Page 101 of Unholy Union
To Cato, I’m beautifully wrecked.
He lets me know yet again as he leans forward and spits in my mouth. He immediately follows with a deep kiss that’s sloppy and wet but animalistic in how he licks at me. His tongue finds mine and he kisses me so consumingly, the floor feels like it’s moving beneath my knees.
“Get up,” he growls against my lips. “On your feet. Now.”
I scramble to my feet on wobbly legs, so disoriented I can barely stand.
“Against the desk. Hurry up.”
He’s snapping, his tone impatient and hoarse. He sounds like a man on the edge. As I brace myself against the desk, my back to his front, I realize why.
Cato’s as turned on as I am—he’s as close as I am to losing himself, and he needs meright now.
He grabs my thigh and props me up against the desk and spears straight into me from behind. His dick sinks deep, bottoming out on the first stroke.
I cry out, arching my back at the sudden penetration. Not from pain or discomfort but from pure pleasure. My pussy tingles, contracting around him in a way that feels amazing for us both. We’re left panting and desperate as he draws his hips back and starts fucking me against the desk.
Cato is all over me.
Groping my hips and pinching at my nipples. Kissing my throat and jaw. Breathing into my ear.
I scratch at the oak wood of his desk and take every hard, rough inch he gives me.
Neither of us hold back, the sounds we make loud and guttural.
He slams in and out of me as I clamp down around him. My pussy ripples as pleasure builds and he twists my nipple harder before his hand snakes up to grip me by the throat.
“That filthy little cunt knows exactly who she belongs to, doesn’t she?” he pants, his cock so deep, I damn near feel him in my womb. “She knows who owns her even if your mouth forgets.”
I moan in answer as he pins me against the desk and bashes away at the spot I need. I’m slowly going numb with pleasure, tingles prickling through me. Cato gives the sides of my throat a firm squeeze, applying enough pressure so that my earlier dizziness returns.
Except it’s even more intense.
All at once it becomes too much.
My orgasm rolls through me in searing fashion. I release a raw, wounded cry, the rest of me flushed by hot pleasure.
Cato groans, feeling my pussy spasm around his dick. He pumps into me even harder, driving himself to the finish line. His hips crash against me one final time, and then he’s coming.
His larger body keeps me trapped between him and the desk so I feel everything.
The hard twitch of his muscles. The raggedness of his breaths. Even the warmth of his cum as it floods my pussy and he presses kisses along the side of my throat, squeezing it as he does.
“Let that be a lesson, Sabrina,” he pants. He nips at my ear, a sudden playful edge to his otherwise stern tone. “You keep trying to kill me, you’ll wind up fucked like this every time.”
Chapter 21
Cato
Die for You - the Weeknd
We’re at the Butcher Steakhouse in Midtown Manhattan, celebrating a hostile takeover like it’s Christmas morning, and all I can think about is which one of these bastards is going to turn on me first.
There’s red wine, bloody steak, smoldering cigars, and plenty of ego to go around when you have the family’s top brass sitting down for a business dinner.
Papà’s at the head of the table with his trusty bulldog of an enforcer, Pello Severino. Sergio De Rossi’s on his left already three glasses of wine deep, ruddy-cheeked and loud as he raises his fourth glass for yet another fucking toast.
“We did it, gents! Corsini Construction won’t know what hit ’em!”
