Chapter 75 Releasing
Sierra’s fingers trembled as she gripped the edge of the desk, the wood cool and unyielding beneath her palms. The weight of her grief, the sting of Ryder’s rejection, the suffocating pressure of the boardroom, all coiled inside her, a storm waiting to break. Julian’s gaze lingered on her face, his expression a mixture of curiosity and challenge, as if he were daring her to unravel. She didn’t need the dare. Her body had already betrayed her, every nerve alight with the memory of his hands on her skin, his mouth on her neck during secret trysts across continents.
She yanked the front of his tailored shirt, pulling him upright and forcing him to his knees. His hands hovered at her hips, waiting, but she batted them away.
“Don’t move,” she hissed, the command foreign on her tongue.
He smirked, but obeyed.
Sierra perched on the desk, the line of her back a taut arc as she raised her rear from its surface and slipped the thong from her hips. The black lace slid to her ankles, a stark contrast to the pale gold of her skin, and she kicked it free of her feet. She couldn’t afford hesitation. Not when the ache between her thighs had become a raw, unrelenting need. She positioned him between her thighs and pulled his head toward her, pressing her core against his mouth.
Julian’s hands shot to her thighs, but she caught his wrists, holding them tight in her hands. “No,” she purred, her voice raw. “Just like this. Or not at all.”
His pupils dilated, his breath warming the patch of skin just above her hipbone. Then his tongue was there, slow, deliberate, a searing brand against her clit. She gasped, her head lolling back as her fingers curled into his hair. He hummed against her, a low, resonant sound that made her core clench.
God, it had been so long.
She had tried to convince herself she didn’t need Julian’s attention, didn’t want his money or his power. But he had seen her, sharp and unflinching, the way he always did. He didn’t ask her to choose between Manhattan and the ranch, between ambition and home. He simply offered to bridge the gap.
Now, his lips closed around her clit, and the guilt dissolved. His teeth grazed her, gentle but insistent, and she arched, her thighs trembling as her orgasm built, a slow, inevitable crescendo. She could no longer hold onto his wrists, and his fingers found her opening, sliding in with maddening ease, and she clenched around him, her breath shattering into a whimper.
“Julian.”
He didn’t let up. His tongue flicked, his thumb rubbing that sensitive nub as he fucked her with his fingers, each thrust punctuated by a soft pop. Her nails bit into the wood of the desktop, and she came with a choked cry, her body convulsing as waves of pleasure drowned her.
Julian rose slowly, his lips glistening, as she leaned back on the desk.
Her legs were still unsteady, her skin hypersensitive, but the storm inside her had only shifted, not abated. Her hands were shaking as she fumbled with his trousers. The black silk boxers joined them on the floor, revealing his erection, thick and flushed.
He wasted no time, his hands skimming up her legs to her hips as he guided himself to her entrance. She lifted her skirt higher, her knees pressing to his sides as he thrust into her, filling her in one smooth, powerful motion. She gasped, her nails digging deeper into the wood.
“Say something,” he murmured. “Tell me what you want.”
She wanted to hate him for making her feel so alive. For turning her carefully constructed walls into dust. Instead, she bit her lower lip. “Fuck me,” she growled, the words foreign, shocking, desperate. “Hard. Like you want me.”
His laugh was a low, dangerous sound. Then he was pulling out, only to slam back in, his rhythm brutal and unrelenting. She cried out, her legs grasping his hips as he drove into her, each thrust a collision of need and fury. She sat up and her fingers found his hair, tugging as she pressed her chest to his, her lips brushing his jaw.
“Deeper,” she panted, the urgency building. “Harder.”
He complied, his hands gripping her ass as he lifted her with each thrust, slamming her down onto him. Her orgasm crested again, a tidal wave of heat and pressure, and she screamed his name, her core tightening around him.
She collapsed into him for a heartbeat, his breath ragged in her ear. She pushed him back into the chair, her legs still trembling.
“I want to ride you,” she whispered.
She straddled his lap, her skirt hiked to her hips, and began to move, slow, deliberate circles at first, then faster, her body dictating a rhythm that left them both gasping. Julian’s hands gripped her thighs, his fingers digging into her skin as he rutted up into her.
“You’re so wet,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe.
“Fuck me,” she begged, the words tumbling from her lips before she could stop them. “Like I’m a cheap little whore. Please.”
The shame was immediate, searing. But Julian only grinned, his hands sliding to her hips as he pistoned up into her, his thrusts hard and unyielding. She rode him, her breasts bouncing with each motion, her cries echoing off the locked door.
“God, yes,” he groaned. “Look at you.”
She closed her eyes, focused on the sensation, the friction, the burn, the way her body had become a stranger’s, a vessel for the storm inside her. She moved faster, harder, her orgasm building until it shattered her, a violent, shuddering crescendo that left her clinging to him as Julian followed, his body locking up as he spilled his seed into her.
When it was over, she collapsed against his chest, her heart hammering. Julian’s hands smoothed her back, his touch gentle now. But she pulled away, shoving up to her feet and adjusting her skirt with shaking fingers.
“Now,” she said, her voice cold, brittle. “Pull up your pants and get out of my office.”
Julian didn’t move. “Sierra?”
“Now,” she snapped.
He obeyed, his movements slow, deliberate, as if he suspected the truth even as he left the room. The lock clicked behind him.
Sierra sank to the floor, her back against the desk, and buried her face in her hands. The weight of what she’d done, the words she’d said, the way she’d used him, crashed over her. Her chest heaved as sobs she hadn’t realized she was holding back wracked her body.
What was wrong with her?
She’d meant to reclaim her power, to exorcise the ache of Ryder’s rejection and her father’s absence. Instead, she’d surrendered to Julian, let him be the conduit for her grief and guilt and longing. She pressed her palms to her temples, the cold wood of the desk her only anchor.
Beyond the locked door, the office buzzed with life. A voice on the intercom, the clatter of heels in the hallway. But Sierra couldn’t move. The storm inside her still raged, and for the first time in her life, she didn’t know how to make it stop.