On Dublin Street

He shrugged. “I didn’t even realize. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

 

 

I scoffed, needing to hold onto a little bit of dignity. “You didn’t hurt me. I can’t be hurt by you.”

 

At my scathing tone, Braden’s mouth hardened—the anger was back. I found myself pushed roughly against the desk as Braden grasped the back of my thighs and lifted my legs, pressing in between them as he shoved the hem of my dress up to my waist. I clutched at him for balance, the desk cold against my backside. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Jocelyn.”

 

I tried to push at him, but he only pressed deeper, his right hand leaving my leg to unbutton his slacks. I was panting now. “I’m not lying.”

 

I felt his cock nudge against my sex as he leaned in to whisper in my ear. “You’re lying.” He kissed my neck.

 

Then he surprised me by taking a shaky breath. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

 

I could only nod unsurely, feeling out of control of the entire situation.

 

“Babe.” He pulled back, his eyes blazing now with something I didn’t understand. “I hit him,” he said hoarsely and I suddenly realized the look was disbelief. “I hit him. Seeing him with you… I hit him.”

 

Because of me. I cupped his face in my hands, suddenly not afraid of him. “Don’t,” I whispered across his lips. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

 

He crushed my lips beneath his at the exact same time he tore my panties off, his tongue thrusting into my mouth hungrily as his cock thrust hungrily inside me. I gasped at the sudden invasion, arching my back as he gripped me high by the back of the thighs and pounded into me over and over, my cries of pleasure filling the office, his grunts muffled in my neck. “Jocelyn,” he growled, trying to bury deeper. “Lie back,” he demanded.

 

I did it instantly, falling back, the bare skin revealed by the dress pressed against the cool wood. At this angle, Braden lifted my legs higher, allowing him to slide in harder, deeper. I writhed on the desk, my lower body completely in Braden’s control. The torture was exquisite, and the orgasm tore through me in record time.

 

Braden wasn’t done. As I came down off my orgasm, I watched him watch me as he ground into me, chasing his own climax. I could feel another orgasm building. When Braden came, he threw his head back, his teeth gritted, the muscles in his neck straining as his hips jerked against me. The feel of him coming inside of me, the image of his face in release, was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen, and I cried out, my sex pulsing around his cock as I came again.

 

“Jesus.” Braden watched me, hunger in his eyes.

 

Finally, my muscles relaxed and I closed my eyes, trying to catch my breath.

 

He was still inside me when he apologized softly, “I was a dick tonight.”

 

“Yeah,” I murmured.

 

He squeezed my hip. “Am I forgiven?”

 

I opened my eyes and smiled, amused. “I already accepted the two orgasms as an apology.”

 

Braden didn’t laugh like he normally would. Instead he nudged his semi-hard cock a little further inside me until I could almost feel it kissing my womb, and he muttered, “Mine.”

 

I blinked, not sure I heard right. “What?”

 

“Come on,” Braden sighed, pulling carefully out of me and tucking himself back into his pants. He gently eased me up off the table and grimaced as he picked up my torn panties.

 

“Now, I’m walking out of there in this dress without any underwear on, Caveman.” I grinned saucily.

 

Braden closed his eyes at the thought. “Fuck.”

 

 

 

 

 

19

 

 

 

 

 

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