Two Little Secrets From My Boss

Chapter 121

Xander’s POV

Daphne's words hit me like a fucking revelation, but it's her hands—her fucking hands—that undo me completely.

She doesn't wait for permission. She takes, her fingers twisting in my hair like she owns me, her mouth crashing against mine with a hunger that steals my goddamn breath.

I groan into her, tasting her—sweet and sharp, like sin and stolen wine—her tongue forcing its way past my lips, slick and demanding, and fuck, I surrender. I always surrender to her every single time.

Because this—this—is what I need when the world feels like it's crushing me. Not just the heat of her body, though God knows I crave that. It's the way she refuses to let me disappear into my own head, the way she drags me back to the present with her touch, her taste, the undeniable reality of her.

She climbs into my lap, her thighs bracketing mine, and I can feel her—the damp heat of her cunt pressing against my cock through the layers of fabric, teasing, taunting, making me ache.

My hands grip her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh there hard enough to leave marks, and she grinds down, slow and filthy, her pussy lips dragging over the thick outline of my erection.

Every rational thought I've been clinging to—the board meeting, Eleanor's machinations, the threats we're facing—dissolves. There's only this. Only her.

"Daphne..." I choke out, but she silences me with another kiss, her teeth scraping my bottom lip, her nails raking down my chest like she wants to carve her name into my skin.

And maybe I want her to. Maybe I need the proof tomorrow when I wake up that this wasn't a dream, that she chose me, that I get to have this.

"Shh," she murmurs against my mouth, her voice thick with lust. "You don't get to think right now, you don't get to worry. You just get to feel."

Feel. As if I could do anything else when she's touching me like this.

Her hands make quick work of my shirt, buttons scattering as she rips it open, her palms sliding over my chest, my stomach, her touch branding me.

Then she's pulling back just enough to strip off her own top, her tits spilling free—full, perfect, her nipples already hard, begging for my mouth.

I don't hesitate. I lean in, sucking one deep between my lips, my tongue circling the stiff peak until she gasps, her fingers tightening in my hair.

The sound she makes—that breathy little gasp—shoots straight to my cock. I want to catalog every noise, every shiver, every way her body responds to mine. I want to memorize this so completely that even when I'm drowning in corporate bullshit, I can close my eyes and remember what it feels like to be wanted like this.

"Shit, Xander—"

I switch to the other, biting just hard enough to make her whimper, my hands sliding down to grip her ass, kneading the plush flesh before slipping lower, tracing the soaked fabric of her panties.

She's dripping, her arousal staining the lace, and when I press two fingers against her, she bucks against my hand with a broken moan.

"Off," I growl, tugging at the useless scrap of fabric. "Now."

She obeys, lifting her hips just enough for me to yank her panties down her thighs, tossing them aside. Then I'm dragging her forward, my cock straining against my pants, desperate for her.

She reaches between us, her fingers working my belt, my zipper, her touch agonizingly slow, deliberate, until she finally—finally—wraps her hand around me, stroking me once, twice, her thumb smearing the bead of pre-cum at my tip.

The contact makes my vision blur. I've had her a hundred times, a thousand times, and it's never enough. It will never be enough.

"Fuck me," I grit out, my hips jerking into her grip.

She smirks, that fucking smirk that tells me she knows exactly what she does to me, and shifts just enough to line me up with her entrance. Then she sinks down, inch by torturous inch, her cunt stretching around me, hot and tight and perfect.

I swear, my vision whites out for a second, my fingers digging into her hips hard enough to bruise as she takes me all the way to the hilt, her body swallowing me whole.

She doesn't move at first, just sits there, letting me feel her, letting me drown in her. And I do drown—in the way her walls flutter around me, in the way her breath catches, in the way she looks at me like I'm the only thing in the world that matters.

Then she leans in, her lips brushing my ear, her breath hot as she whispers, "You're mine."

Three words. Three fucking words, and I feel them everywhere—in my chest, in my throat, in the way my heart pounds against my ribs like it's trying to break free and offer itself to her.

And then she rides me, her hips rolling in slow, filthy circles, her cunt gripping me like a fucking vice, her tits bouncing with every movement.

I can't look away—her flushed skin, the way her lips part on every breath, the way her thighs tremble as she takes me deeper, harder.

This is what I need. Not just the physical release, though Christ knows I'm chasing that too. But this—the way she looks at me while she fucks herself on my cock, like she sees all of me, the good and the broken and the terrified, and wants me anyway.

"Look at me," she demands, and I do. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown, her gaze locked on mine as she fucks herself on my cock. "You feel that? That's real. That's me. Nothing else matters."

She's right. Nothing else matters. Not Eleanor's poison, not the board's doubts, not the weight of the empire pressing down on my shoulders. Right now, there's only this—only her, only us, only the way our bodies move together like we were made for this.

I groan, my hands sliding up to grip her waist, helping her move, driving into her from below, our bodies slapping together in a rhythm that's fucking obscene.

She's so wet, so tight, every thrust dragging a whimper from her lips, her nails digging into my shoulders as she chases her pleasure.

"Close," she pants, her rhythm faltering. "Xander, I'm... fuck—"

I slam her down harder, my cock hitting that sweet spot inside her, and she screams, her cunt clenching around me as she comes, her body shuddering, her nails leaving marks down my chest.

The sight of her—God—it's too much. I flip her onto her back, pinning her beneath me, my hips pistoning into her, chasing my own release. She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper, her hands fisting in the sheets as I fuck her through her orgasm, her cunt still fluttering around me.

"Come for me," she breathes, her lips brushing mine. "Let go."

I do. With a groan, I bury myself to the hilt, spilling inside her, my body shaking with the force of it, my forehead dropping to hers as I ride out the waves.

She holds me, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back, her breath warm against my skin. And for the first time all day, the noise in my head is gone.

There's only her, only this. And it's enough.

But then, because it turns out she's a fucking tease, Daphne rolls her hips again, her cunt still slick with my cum, and smirks up at me.

"Round two?"

And who the hell am I to say no?