Page 25 of Claimed By the Ruthless King

“Yes, I understand, but you don’t help yourself by being so reactive,” he says, flashing me a slanted smile. “Take a deep breath and do something about those cheeks. You are blushing.”

“And you are out of line.”

“Would you rather me be in line?” Mr. Moretti tilts his head, already knowing the answer. “Any more thoughts about our arrangement? Your cheeks tell me you’d like to indulge, Miss Bennett, but I need to hear the words come out of your mouth.”

“Would you like it down in writing, too, sir?” I tease, a smile playing on my lips.

Mr. Moretti smirks, tongue teasing over his lips. “Best not.”

I clench my thighs together, my heart beating out of my chest. People walk past the glass, looking inside, but I tune out all the noise. These walls are soundproof.

What does it matter if I can see the outside world? Everything else stops existing the second I look into my boss’s eyes, seeing a mischievous smile grow on his face. Mr. Moretti is the most serious, grouchy guy I know. He never smiles, never speaks out of term, and yet we’re alone discussing sex, my pussy drenched as we discuss the details of our arrangement. I enjoy seeing this different side of him.

And I’m going to enjoy getting closer to him as I learn more about the Crows.

Teenage boys shoplift and vandalize for a reason. This goes deeper than being bored during summer vacation, than needing to let off steam. My mother was very calculated, and working as an ER nurse for years exposed her to real, raw humanity.

She warned me about the Crows for a reason, and I bet I’ll understand that reason very soon.

8

OPHELIA

An impossible desire gathers in the pit of my stomach as Mr. Moretti seals the lock on the door, dragging me over to his desk.

Oh, this desk is about to see some things indeed.

“I hope this wood is solid oak,” I say.

Salvatore’s hand disappears under my skirt as he grabs my pussy, slapping it. “The desk can be made out of aluminum for all I care. It will still be broken by the time I’m finished with you.”

I gasp, electricity shooting through my body. “Fuck,” I groan, using his finger to rub myself.

He pulls my panties aside, placing them on the desk beside me. “Such a fucking minx,” he grunts, examining the panties, seeing how drenched they are. “You’ve been wet since the Wall Street meeting,” he states, sliding his fingers over my pussy, petting me.

“Is it obvious?”

“Admittingly, you were more subtle for the rest of the afternoon, darling, for those last two meetings, but you still need to do something about those cheeks.” He slots a finger into my entrance, pumping. “Deep breaths, remember. Work with me.” He encourages me to sync my breaths with the finger, exhaling as he withdraws, inhaling as the finger drives back into my pussy. “You like being fingered, don’t you, Miss Bennett?” He hitches my skirt up to my hips, exposing my pussy to all of Manhattan as I sit on the edge of his desk. “I might have to fuck you upright like this so I can look into your eyes, watching the innocence disappear in them.”

“Please,” I beg, my pulse shaking my entire body. “Fuck me already. The clock is ticking. I’m sure you have other places to be.”

“Oh, there are a thousand other places I need to be,” he murmurs, dipping his head between my legs, planting the most spellbinding kiss to my clit. “But business can wait.”

“Yeah,” I gasp, watching him resurface from between my thighs.

He works his belt buckle, sliding the leather free. Wrapping the belt around his hand until he has a secure hold of it, he inserts the belt between my legs, pressing it flush against my pussy.

I rub myself against the leather, a tight ball of fire burning low in my core as I reach the end already.

The fire threatens to burst when the metal buckle grazes my clit, the cool sensation sending flames bursting in all directions.

“Holy shit.”

“So fucking needy,” grunts Mr. Moretti, observing me, still fully dressed for the most part. The black boxers need to come off. I’m sure his cock will be poking through soon, seeing as though how hard he is, letting me know how much he wants this.

“How long have you wanted this for?” I ask between staggered breaths.

“Oh, sweetheart, have I not stroked your ego enough?”