Chapter 217
Sophia's POV
He didn't wait for an answer. His hips pulled back and slammed forward again, harder. "Good. Maybe next time you'll think twice before letting Morrison put his fucking hands on you."
"I told you—shit—" Another thrust cut off my words. "I told you I didn't—"
"Don't care." He set a punishing rhythm, each stroke driving me harder against the window, his hips slapping against my sore ass and making me whimper.
My breasts pressed against the glass with every impact, the cold surface and the friction making my nipples ache through the thin fabric of my blouse. "You're mine, Sophia. Every inch of you. And you're going to remember that."
His hand snaked around to grip my throat—not choking, but possessive. Claiming. His other hand found my breast through my blouse, squeezing hard enough to make me gasp.
"We've never done it here before, have we?" His voice was almost conversational despite the brutal pace. "Right here, with the whole street watching below. Exciting, isn't it?"
I turned my head slightly, trying to see the street through my reflection in the glass. People walking their dogs. A couple holding hands. A businessman on his phone. Completely oblivious to what was happening above them.
"Do you think," Lucas continued, his cock hitting that spot deep inside that made my knees weak, "that the people in the building across the street can see us fucking?"
Heat flooded my face. The office building across the way had windows directly facing us. I could see people at their desks, typing away, drinking coffee.
Could they see me? Pressed against this window, my navy skirt around my ankles, my ass red from his belt, getting fucked like a whore while the city went about its business below?
"Could you leave me some dignity?" I managed, but my voice came out breathy. Wrecked.
He thrust particularly hard, making me cry out. "When you were flirting with Morrison, did you think about my dignity? About how it would look—my secretary, grinding on another man's lap in the middle of a board meeting?"
"I wasn't flirting!" I tried to push back against him, to get some leverage, but he just pressed me harder against the glass. "I told you what happened—"
"Sure you did." His teeth found my earlobe, biting down hard enough to sting. "Just like you 'didn't mean to' wear that skirt that hugs every curve. Just like you 'didn't mean to' bend over in front of Miller this morning to pick up those files."
"You're fucking insane—"
He yanked my white blouse up from where it was tucked into my skirt, buttons scattering across the floor as he exposed my bra. His hand shoved the lace cup down roughly, freeing my breast. My nipple scraped against the glass and I moaned despite myself.
"Insane?" He pinched my nipple, rolling it between his fingers until I whimpered. "Maybe. But you're still taking my cock like you were made for it."
Something inside me snapped. Four years of this shit. Four years of being his toy, his possession, his fucking revenge fantasy.
I turned my head and sank my teeth into his shoulder through his expensive Tom Ford shirt, biting down hard enough to taste the salt of his skin through the fabric. Hard enough to hurt.
He hissed, his hips stuttering for just a second. Then he laughed—actually laughed—and fucked me harder.
"That's my girl," he growled. "Show me that fire."
"Since you want to mark me anyway," I snarled against his shoulder, my teeth still embedded in the fabric, "I might as well add a few more scars to match the ones you've already given me."
For a second, he went completely still. His cock buried deep inside me, his breath harsh against my neck.
Then his hands slid under my thighs and he lifted me off the ground like I weighed nothing. My back left the window as he turned us around, still buried inside me, my skirt and underwear falling completely off my ankles as he repositioned us.
"What are you—"
He sat down on the edge of his desk and pulled me onto his lap, facing him now.
My legs automatically wrapped around his waist as he shifted his hips, the new angle making him hit even deeper.
My ruined white blouse hung open, my breasts completely exposed to his hungry gaze. I could feel the welts rising on my ass where his belt had landed, the tender skin burning as I settled onto his thighs.
"Look at me," he ordered, his hands gripping my ass—right over the marks he'd left—fingers digging into the abused flesh. I gasped at the sharp sting. "I want to see your face when you come on my cock."
I wanted to look away. Wanted to close my eyes and pretend this was happening to someone else. That this wasn't me, riding Lucas Reynolds in his office while people worked just down, my ass still burning from his belt.
But I couldn't. My hands fisted in his dark hair as he lifted me up and brought me down on his cock, over and over, the new position making every stroke hit that perfect spot inside me.
"That's it," he murmured, one hand leaving my ass—making me wince as the pressure released—to thumb my clit. "Ride me, baby. Show me who makes you feel this good."
"I hate you," I gasped, but my hips were already moving, grinding down on him, chasing the pleasure building in my core despite every rational thought screaming at me to stop.
"Yeah?" He leaned forward and took my nipple into his mouth, sucking hard before grazing it with his teeth. "Your pussy doesn't seem to hate me very much."
His thumb circled my clit faster, matching the rhythm of his hips driving up into me. My walls started to flutter around him and I knew I was close. So fucking close.
"Lucas—"
"Say it," he demanded, his eyes locked on mine. Dark. Intense. Completely focused on me. "Say you're mine."
"Fuck you—"
He stopped moving. Completely still, buried balls-deep inside me while I trembled on the edge.
"Say it, Sophia." His thumb pressed down on my clit, not moving. Just pressure. Maddening pressure. "Say you're mine and I'll let you come."
I wanted to refuse. Wanted to climb off him and walk out with whatever dignity I had left.
But my body was screaming for release. Four years of this and he knew exactly how to play me. Exactly which buttons to push.
"I'm yours," I whispered, hating myself for it.
"Louder."
"I'm yours!" It came out as a sob as he started moving again, his thumb resuming its assault on my clit. "God—Lucas—I'm—"
"That's my good girl." He thrust up hard, his free hand tangling in my hair, pulling my mouth to his. "Now come for me."
I shattered. My whole body went rigid as the orgasm crashed through me, my pussy clenching around his cock in waves that seemed to go on forever.
I screamed into his mouth as he swallowed the sound, his tongue invading, claiming, owning every part of me.
He followed seconds later with a guttural groan, his cock pulsing inside me as he filled me with his cum.
His fingers dug into my hips—one hand pressing into the welts on my ass, making me gasp at the sting—hard enough to leave fresh marks as he held me down on him, making sure I took every last drop.
For a long moment, we just stayed like that—pressed together, breathing hard, his cock still twitching inside me as we both came down. I could feel my ass throbbing where he'd used his belt, a reminder that would last for days.
Then he leaned close to my ear, his voice almost gentle. Almost affectionate, if I didn't know better.
"The glass is one-way, by the way." A pause. His breath tickled my skin. "They can't see us from outside."
I froze. "What?"
"I had it replaced last month." He pulled back to look at me, that infuriating smirk on his face. "Completely opaque from the outside. But I wanted to see if you'd let me fuck you anyway."
Rage flooded through me. "You son of a—"
A knock on the door cut me off.
"Lucas?" A woman's voice drifted over, honey-sweet with a teasing lilt. "It's me, Claire."
"Looks like we have company," he murmured, his hands still possessive on my hips, one thumb brushing over the welts on my ass and making me shiver. "Should we let her in?"