Page 79 of Daddy's Christmas Obsession
Before I can respond, he's lifting me onto one of the lab benches, his hands already working on the buttons of my blouse. The cold metal against my thighs is a sharp contrast to the heat of his touch.
"Here?" I gasp as he opens my shirt, revealing the black lace bra I wore specifically because I knew it drives him wild.
"Here," he confirms, his mouth closing over my nipple through the lace. "Right here, where you save lives with money from people who take them. Going to fuck you on this lab bench where you work miracles."
The contrast is the perfect symbol of who we've become together—beauty and darkness, healing and destruction, love and ruthlessness all tangled together.
His hands slide up my skirt, finding the matching lace panties, and I'm already soaking wet for him. Always ready for him, no matter how many years pass.
"Fuck, you're wet," he growls, his fingers tracing the edge of my panties. "My brilliant wife, getting her cunt ready for me."
"Only for you," I moan, already aching for more contact.
"Damn right." His fingers slide beneath the lace, finding my wetness. "Because you're mine. My queen, my partner, my perfect fucking wife."
I cry out as he slides two fingers inside me, my back arching against the cool metal of the lab bench. "More," I gasp. "I need more."
"Tell me what you want," he commands, his thumb finding my clit.
"I want your cock," I breathe, not caring how desperate I sound. "I want you to fuck me right here where everyone knows I'm Dr. Sinclair-Strickland, the respectable doctor who saves lives."
"While your husband destroys them," he growls, withdrawing his fingers.
"Yes," I moan. "Fuck yes."
He frees himself from his slacks, and the sight of his cock—thick and hard and ready for me—makes my mouth water.
"Pull your panties to the side," he orders. "Show me how wet you are for your husband."
I comply without hesitation, using one hand to pull the lace aside while bracing myself on the bench with the other. The position leaves me completely open to him, vulnerable and exposed in the best possible way.
"Perfect," he growls, positioning himself at my entrance. "My brilliant, ruthless, perfect wife."
He pushes inside with one smooth thrust, and we both groan at the sensation. Even after three years of marriage, he still stretches me perfectly, still fills me completely.
"Fuck," I gasp, my legs wrapping around his waist. "Yes, just like that."
"Love watching you take my cock," he pants, starting to move with deep, powerful strokes. "Love knowing that the same hands that save lives in this lab were wrapped around my dick this morning."
The crude words send electricity through me. Victor has a gift for making me feel like a saint and a sinner simultaneously, and I'm addicted to the contradiction.
"Harder," I demand, my nails digging into his shoulders through his expensive shirt. "Show me what it means to be claimed by the man who made all this possible."
His control snaps at my words. His thrusts become more forceful, more demanding, taking me with the kind of raw possession that makes my toes curl. The lab bench creaks beneath us, a rhythmic sound that mingles with our ragged breathing.
"Mine," he snarls against my throat. "My brilliant queen, my perfect partner, my wife."
"Yours," I gasp, feeling my climax building with devastating intensity. "Always yours."
He slides his hand between us, finding my clit and working it with the perfect pressure that he's learned drives me wild. The combination of his cock filling me and his fingers on my most sensitive spot sends me hurtling toward the edge.
"Come for me," he commands. "Come all over my cock in the lab I built for you."
The orgasm hits me like a tsunami, crashing through me with such force that I scream his name. My body convulses around him, clenching and releasing in waves that seem to go on forever.
"That's it," he groans, his rhythm faltering as he gets ready to come. "Fuck, Kyra, you feel incredible."
He buries himself deep and lets go, emptying himself inside me with a groan that sounds torn from his very soul. We stay locked together, both shaking from the intensity of it all.
