helpless whimper escapes my lips before I can bite it back.
He answers it with another sharp smack to my ass, the sound cracking through the quiet room, and I jump, a fresh wave of heat blooming across my skin.
Swallowing hard, I press the stylus tip to the pad and begin.
The first signature is a mess, a shaky, uneven scrawl that barely resembles my name.
He snatches the stylus from my hand, his body pulling back abruptly, leaving me cold and exposed.
“Fix it,” he snarls, his eyes when I dare to glance back are cold chips of unforgiving ice.
My heart hammers against my ribs. I take the stylus back, my fingers fumbling, and quickly rewrite the signature.
I force my hand to steady, to press firm and clear, and only then does he allow me to continue.
Each completed signature feels like a tiny surrender, a little chip of my resistance flaking away and crumbling to dust. With every new page that appears on the screen, Killian inches his cock into my opening, a torturously slow, deliberate invasion.
It’s a constant, agonizing pressure, a promise and a punishment all at once.
My concentration shatters. I fuck up on a page, misaligning the letters into an illegible smear. He withdraws completely in one swift, brutal motion, his body becoming a solid, unyielding wall pressed against my back. Another stinging smack lands, making me gasp.
“Fix it,” he repeats, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register that thrums with warning.
I fix it, my cheeks burning with shame and a traitorous thrill.
I continue. The entire document is finally signed, my hand cramping, my body aching from being bent over the desk, from the tension, from him.
With the final stroke of the stylus, Killian rips it from my grasp.
In one fluid, powerful motion, he pivots me around, pins my wrists behind my back with one large hand, and then he’s inside me, thrusting hard and deep in a single, devastating stroke.
His movements are brutal, insistent, claiming.
A moan is torn from my throat, raw and unbidden. “Killian… please…” I beg, the words coming between ragged gasps. “I love you…”
“I love you too, Princess,” he replies, his voice rough with exertion, each thrust punctuating his words. “I love how you taste. I love how you feel. And I love how much you need me.”
The world spins, tilts, blurs into a haze of overwhelming sensation. I surrender completely, my last shred of defiance melting away. I am lost, utterly captive to the ferocity of his desire.
Killian fucks me hard, bent over his desk, and I don’t fight it. I can’t. Not when he’s moving the way he is, each thrust deep and punishing, rocking me forward, making the wood creak beneath us. I whimper, voice breaking with every powerful drive of his hips. “Sir—please—”
He doesn’t slow. Just repositions his grip, one hand now twisting in my hair while the other holds my hip as he sets a relentless pace, pounding into me like he’s punishing us both for every word we didn’t say, every wall I tried to build between us.
“You want me to let you come?” he growls, his breath hot and close against my ear.
I nod frantically, tears slipping free. “Yes—yes, sir—please—”
He smirks. “Naughty girl. So eager. You think you deserve it after being this difficult?”
I sob, my body slick with sweat, the heat between my legs unbearable. “No, sir—but I need it—”
His other hand slips around, fingers finding my clit, circling slow, driving me wild. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with possession. “Pregnant. Gorgeous. Purring around my cock like you were made for this.”
“Only for you,” I cry, because it’s true and he knows it.
“Say it again.”
“Only for you—only yours—”
He chuckles darkly. “Open your mouth.”
Blindly, I turn my head, lips parting.
“Suck my fingers,” he orders.
I do as he says, taking his fingers into my mouth, sucking them, getting them wet. He watches me, eyes hooded, breathing ragged. Then he removes them, dials me around with one firm tug.
“No,” I whimper, instinctively pulling back, but he holds me down, his grip unbreakable.
“Arch for me, Princess,” he commands, low and firm.
I do. My back curves, ass higher, and he drags one finger through my slick, then presses it to my back entrance. I gasp, eyes flying open.
“Still innocent here,” he purrs. “But not for long.”
His finger pushes gently, then more firmly—I cry out, shaking. He adds a second, working me open slow, crooking them just right while the other continues rubbing my clit.
“Please,” I beg. “I can’t—I’m so close—”
“Don’t come yet,” he snaps, finger curling deep inside my ass, pressing on sensitive places I didn’t know existed. “Not until I say.”
Tears spill again. My body quakes, clinging to the edge, dying to fall. “Sir—please let me—can’t hold—”
He reaches around, circles my clit harder, once, twice. Then he growls, low in his throat, “Now, Harper. Come for me.”
And I do. Hard. Scream tearing from my throat, my back bowing off the desk, nails scraping the polished wood as wave after wave crashes through me. I squirt—wet and messy and shameless—and he’s growling now, thrusting into me harder, relentless.
Then his hand finds my wrist, rips the stylus from my fingers.
“Look at me,” he demands.
I turn, dazed, trembling.
He’s dragging me backward, feet unsteady, until I land across his lap, breathless, hair in my face. He cups my cheeks, presses his forehead to mine. “Good girl,” he whispers, voice raw. “My good girl. So perfect. So wet for me.”
I hum, nodding, too far gone to speak.
He kisses me softly, lips lingering, then brushes his mouth to my nose, making me laugh weakly.
The office door clicks unlocked.
Asher walks in first, shoulders relaxed until he sees me—pregnant, half-undone, in Killian’s lap. He stops, lips quirking. “Damn.”
Maddox follows, eyes sharp, melting into a grin. He crosses to us, slow, then presses a kiss to my lips.
“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice is warm. “You look like you’ve been well taken care of.”
I smile, breath still shaky. “I was. He’s… thorough.”
Killian smirks, hand possessively on my thigh beneath what’s left of my skirt. “The four of us need to talk about some things.”
Asher shakes his head, stepping closer. “Yeah, I can see this discussion is going to be an intense few hours.” But he’s smiling. He leans in and carries me away from his best friends in his arms, “Was the rest of your work day as commanding as our Killian, mon coeur?”
“He felt he needed to punctuate his point,” I smirk.
“And did he?”
“Yep,” I grin, “your best friend is a controlling asshole, and I love him.”
Asher laughs, throwing his head back before settling on the couch with me, because it’s no secret that Killian is difficult, but I love him as much as I do Maddox and Asher. And Killian’s right, the four of us need to talk.