Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
The last slap hits me squarely on my clit and sends me over the edge. It’s not a regular orgasm—it’s something sharper, more elemental, like every nerve ending firing at once. My knees buckle as my back arches spasmodically, and then I collapse against the desk, screaming and crying with tears coming down my face. My pussy explodes against his hand, drenching it in fluids as tremors shake my form, hot gushes of sweet cream running down my thighs. Oh my god, what’s happening? How did this man make me come like a hurricane from a mere spanking?
But Brent’s not done yet. in the middle of my orgasm, he thrusts two fingers deep into my spasming cunt, and it sends me over the edge again.
“Mr. Gibson!” I scream. “Oh god, oh god, mmmm, yes!”
“Fuck yeah,” he rasps, fucking me hard with his blunt fingers, shaking his digits in me so that my climax is magnified. “You’re so fucking sexy, sweetheart, and so fucking horny too. Shit, I need to fuck this wet cunt asap.”
I scream and cry out some more, my eyes blind as he fingers my cunt relentlessly. My walls spasm, squeezing on the huge digits within as I cry out, my breasts bobbling with pleasure. Oh my god, what’s become of me? How can I be having dirty sex with my handsome boss in a locked room at work?
Finally, however, the climax ebbs and I return to Earth, still trembling and crying. Brent strokes my blonde hair from my forehead before pressing a kiss to the side of my neck. Then, he removes his fingers from my cunt with a wet sucking sound before pressing them to my mouth.
“Suck, Marnie,” he whispers. “See how you taste.”
I do as told. There’s no hesitation as I part my lips, savoring the sweetness of my pussy nectar while still halfway sobbing and crying. But Brent’s gentle after I’ve cleaned his fingers, murmuring soft words of praise in my ear. He smooths my skirt down, covers me up, and then kisses my neck again. When I finally stand, he hands me my phone.
“We’ll talk more tomorrow,” he says, voice smooth. But the man’s pupils are blown, his jaw like granite, and the bulge in his pants is impossible to ignore.
“Until then, sweetheart, I expect you to behave.” He brushes a stray wisp of hair from my face, then bends down one more time for a soft, sweet kiss before leaving, closing the door behind him with a click.
I stand there, trembling, my ass on fire, my pussy still wet and pulsing. What just happened? Did my boss really just finger my pussy, while smacking my bottom as punishment? Did he really just pull a dirty toy out of my cunt with a wet sucking sound, savoring the filthy act? Oh my god!
Yet I feel alive, and more myself than I ever have. Every cell is vibrating, and my senses are on high. I want to scream, or laugh, or just sink down onto the floor and relive every second.
But I can’t. I collect my things, clean myself up as best I can, and stagger back to my cubicle. Shay is there, pretending not to watch me, but she gives me a sidelong glance, her lips twisted in a knowing smile. What does this woman know that I don’t?
Yet this isn’t the time to figure it out, so I log in and start drafting a memo, but my hands won’t stop shaking. I check my calendar, and lo and behold, there’s an email from Brent, cc’ing James, inviting me to a “casual dinner” at seven tomorrow night. At his apartment. Just the three of us. And I’m supposed to wear sexy lingerie.
I reread the message five times, heart pounding.
I should be terrified, or at least embarrassed. Instead, I feel a throb of anticipation in my pussy so strong I have to cross my legs under the desk.
Because the wolves haven’t even started yet.
But I’m desperate to find out what it feels like to be eaten alive.
4
CHAPTER FOUR — CONFESSING MY SINS
Marnie
The next day, I have plans to grab lunch with a new friend from the firm, Eliza. She’s also a paralegal, but the gorgeous blonde has been around longer than me, so she’s probably a few years older. Still, Eliza knows her way around Gibson Grant, and that’s one of the reasons why I want to get lunch with her: to pick her brain a little about my dominating bosses, and their dirty predilections.
I step into Cafe Baptiste, which happens to be the tiniest, most chaotic café within walking distance of the firm. It’s packed—table-to-table office drones, line cooks in full clatter, grad students hunched over laptops—and I instantly regret my choice. But Eliza’s already claimed a two-top by the window, waving at me.