4. Eric
ERIC
I catch the exact second my words land. Anya's breath stutters against my mouth, her thighs clenching once under my palm like her body already decided before her brain caught up.
The office feels too bright, too open, glass walls on two sides and her desk still scattered with yesterday's files. Anyone could walk in. Jones could arrive early. Vincent could step off the elevator.
The thought doesn't slow me down. It sharpens everything.
Her mouth opens under mine and I taste the coffee she drank. My hand slides higher on her thigh, bunching the fabric of her dress, but I don't rush. Not yet. I want to feel the way she trembles when I keep her waiting.
She pulls back enough to speak, eyes locked on mine. Blue. So damn blue. "Make it quick."
That's all the permission I need.
I stand, grip her waist, and lift. She's small enough that it takes nothing. Five-three to my six-five, but the way her legs wrap around my hips like she was built for it makes my cock strain against my pants.
Her dress rides up. The couch in the shared area sits ten feet away, right in the middle of everything, exposed. Perfect.
Her arms lock around my neck. I carry her there without breaking eye contact, each step pressing her heat against me through too many layers of fabric. She doesn't look away. Doesn't blush and hide.
Anya stares at me like she's daring me to stop, and it makes me want to ruin her for anyone else.
I drop onto the couch, her straddling my lap now, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of my thighs. The leather creaks under our combined weight. Her dress fans out around us, hiding nothing important. My hands stay on her hips, thumbs stroking the dip where her waist meets her ass.
"Ride me, sweetheart."
The words come out rougher than I planned. Her pupils dilate at the command. She rocks once against me, testing, and the friction pulls a groan from my throat that I don't try to swallow.
I reach between us, unzip my pants, and free my cock. It's already leaking at the tip, hard enough to ache. Her eyes drop to it and her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip. The sight nearly undoes me.
My fingers move to the top buttons of her dress. Three quick pops and the fabric parts, revealing the lace of her bra and the smooth skin between her breasts. I drag the cups down, not bothering with the clasp. Her tits spill free, nipples already tight.
I cup one, kneading the soft weight, thumb circling the peak until her breathing goes shallow.
"These are perfect," I murmur, leaning in. My mouth closes over one nipple, tongue flicking before I suck harder. She jerks in my lap, a sharp inhale the only sound she makes, but her fingers dig into my shoulders like she's anchoring herself.
The taste of her skin floods my mouth. Warm. Slightly salty. Addictive. I switch to the other breast, scraping my teeth gently, then soothing with my tongue.
Her hips move in tiny circles now, grinding against my bare cock where it rests against her panties. Wet fabric slides along my length. Fuck.
She stands suddenly, legs shaky, and I watch her hook her thumbs under the waistband of her panties. The dress stays on, bunched at her waist, bra shoved down. The sight of her like this, half-dressed in our office, sends a fresh pulse of blood to my cock.
Anya pushes the lace down her thighs. It catches at her knees before she steps out of it. She holds the scrap of fabric out to me without being asked.
I take it. Bring it to my nose for one brief second, inhaling the scent of her arousal, then pocket the panties.
Mine now. She'll leave here without them.
"Come here."
She takes my hand. Small fingers against my larger ones. I tug her back onto my lap, guiding her knees wide again. The head of my cock nudges against her pussy, slick and hot. She hovers there, breathing fast, eyes on my face.
I don't thrust up. I wait. Let her choose how fast, how deep. Her hand wraps around my base, steadying me, and she sinks down.
The first inch stretches her. Her mouth falls open. Another inch and her inner walls flutter around me, tight, so fucking tight. I grip her hips to keep from driving up into that heat.
She's still sore from Jones. I see it in the way her brows pinch, the careful way she breathes.
Halfway down she pauses, chest heaving. I lean forward and capture her nipple again, sucking hard enough to distract her from the burn. It works. She moans low in her throat and slides the rest of the way until I'm buried to the hilt.
"Eric." My name sounds wrecked coming from her.
I release her breast with a wet pop. "That's it. Feel me. Every inch."
The couch leather groans beneath us as she begins to roll her hips, slow and deliberate at first, testing the brutal stretch of my cock splitting her open.
Every downward slide drags a low hiss from between my teeth, the wet, filthy sound of her soaked pussy sucking me in echoing through the open second-floor wing.
Her walls flutter, so slick the glide is obscene, her arousal coating my shaft and dripping down to soak the base of my cock and the fabric of my pants still bunched around my thighs.
Her small hands brace against my chest, fingers curling hard into the fabric of my shirt like she’s anchoring herself to something solid while I fill her so completely.
I keep one broad palm on her breast, kneading the soft weight, rolling her tight nipple between thumb and forefinger until it pebbles harder.
The other hand drifts up the elegant line of her spine beneath the loosened dress, fingertips tracing every delicate bump, feeling the way her skin prickles and heats under my touch.
She arches into it with a shudder, her pace quickening, breath coming faster now, warm and ragged against the side of my neck.
I lean in, lips brushing the frantic flutter of her pulse just below her collarbone. I growl low against her sternum, voice rough with need. “You’re so fucking tight around me. Like you were made for this. Made to take every inch of my cock right here where anyone could walk in.”
She clenches violently at the praise, inner walls rippling along my length in greedy pulses that make my vision blur at the edges.
Her rhythm turns punishing, bouncing hard in my lap so that her full tits brush my bearded face with every descent.
I catch one flushed nipple between my lips again, sucking it deep into the wet heat of my mouth in time with her frantic movements, tongue lashing the sensitive peak until she whimpers.
The old couch creaks rhythmically beneath our combined weight. Somewhere down the hallway the elevator dings, a sharp metallic chime that slices through the charged air.
We both freeze mid-thrust, her pussy still spasming around me, my heart hammering so hard I feel it in my throat. No footsteps follow. No voices. Just the distant hum of the building and the thunder of our breathing.
She lets out a breathless laugh that vibrates through her chest and straight into my mouth where it’s still latched onto her breast.
The sensation shoots straight to my tightening balls, drawing them up tighter against my body. Her blue eyes meet mine, wide and glittering with a wild mix of fear and filthy exhilaration that makes my chest clench with something far sharper than lust.
“They’re going to catch us,” she whispers, voice husky and trembling, but she doesn’t stop. If anything her hips grind down harder, taking me impossibly deeper until the head of my cock kisses the very end of her.
I scrape my teeth along the tender underside of her breast, just hard enough to sting. “Let them. Let them see how perfectly this tight little pussy swallows my cock. How wet you get for your stepbrother in the middle of our damn office.”
Her walls flutter wildly again, thighs beginning to shake against my hips as she hurtles toward the edge. I suck a dark, possessive mark into the flushed skin just above her nipple, then another lower along her ribs—purple blooms that will linger for days.
Evidence. Something for her to press her fingers against later when she’s alone at her central desk, remembering exactly who made her feel this ruined.
My hands slide down to grip the firm globes of her ass, spreading her wider, fingers digging into soft flesh as I help her bounce.
The new angle drags my cock against that spongy spot inside her with every thrust, forcing a sharp, broken gasp from her throat. Her head falls back, long blonde hair spilling like a golden curtain down her back, the strands brushing my knuckles.
I want to wrap it around my fist and pull until she arches even more beautifully for me.
“You won’t ever get away from us,” I rasp against her sweat-damp skin, licking a slow, deliberate stripe up the valley between her breasts, tasting the salty tang of her exertion and the faint sweetness that is purely Anya.
The words pour out raw and unfiltered, straight from the darkest part of me.
“We’ll keep you right here between the three of us.
Keep this perfect belly swollen with our child.
One of us buried inside this greedy cunt every damn day until it takes.
Until you’re dripping with us and there’s no question who you belong to. ”
The thought alone sends a fresh surge of blood to my cock, swelling me even thicker inside her fluttering heat.
I feel her reaction in the way her breath stutters, in the fresh rush of slick that floods around me, and it only makes me want to mark her deeper, claim her harder, right here where the glass walls could betray us at any moment.
She cries out, hips stuttering, pussy clamping down so hard I see stars. Not coming yet, but close. So close.
I kiss her hard then, swallowing the next sound she makes.
Our teeth click. Her tongue slides against mine, desperate.
She bounces faster, frantic now, chasing it.
The wet slap of skin on skin fills the open area.
Her dress rides higher. My pants are still around my thighs. We look obscene. I love it.
She breaks the kiss to breathe, forehead pressed to mine. Our noses brush with every thrust.
"Eric, I?—"
"Don't stop." I grip her hips tighter, guiding her down harder. "Take what you need."
Her rhythm turns erratic. Small sounds escape her now, helpless little gasps that match each time she sinks onto my cock. I watch her face, the flush crawling down her neck, the way her lips part. Beautiful. Stubborn. Mine.
I need more of her. Need to feel her come apart while I'm still inside her.
In one smooth motion I wrap my arms around her waist and flip her. Her back hits my chest. My cock never leaves her pussy. The new position spreads her thighs wider over mine, feet barely touching the floor. She leans back against me, head on my shoulder, completely open.
"Fuck," she breathes.
I reach around her hip, find her clit with two fingers, and circle it. Not gentle. She jerks like she's been shocked, inner walls rippling around my length.
"Ride me like this," I command against her ear. My free hand palms her breast, pinching the nipple. "Show me how bad you want it."
She does. Her hips roll in a tight circle, then lift and drop, taking me in short, hard strokes. The angle lets me grind up into her at the same time, hitting deeper. My fingers keep working her clit, sliding through the slickness leaking around my cock.
Her hands grip my thighs, nails digging through my pants. The sting feels perfect. I suck on the side of her neck, then bite down just hard enough to leave a faint mark. Not visible under her hair. Just for us.
"Eric," she gasps. Her voice cracks on the second syllable.
"That's right. Say my name while you come on my cock."
Her pace turns frantic. The couch groans in protest. I feel her thighs tremble, feel her pussy start to pulse in irregular squeezes. Close. So fucking close.
I press harder on her clit, rub faster. My other hand leaves her breast to wrap around her throat, not squeezing, just holding. Possessing. She whimpers at the contact and grinds down one final time.
Her whole body locks up, back arching against my chest, a broken sound tearing from her throat. Her pussy clamps down on me in strong, rhythmic pulses that drag me right to the edge with her.
Wetness floods around my cock. I keep rubbing her clit through it, drawing it out until her hips jerk away from my fingers, oversensitive.
Only then do I let go.
I thrust up into her twice, three times, burying myself as deep as I can.
The release barrels through me, sudden and violent.
I come hard, pulsing inside her, filling her with every spurt while her walls still flutter around me.
My groan muffles against her shoulder. I bite down there too, needing something to ground me.
We stay like that, locked together, breathing like we've run miles. Her back rises and falls against my chest. My hand rests low on her stomach, right where I told her we'd keep her full. The thought sends one last weak twitch through my cock.
She turns her head, seeking my mouth. The kiss is slower now. Messy. Less teeth, more tongue. I taste the aftermath on her—salt, need, relief.
My fingers trace lazy circles on her belly. Not pressing. Just feeling the warmth of her skin.
The elevator dings again down the hall.
This time, footsteps follow.
I don't move. Neither does she. My cock is still buried inside her, softening but not yet ready to leave that heat. Her dress covers the important parts. Mostly.
Vincent rounds the corner first. He stops dead at the sight of us. His brown eyes take in everything—Anya's flushed face, my hand still curved possessively over her stomach, the way she's still impaled on me.
Jones appears behind him a second later. His blue eyes narrow, but the corner of his mouth twitches. Not anger. Recognition.
"Started without us, brother?" Jones says, voice low and steady as he closes the distance.
Anya tenses on my lap, but her pussy gives one last involuntary squeeze around my cock at the sound of his voice. I smile against her hair.
"She's ready for more," I tell them, sliding my hand lower until my fingers brush where we're joined. "Aren't you, sweetheart?"
She doesn't answer with words. Instead she rolls her hips once, slow and deliberate, taking me deeper even though I'm spent. The challenge in her eyes when she looks at Jones and Vincent tells me everything I need to know.
This is only the beginning of our three months.
And none of us are letting her go after that.