Page 74 of Work: Strictly Professional

Time stretches and drags out. I’ve been here before, and I’m somewhere brand new. My vision focuses and distorts. I see tanned skin and raven hair flecked with silver. Veins protruding and deep lines on his knuckles. My heart thunders, the sound swooshing so loudly my vision blurs when I see Derek’s face. Shapes and features turn hazy. All that remains is the shape of him. Huge. Towering. Broad shoulders. An arrogant tilt to his head. The white flash of a grin and a dark, ominous presence sinks to the floor and snakes toward me, slowly circling and winding its way around me, squeezing tighter. Hotter. Tighter and tighter until I’m dizzy.

“Wyn.” Derek’s voice enters my body at the tip of my cock and vibrates up my shaft. “Brace yourself with both hands on the glass. Widen your stance and hold firm. You’re going to need to because I’m about to make your knees buckle.”

Oof

I do as he says, tottering unsteadily to the floor-to-ceiling window that faces west. There’s a jungle of buildings. Angular and tall. Framed in the distance by a canvas of blue. A cerulean dream where the sky meets the sea. I place my hands, palms flat, onto icy glass, trying not to look down or think about the fact I’m willfully exposing myself to half of downtown LA.

“It’s mirrored,” says Derek, who seems to have picked up mind-reading at around the same time he started tapping into my deepest fantasies. “We can see out, but they can’t see in.”

That reassures me enough that I look down to see tiny ant-people scurrying along on the street. Umbrellas are out. It’s raining. People are walking quickly and running for cover. Vertigo, or unbridled lust, makes my legs and whatever’s between my ears turn to sponge.

A soft, low rumble shakes the floorboards beneath me. Derek is breathing behind me. No, not breathing, it’s lower, louder—Derek is growling behind me, disturbing the air and shaking me gently by my cock and balls.

I mewl pathetically and rest my forehead on the glass.

“Ass out.” It’s coarse and crude and just what I want. What I need.

I shuffle back and arch my spine, spreading my legs wider.

Derek hisses behind me.

The first time he touches me, it’s with his tongue. He licks my shoulder all the way to my neck. My head lolls to the side to give him more access. He takes it with his teeth. A light graze, a sharp pinch. A low moan that comes from my core. The next time he does it, it’s harder, wetter, and he pairs it with the quick, expert thrust of a slick finger straight up my ass. That’s hard too. He drills me twice and then adds another finger. It’s a lot, thick and hot. I let out a small sound of protest.

It’s what he wants.

“Shh, bunny,” he sneers, “you need this. You’re going to thank me for it later. You’ll see.”

I stand still, or as still as I can with my legs shaking this badly, as he opens me. He’s quick and rough. Just a little rough, but rough enough to make my mind swim. He’s different. I can feel it, even though I can’t see him. If I could, he wouldn’t be looking at me the way he usually looks at me, looking and learning. Studying me. Right now, he’s not learning. He’s in his own wheelhouse.

Derek MacAvoy knows the business of ownership like no other.

He curls his fingers inside me, down toward my pelvic bone, causing a burst of stars to glitter and light up the expanse of blue before me.

“Who do you belong to?” he asks almost kindly.

“You,” I slur with no hesitation.

“That’s right, and don’t you forget it. In fact…” He drifts off just long enough for me to hear the smile in his words. It isn’t a kind one. “I’m going to make sure you don’t. I’m going to make it so you can’t move. Can’t walk, can’t sit. I’m going to make it so you can’t shift without feeling where I’ve been.”

My eyes slide closed, and I groan. Loud and long. I don’t even try not to.

“And, bunny, I want you to tell me, okay? Every time I hit hard, every time it hurts, every time you think you can’t take anymore, I want you to tell me you’re mine. I want to hear you say the words. Got it?”

I nod, head loose on its hinges, falling a little too far back and forward.

There’s a loud clatter, plastic on timber, as he tosses the bottle of lube on the floor. A soft squelch. A big hand circling a big cock.

I shudder, distantly wondering whether it’s wise to provoke a man like Derek MacAvoy into a rut.

Fortunately, I don’t have much time to wonder. Derek reaches down and peels my cheeks open with both hands before notching his head firmly inside me. He does it roughly too. The stretch is quick. A sharp sting and then pressure so deep I feel it in my face. He thrusts, slow but true, stuffing me to the hilt. He draws back and snaps his hips, filling me as deeply as I’ve ever been filled. His pace is fast, leaving me struggling to catch up, struggling to absorb the sensation without losing my mind.From the start, I cry out with each thrust, long, hollow wails that threaten to break the glass.

Derek doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow. He wraps a hand around my neck and holds me. Not choking. Not squeezing. Owning. The next fuck is hard. Harder than before. It shakes something loose.

“Yours,” I rasp. “Yours. Yours.”

I repeat the same word over and over. I say it until he’s fucked me onto my toes and my face is squished against the glass. I moan it and cry it, and when his hand wraps around my cock and starts jacking me hard, I scream it.

I scream it as Derek’s stride stutters and grows erratic and my own peak crests and crashes into me. My vision fades to white and then black. No hint of gray. I shoot for my life, for the ages, for every single version of me.

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