Devil's Own (The Devil's Keepers #3)(13)

       
         
       
        

And she was just catching her breath when she heard his zipper and the telltale sound of foil ripping open.

Tell him to stop, she ordered herself.

But she didn't.

You want him to stop, that same voice shrieked.

But that was the trouble. She really, really didn't.

His hands were on her again, hauling her hips up even higher and tilting her ass into the air. She felt a tug at the thong she wore, pulling it to the side in a way that should have been uncomfortable-but wasn't, somehow.

Then the broad head of his cock was there at her entrance. He was as big as she'd imagined he should be. Huge, as befit a man his size, and he took his time sinking the head-just the head-into her soaking wet pussy. Playing with her, she realized. She writhed desperately against him and he did nothing but hold her where he wanted her, keeping her eternally unable to spear herself on him or get anything but that thick plum head inside her.

"Ask me nicely," he growled at her. "And I'll think about it."

It was sheer torture. He was a sadistic bastard. Lara was sweating. She was bucking against him, her fingers digging into the piles of papers she'd been grading. But she could only focus on the man-the stranger-behind her. On that giant cock that was spreading her open yet going no farther and the sensations that rocked through her like hometown earthquakes, making her feel feverish and out of her mind with need.

But she'd die before she begged him. There were limits-even when she'd already crossed every line there was. She could worry about those lines later. But if she begged him, if she let him have that kind of power over her … Lara had no idea what would become of her.

"You're lucky this pussy is so fucking greedy," Chaser muttered behind her. "Or I'd make you wait all day."

"Fuck you," she managed to say, her eyes screwed tight and her mouth against the surface of her own desk. Images she'd trot out later while dying of shame, she was sure. But that was Future Lara's tragedy. This, right here, was hers.

"Oh, I will," Chaser assured her. He angled his big chest down, pinning her to the desk and getting his mouth to her ear while holding her hips still with those massive hands of his. "Then you and me can sit down and have a long discussion about the Brothers of Goliath tat you're rocking. Sound good?"

But he didn't wait for her answer. Or maybe he got it in the way she jerked beneath him, making a little sound of shock or distress or possibly pure need that she would have killed to take back.

And either way, he slammed himself into her, hard and huge and so thick she thought she really might break-and then she did, into a thousand pieces, again and again and again, her pussy clamping down hard on his great, glorious length inside of her. 

"Shit, you're hot," Chaser muttered against the back of her neck when she came down again, and it took Lara a minute to realize he was just as hard and huge inside her as before. That this was nowhere near over. Not with a man like Chaser, who fucked for sport. "Jesus."

And then, finally, he began to move.





Chapter 3


She was scalding him alive. Hot and tight, and she'd already come twice.

Chaser loved few things more than fucking a responsive woman, and Ms. Lara Ashburn was that and then some.

Not to mention the whole host of other things she was, apparently, that he'd have to spend some time dealing with-

But not yet. Not now.

Right now there was nothing but that tight grip of her hot cunt around him. The way she met his thrusts, her perfectly rounded ass bucking back against him as he pounded into her. He held her down on the desk beneath him and he indulged himself. Thoroughly. He gathered her thick, soft hair with all that dark red threaded into it in one hand, keeping her head up when she would have buried her face in the pile of papers on her desk. He circled her neck with his other hand, not to scare her, but to hold her still and perfectly positioned. So she could do nothing but take him, again and again, every deep slam inside of her a little slicker, a little harder, a little better. And she could take all of him, a tight, wet slide to the hilt. He liked that even more.

Chaser set a rough, exhilarating pace that made the metal desk screech a little bit on the floor with every thrust. He could feel it everywhere. In his cock, sure, but everywhere else, too. Like this woman beneath him was something a little better than an everyday fuck.

Like this woman, catnip with a skirt rucked up around her waist and her lacy little thong shoved to one side to accommodate him, had been crafted especially for him. Prim on the outside and a dirty little biker chick inside. A screaming hot wet dream in the flesh.