Page 108 of Vows of Blood

“Say it again,” he demands, pressing his face into my neck as he kicks my ankles apart.

“I love you,” I say with a gasp as he bends me over the desk, my palms flat against the polished wood, the folder of documents right beneath my hands.

"Sign them."

He growls low against my ear, his body a wall of heat at my back.

“What? Now?” I squirm, but his hand presses firmly between my shoulder blades, keeping me pinned. "Luca, I can do it later. It’s not important."

His muscular frame leans into me, pressing forward, and forcing me down further over the desk.

"Sign." He reaches around me, producing a pen, and places it in my fingers. "I want it done. I want to know that you have a life that's yours, and that you’re not doing this because you’d have no way out."

I’m about to put pen to paper when his other hand slides up my thigh, pushing my dress higher, up and over my hip.

I gasp.

"Luca, I can't concentrate when you're…"

Higher still, the hem of the dress bunches around my waist as he continues to pin me against the desk with his big body. His fingers trace the ticklish crease where my ass meets the top of my thigh, before traveling up to catch in the lacy trim of my underwear.

"Yes, you can." He presses a kiss to the back of my neck as his finger slides under the material, and he moans in satisfaction when he finds me dripping wet. "First signature. Bottom of the page."

I find the line, barely able to focus as his fingers travel across my entrance, gathering my cream and dragging it over my clit, which grows needier and needier with each teasing pass. My handwriting is shaky but legible as I drag the pen over paper.

"Good girl." He rewards me by hooking his fingers into the top of my underwear, dragging them down my legs and returning to stroke my clit, this time, in slow torturous circles. "Keep going."

“They’re going to smell like sex,” I murmur.

The second signature is worse, little more than a scrawl, because his other hand has found its way to my breast and is stroking my nipple through the thin material of my dress with devastating precision.

"Luca." His name is a moan as he pushes one finger deep inside me. "Please."

I slap my hand against the desk when he pushes another in, pulsing in and out, then removes them abruptly.

"Please, what?" He circles my clit slowly, teasingly, just the wrong side of the firm pressure I need. I attempt to lean into his hand, to get what I want, but he slaps my clit gently before pulling his hand away. "Please stop?"

"No," I cry out, arching back against him, desperate. "Please don't stop."

"Then keep signing."

His hands return, this time, one pumping in and out of my dripping entrance while the other strokes my clit, harder now, faster, rubbing small circles around and around.

“Fuck,” I curse, hanging my head, my hair brushing across the papers, as my pussy clenches, desperate for more, for his thick length to grip onto. To be filled. “More Luca, please.”

He leans his weight on my back, forcing me down flat, and bites my ear as he yanks the papers from my hand and repositions them in front of my outstretched hand. Tapping the next sticker note, he tells me what he wants and what I need to do before I get more.

Frustrated and needy, I scribble some shapes that vaguely resemble my name while his fingers slide inside me, curling in a way that makes my vision blur. The pen skitters across the paper as I clench hard, and a jolt of pleasure surges inside me as liquid warmth spreads from my fingertips and my toes toward my core.

"One more," he murmurs, sounding unbearably smug, knowing the way he has me trapped beneath him is appealing to some baser part of me I never knew existed. I like him bossy. I like him dominant. And I sure as hell love the way he’s taking complete control.

“Please,” I whimper, desperate not just to finish, but to have him inside me when I do. “I want you. Fuck me. Please.”

The final signature is barely recognizable, but the moment the pen leaves the paper, and I shove the documents away, he withdraws his fingers. I hear the clink of his belt, the slide of his zipper, and anticipation bubbles up inside me as he steps closer.

"You're mine," he growls. "In every way that matters. This pussy, these lips, every whimper and moan from your mouth is mine forevermore."

He drives into me in one hard thrust, and I cry out, my fingers scrambling for purchase on the scattered documents. He sets a punishing pace, one hand gripping my hip while the other fists in my hair, pulling my head back.