The cold glass of the window against Elara's bare back was a jarring contrast to the suffocating heat of Alaric's body. She was trapped between the frozen city and a man who burned like a furnace. His hand was still working between her legs, a relentless, rhythmic pressure that made her inner walls twitch and pulse in a desperate search for friction.
"Answer me, Elara," Alaric commanded, his voice vibrating against her wet skin as he kissed the valley between her breasts. "Tell me what you're craving."
"I want... I want to feel you," she gasped, her voice breaking. "No more fingers. I want all of you."
Alaric's dark eyes flashed. He stepped back just enough to scoop her up, his powerful arms lifting her as if she weighed nothing. He carried her over to the massive obsidian desk, sweeping the signed contract and a crystal decanter onto the floor with one brutal motion. The crash of glass echoed through the office, but neither of them cared.
He sat her on the edge of the polished black surface. Elara's legs fell open instinctively, her skirt pushed up to her waist, revealing her soaked lace panties and the pale, trembling skin of her thighs. Alaric stood between her knees, his hands reaching for his belt.
The sound of the leather unbuckling was heavy with intent. He unzipped his slacks, and as the fabric fell away, Elara's breath hitched. He was magnificent-thick, heavy, and pulsing with a life of its own. He looked like he was carved from marble, the veins tracing the length of him like a map of pure power.
He didn't move immediately. He reached out and grabbed her breasts, squeezing them together so they pushed upward, the heavy globes jiggling with the force of his grip. He watched them sway, his thumb flicking over her sensitive, darkened nipples until she was arching her back, her pussy throbbing so hard it was a dull ache.
"Watch," he whispered, his voice thick.
He guided himself to her entrance, the broad, blunt head of his length grazing against her slick opening. Elara let out a strangled cry, her hips lifting off the desk in anticipation. She felt him-the sheer width of him stretching her, the heat of him promising to fill the void that had been aching for years.
Then, with one slow, agonizingly steady thrust, he buried himself inside her.
The sensation was overwhelming. Elara's eyes rolled back in her head as her tight walls gripped him, stretching to accommodate his massive girth. She felt every inch of him sliding into her, a deep, invasive fullness that reached her very soul.
Alaric let out a low, guttural growl, his muscles rippling as he held himself deep inside her. "You are so tight," he hissed, his face contorted with a mix of pain and pleasure. "Like you were made just to hold me."
He began to move. It wasn't a gentle rhythm; it was a conquest. Each thrust was a statement of ownership, his hips slamming against her with a force that made her entire body tremble. With every hit, her breasts bounced and swayed, the soft flesh swinging in a frantic rhythm that Alaric watched with hungry eyes.
Elara was lost. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, her heels digging into his lower back. Her pussy was clenching around him in a series of rhythmic, involuntary pulses, milking him as he drove into her. The friction was building a white-hot tension in her lower belly, a coil of energy that was screaming for release.
"Alaric! Oh god, Alaric!" she screamed, her head tossing back and forth on the desk.
"That's it," he roared, his pace turning feral. "Take it all. Remember who owns this feeling."
Suddenly, the intercom on the desk buzzed, a sharp, intrusive sound.
"Mr. Thorne? Julian Vane is downstairs. He says he doesn't need an appointment for an old friend."
Alaric didn't stop. If anything, he thrust harder, his eyes locked on Elara's face as she neared the edge of a shattering climax. The mention of his rival only seemed to fuel his dominance.
"Let him wait," Alaric grunted, his body tensing for his own release. "Let him sit in the lobby while I finish marking what's mine
