Page 106 of Resist

Epilogue

CORA

“On the table.”There’s trouble in his eyes, a shift that’s gone from peckish to famished. And if I know my husband, I’m on the menu.

“Excuse you?”

He’s vibrating with poorly contained energy, and part of me wants to play with it. I push back from my table, stand up and make sure the chair’s placed right beside me. “I didn’t stutter, Corabelle.”

I arch a brow so high it might slip into my hairline. I don’t need to say anything, he knows from my face I’m not going to be dominated by him. For the first time in our entire relationship, he doesn’t capitulate. Instead, he licks his lips, his top lip curling into a feral smirk. “Don’t make me chase you, Corabelle.” He removes his suit jacket and carefully drapes it over the back of his chair as he stands. “You’ll lose.” He walks to the door and flicks the lock, then pulls the blinds.

“You summoned me here with no explanation.” He pops open the button on his shirt before rolling up the sleeve and revealing his muscular forearm. “I was freaking out for thelast hour, thinking you were firing me, or breaking up with me, or... I don’t know what.”

He unbuttons the other sleeve and does the same thing before yanking off his tie. “I get here and discover you want to publish my book.” He takes two steps toward me and I move to the side of the table, adrenaline surging through my veins.

“Like that’s not enough to make me want to bend you over your desk and fuck you till my cum drips down your thighs.”

If I wasn’t already buzzing with the zing of excitement of him prowling toward me like a predator, that set my underwear on fire.

“But then I see you’ve changed your last name, Wife. Corabelle Montgomery.” He’s kicked off his shoes, and while I’m distracted he’s sliding his belt out from the loops, the leather slapping against his hand, his dress pants slide down his legs.

He steps out, casually, slowly, his eyes holding mine hostage as he kicks his clothes across the floor toward the door.

“Look at what you do to me, Corabelle Montgomery.” His voice drags over my new name like it’s the most delicious thing it’s ever tasted. He steps out of his boxers, and I can’t help it, I lick my lips at how hard his cock is.

I move to my left, and he bolts right to cut me off. I keep my fingertips on the table and slowly circle to my right. He watches, eyes narrowed, he’s poised and ready to strike. I shove the rolling chair at him, but he sidesteps it and darts in my direction.

I squeal and run, but when I get to the door, before I can reach for the lock, he’s vaulted over the table, and he’s behind me, pressing me against the door. Our breaths are heavy, sawing through the air, my panties are soaked, and his steel rod dick is digging into my ass.

He doesn’t say a word, instead, picks me up by my waistand pushes me face down on my desk. He wastes no time trying to yank my panties off but he can’t make them break. With a grunt of frustration he knees my legs apart and pulls my underwear down far enough to please him. There’s a pause for him to glove up, then he rams his cock inside me, knocking the air out of my lungs as he does.

“Safe word.”

I don’t answer, so he grabs the back of my hair and tugs my head back. “Safe word, Corabelle.”

A sizzle of heat flickers across my whole body. “Go harder.”

He thrusts his dick into me till he’s balls deep. “No. You know that’s not your fucking safe word.”

“Hmmmm.” I cast a look over my shoulder, rolling my lips to stop from laughing at the fury in his features. “Maybe I forget.”

“Corabelle.” He impales me again on his cock. “What’s your fucking safe word?”

I shrug. “I forget.”

“It’s pickle,” he grinds out.

I throw a cursory glance down at where our bodies are joined. “Oh, I should have remembered that.” The suggestion that his dick is a pickle doesn’t go unnoticed.

He grips my hips with a bruising strength as he pistons his cock into me over and over and over. The edge of the desk cuts into me from the front, and my husband fucks me like a man possessed from behind. No amount of gripping or grabbing at the table buys me traction. I’m at his mercy.

And I fucking love it.

I love that he’s unhinged, untamed, and completely out of his head with need to be inside me, to fuck me, to come inside me.

My nails claw at my desk, the mug falls off the edge as thedesk rocks with the momentum of him rucking me like an empty paper bag as he rides me.

He fills me with his cum after a few minutes of fucking me bent over my desk, and before I can catch my breath, I’m on my back, papers scattered in the air as he clears my desk with sweeps of his hands.

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