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Xaden Riorson is hell bent on destroying me, and I absolutely refuse to let him.
It's been a few years since he decided to make my life difficult, and he’s sure to never miss an opportunity. Hence, my worry that day when I’m running late, not bothering to check my appearance in the mirror as I rush out of the restroom. Then I’m booking it down the hall to my next meeting, which is, of course, with the devil himself.
Three years ago, when I quit Navarren Defender Services, he decided any tentative peace we may have found was moot. Because I was going to work for the only place he felt was on par, if not worse than, my mother’s law firm: the Navarren Government. My mother’s law firm, which about a decade ago pushed Fen Riorson, Xaden’s father, out of his role as partner. Tauri, Melgran & Sorrengail once had four surnames, not three.
I burst into the conference room, dropping my briefcase on the first chair I see. My hair’s still a mess around my shoulders, so I flip my head upside down to gather it easily in one hand.
Despite my inversion, my voice cuts through the room. “Under no circumstances am I in the mood to hear it from you, Riorson.” I flip back up, twisting the rope of my hair in hand until I can loop it into an attempt at a sleek bun. “This has been the morning from hell, and I might just murder you if you push me.”
When I tie off the hair on my head and search for the man himself, I find his eyes, dark and intense, flicking between the hair piled on my head and the neckline of my jacket. His lips are parted, and if I weren’t so certain he was incapable of being surprised, I might assume that’s what the expression is.
I met Xaden during my time as a public defender. Formally, that is, before that, we’d orbited each other for years, but I’m sure I’ve never seen this exact expression on his face.
“What?” I snap. “Not up to your standards of neatness?” I arch a brow, “As I said, not in the mood.” I start pulling things from my briefcase as I continue to glare at him. Sometimes I wonder how we managed to work together for that one year, because it's a miracle we both came out alive.
Xaden is always very put together, compulsively so, I sometimes think. I wonder if even as a kid, he was this way, or if there was a time he would walk in the house, covered in mud, shirt askew, and hair disheveled. I’ve known Xaden Riorson from afar most of my life, but never up close, not until we were adults. Up close, he’s dangerous.
He adjusts his body, it’s clumsy, nothing like the inhuman grace he often moves with. I can’t help the way my brows draw as I watch him, moving to cross my arms and properly study him for the first time since I walked in.
Xaden Riorson is objectively a very handsome man, at least until he opens his mouth. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. Sometimes, I think his attitude makes him more desirable, but that’s just my cursed attraction to toxic men that no one in my family will let me live down.
He’s 6 feet, God knows, of warm tawny brown skin and taut muscle. His suit fits him perfectly, as always, the shoulders stretched distractingly over the swell of his arms. He has a perfectly styled tousle of black curls teasing around his face. Glittering obsidian eyes, high cheekbones, and the most distracting lips I’ve ever had the misfortune of working with. His strong brow is often quirked at me, in either curiosity or judgment, the sharp angle of his jaw usually flexing when I speak.
Today, there’s a stretch of dark stubble across said jaw, and I trail it down the column of his neck, watching as his throat bobs and his plush lips twist. His gaze still flicking over my body.
“What the fuck is up with you?” My voice is harsh, and a little incredulous. His eyes sharpen, lingering on me for a final moment before darting away. He seems to breathe deeply and regather himself with a scoff.
“Nothing is wrong with me, I’m not the one whose hair was just like Medusa and who’s at risk of flashing the jurors about to join us.”
My chin dips to look down at myself. I’d opted for a look I occasionally wear, no visible undershirt below the neckline of my suit jacket. Often I wear a cami under, and the necklines are usually conservative. Nothing near risqué. But this morning– this morning was a mess. So I wore nothing below the jacket except blue and black lace…and of course, the top button had fallen undone in my rush.
No wonder he’d been lost for words. The full curve of my breast is entirely exposed, nipple peaking through black lace. Atop the scalloped edge of the mesh cup, two straps curve against my flesh, crisscrossing to disappear below the still-secured button.
“Fuck.” I roll my eyes as I flick the top button closed again. “Well, nothing like a morning strip tease, hope that wasn’t too distracting for you.” I’m joking. Because there’s no way Counselor Riorson is even remotely attracted to me. But I catch as he closes his eyes to breathe, gently worrying the inside of his lip. The softest shade of peach rising high on his brown cheeks.
Holy fuck.
Is there a world in which Xaden Riorson is attracted to me?
I suppose my entire nipple was out, and he is a man. But a blush? Have I ever seen him blush from anything other than exertion? Not that I’ve watched him more closely than anyone else at Liam’s softball games, but the man is well over six feet and near impossible to ignore—
The door across the room flies open, and the first potential juror files in. We settle into a familiar rhythm, but I dart my eyes to survey the man beside me more than I typically would. Lingering on his hands, the column of his throat, attempting to figure him out. Suddenly, it feels essential that I discover what his reaction meant.
He’s still on his game, but he’s distracted throughout the interviews.
I chalk it up to nothing more than an off day, but something about the way I catch his eyes, lingering occasionally, makes me wonder...
That is, until it rains, when I become entirely certain that Xaden at least finds me distracting, if not attractive.
It's the day we’re set to finish voir dire for our upcoming case, so we’re in court for the day. Unfortunately, the block of the courthouse is a wind tunnel, and of course, my umbrella breaks at the farthest end of it. Leaving me to sprint the rest of the way, accepting that I will get thoroughly soaked.
When the rain started, I had shoved my suit jacket into my bag. Knowing that even if my button-down gets soaked through, I can always throw on the cami in my desk drawer under the jacket– but if the jacket gets wet, I’ll be cold all day. I thank a higher power that I braided my hair in a crown around my head that morning; otherwise, I would have to walk into court looking like a bedraggled, wet rat.
I scramble up the stone steps, taking refuge under the entryway, trying not to look like a dog as I attempt to shake some of the rain off my body. There aren't many other people arriving at this hour, which I’m grateful for, considering how I must look. I glance down at the white fabric clinging to my skin, cursing that I wore my strapiest blackest bra today.
“Fuck”
For a second, I’m confused, not thinking I spoke my thoughts out loud, and absolutely certain my voice doesn't have that rough timbre. I jerk my head up, and it’s just my luck that the only other person arriving at the moment is Xaden fucking Riorson.
He’s closing his umbrella and striding towards me. His face a storm, brows drawn, lips tight, his hand flying up to tug through his artfully styled curls. They fluff out, one falling across his forehead in a way I should so not be fixated on in this moment.
Xaden stops a foot away, and I can finally make out just how angry he is. Flush rising on his cheeks, his eyes dark whirlpools, barely a fleck of gold. Quickly, he pulls off the leather jacket he’s wearing. I know he keeps suit jackets in Liam’s office. Opting to wear leather on his motorcycle, though, from how dry he looks, I’m sure he took the train to work today.
“Are you trying to get sick?” It’s brusque and accusatory.
“This wasn’t exactly the plan.” I gesture down at my body, signaling that I clearly wasn't trying to get wet, shaking the offending umbrella to further my point.
His eyes dart over me, trailing for a moment on the now transparent fabric of my shirt. Onyx orbs snag on my chest. Black bands criss-cross over my sternum and breasts, weaving a seductive cage over my flesh. One, he can see every inch of bleeding through my drenched top. He’s wrapping his jacket over my shoulders before I realize his intention.
I inhale sharply, ready to insist I’m fine, but then I catch the softness of his lips, the way the worry of his brow seems genuine. So I swallow my spite and whisper a thank you.
His hands seem to move much without his meaning them to, gaze still locked on me, tugging the leather tighter around my frame, simultaneously pulling me closer. And for a moment, I want him to.
Someone behind us rushes up the stairs to the overhang, exclaiming and groaning the whole way. His gaze doesn't leave mine, but he blinks and seems to shake out of the spell we had both fallen under.
“Do you have a change of clothes?” His concern feels so at odds with his annoyance.
I shrug, not knowing when I returned to caring what he thought of me. There was a time I thought we might be friends, or at least hoped we could be civil. But nothing was easy when it came to him.
“I have my jacket in my bag, and I might have something in my office.” His hand drifts to my low back, pressing underneath the leather of his jacket, hand warm against the back of my wet shirt.
He raises a single brow and looks down at me, and he directs us inside. “And by something, do you mean one of those tiny undershirts that have no business being considered clothing?”
I scoff and smack his abdomen with the back of my hand, which only earns me his wickest grin.
“Careful, Violence.” I roll my eyes at the nickname, one he gave me in the early days of us knowing one another. It had initially bothered me. But now— well, I’ll never admit it— but now I like the optics of this tree of a man walking around calling me Violence. People often overlook me, but he saw right through to my core from the start.
It helped that, within our first week working together, I almost took out his eye with a letter opener. Then put a grown man on the ground, nearly dislocating his shoulder after he lunged for me, evading the bailiff.
As we go to walk through the metal detectors, Xaden insists I keep his jacket on. His eyes are vicious as he tells the security guard that they will just have to make it work.
Eya, one of the guards I know well, pats me down after I go through. She catches sight of just how much of me is exposed beneath the jacket and gives an approving nod in Xaden’s direction. “Handsome and gentlemanly.”
“Don't let him hear you, his ego’s already dangerously large.” My tone is sardonic, but a part of me agrees with her observation. Despite there being something oddly covetous in the way Xaden has been watching lately.
Instead of parting ways like I expect, he insists I follow him to Liam’s office.
I met Liam at Navarren Defender Services, where he’s worked ever since. To this day, he's still one of my closest friends, though unfortunately, he's also one of Xaden’s. I blame it on the fact that they grew up together. His taste in friends has since improved, but well, I guess he’s stuck with the brooding asshole beside me.
I’d worked at my mother’s firm post-grad, but when it became clear that our only priority was getting millionaires and their cokehead sons out of jail, I quit. I then got a job with NDS as a public defender for a couple of years with Liam before eventually becoming a prosecutor, much to my mother’s horror.
I’d considered going to another law firm, one that took the kind of cases I believed in. I even flirted with the Navarrian Civil Liberties Union, a nonprofit I still volunteer with. But in the end, at the time, working for the government made the most sense. Though lately I’ve been thinking more and more about jumping ship again. It’s just that none of the other firms in the area appeal to me. Or rather, almost none.
Aretian Associates is the firm Xaden’s father founded after removing the Riorson name from TM&S. They specialize in all the types of cases I wish my mom’s firm did, often standing against TM&S in court, something the papers absolutely ate up. Like a few months ago, there was a particularly awful sexual harassment case against a top executive at everyone’s favorite entertainment company. Of course, Tauri was defending him, his son being one of the aforementioned cokeheads, and Xaden represented the plaintiffs. I remember shouting in our living room, Rhi and I jumping up and down when we saw Xaden on TV at the press conference, announcing that they had gotten the statutory maximum in addition to well over the original asking restitution and damages amount. He’d looked damn good doing it. That day, we said a toast to him and the tight slacks that left very little about his thighs to the imagination.
Something I made her pinky swear she would take to her grave.
I’ll never admit it to him, but the work he does is impressive, admirable even, and if it didn’t mean he would be my boss, I would’ve seriously considered working for Aretian after my years as a public defender.
So Navarren Government it is, for now at least.
Liam is rushing off to a meeting when we reach his door. He gives me a thoroughly sympathetic look, so I don't blame him for the laughter dancing in his eyes. Dropping a kiss to my cheek and slapping Xaden on the back, he darts off, promising lunch soon.
Once inside Xaden roots around in Liam’s closet and drawers as if it were his own office. After pulling on a charcoal grey jacket that matches his slacks, he tosses a folded piece of black fabric to me. I don’t even flinch, my hand flying in front of my face to catch it.
“Nice reflexes, Violence.”
I gare. “I have a brother.”
His lips quirk for a moment, the only tell that reveals his amusement, before jutting his chin to the fabric in my hands. “Put it on.”
I raise a brow at him, part of me screaming to fight against his orders, to assert myself around him like always. But I am cold, and wet, and the material between my fingers is soft. I watch him, his arms folded, muscles in his hands flexing, a tick in his jaw, ready for my inevitable challenge. I think of his gaze earlier, of the way he pulled me close, and a new way to rile him crosses my mind.
I toss the shirt over the back of the chair in front of me, and in one fluid motion, shrug his jacket off my body, squaring my shoulders so my breasts strain against the translucent fabric of my shirt. His whole body stiffens, his eyes obsidian, jaw working like he can't decide if he wants to speak or bite his tongue, literally. Before he can decide, I lift an arm with the jacket held in it, extending it to him, an innocent smile on my lips.
“Thanks for this.”
His eyes flick to the offered article of clothing, and back to my face. A war raging across his features. After what feels like an eternity, he uncrosses his arms and strides over to me. His hand curling around mine as he takes the jacket from my grasp, I pull away, quickly moving to cross my own arms. I know how obscene I must look. Black straps following the curves of my breasts, now swelling even further with the way my arms hold them up. The straps weave up my sternum to my collar bones. His gaze flicks down, devouring the sight, and I roll my lips to hide my smirk.
I move my hand to hold it up and circle my finger in a spinning motion. “Now turn around, Riorson. I think we agreed that being flashed by me once was more than enough.”
His eyes are hard again, his face stone, as he turns slowly, methodically, shoulders tense to his ears.
I peel the wet fabric off my body, watching him flinch at the squelch of the shirt hitting the floor. I wonder if the knowledge that I’m standing half undressed behind him is as thrilling to him as it is to me. I unfold the shirt to find that it's one of his black tees. I know it's his because it smells like him. They always fit him snug, the few times I’ve seen him at the end of the day, stripped back in just a tee, biceps swelling under the hem of the sleeves. It's loose on me, bordering on ridiculous. I hate myself for the way I breathe him in, mint and leather, as I pull it over my head. I roll the hem, twisting the back into a knot so it looks like it's tucked into my slacks without causing a bulge from the excess fabric.
“All clear,” I call to him as I root around in my bag for my folded jacket. When I look back up, pulling it over each of my arms, his gaze is locked on the collar of his shirt, the way it hangs loose around my neck. It’s the same place I catch his gaze snagging throughout the rest of the day in court as we question witnesses, testing their competence for the upcoming trial. I offer to return his shirt as we adjourn for the day, but his voice is rough and raw when he tells me to “keep it.”
I decide to test my theory. To see if his lingering gazes, seeming distraction, and voice of gravel were just a one-off.
The next time we meet one-on-one, I wear my sheerest, silkiest, white button-down with the strappiest royal blue bra I own underneath. The courthouse is always cold, so I’m wrapped in a cardigan all day. I’m still wearing it when he walks into my office.
I rise to hand a file to him before he sits in the seat opposite my desk, then unbutton and slide the cardigan off my frame. Throwing it onto the back of my chair before falling back into it, lounging lazily. He’s reading intently, so I bow my head to take notes.
“Fine, I’ll allow the submission of object 3 into evidence, but in no fucking world—” I have to bite back my smile. I can’t let him know. Otherwise, he might try to pay me back, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that.
“No, what Riorson? I can’t argue your point if you don’t make one.” I raise my eyes to him on the last word, and it is so, utterly, worth it.
His lower lip is drawn into his mouth, his eyes traveling up the curve of my neck.
“No to the cross-examination.” His eyes sharpen as he meets my gaze.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
We meet for 30 more minutes, and I catch his eyes lingering on my frame once or twice. I know my nipples are hard in this stupid fucking air conditioning. I know every time I shift, they scratch the fabric of my shirt and the material of my lingerie. I have to make an effort not to bite my lip too much, thinking about how I must look. Wondering what it would feel like if it were the rough pad of his thumb swiping over my skin instead.
He concedes on one of the points that I don't think he would have otherwise, were he not so distracted.
It becomes a game I play. Seeing how far I can push before he catches on. I have to be subtle, not do it too often, and nothing overt. A peak of lace here, a shoulder strap there.
He becomes practically Pavlovian in his response to me. Eyes obviously flickering over every inch of me whenever I enter a room, in a fashion I’m sure he had resisted the temptation of prior. And I suddenly begin to acquire more lingerie than I’d ever owned before.
It’s mid-September when I worry I might’ve gone too far. As temperatures cool, I’m wearing more sweaters and slacks. But pencil skirts and stockings are perfectly appropriate court room attire.
Just that, typically, the stockings aren’t held up by a garter, and the skirt never rides up enough for anyone to know one way or another. But as we sit side by side in a conference room reviewing evidence, I continue to cross and uncross my legs, until my skirt has risen just high enough up my thigh to reveal an inch of bare skin- and the clip digging into my flesh, hooking on the upper lacy hem of my stocking, a ribbon disappearing beneath my skirt. I stay like that. Leaned back, eyes trained on the screen for a while as he and I speak back and forth. When he goes to pass me a sheet of paper, he spins in his seat to hand it back to me. I let my fingertips ghost across it before letting it slip so it falls between us.
He grumbles, “Sorry”, bending to wrap his strong fingers around the sheet and rising to pass it to me, this time facing me. He freezes before sitting upright, eyes snagging on my thighs. I’m sure to have my phone in my hand, as if reading an email, when his eyes flick up to search my face. It takes every ounce of control not to return his gaze. He looks at me for only a moment before fully righting himself and pressing the sheet into my extended hand.
I tilt my head to turn my gaze to the paper. “This looks good. Do you think your client could provide more financial documents regarding his real estate assets?”
Xaden is slow to respond; his voice has an edge of a rasp that it doesn’t usually, but otherwise, he continues with business as usual.
I slide my chair deeper under the table as the rest of his defense team enters. Xaden rises to shake hands as I type on my laptop, glancing up to give a smile. When he sits back down, he’s somehow closer. And his legs are more of a sprawl. His knee brushes against my thigh. My fingers only pause for a moment in my typing, but I think he catches it. If the smirk in his voice is anything to go by.
After that, I hold back on my teasing. But he still watches me in a way that sets my skin on fire. I had gone into all of this, indulging in the idea that I might be able to distract him. To watch him lose some of his infuriatingly tempered control. And I’d begun to succeed.
But now I’m terrified of the way it makes me feel, how he does. His attention is so physical, so tangible in its manifestation, it’s addictive. I don't want to go back to a time when I couldn't feel the burn of his eyes every time I walked into a room.
I’m entirely certain I’ve gone too far the next week, much without meaning to. We’re both stuck waiting outside the judge's office for what feels like ages. The HVAC broke the day before, heating the old building far too hot for early fall. Xaden had taken off his jacket and thrown it over the back of a chair, the sleeves of his button-down rolled up to his elbows. He’s pacing, prowling around the room with animalistic grace.
I use a notebook from my bag as a fan, mostly because of the heat in the room, not the pull of his muscles at the shoulders of his white shirt or the way the veins of his forearms move around with every flex of his hands. Warm tawny brown skin on display, skin I never get to see.
I reach up to unbutton the top few of my own shirt. The material is stiff, and I know it will bow open depending on how I move. Revealing the black lace, but only to a certain angle.
“You're stressing me out, Riorson, and probably heating up the room with your movement.” He runs a hand through his hair, and I have to bite my tongue at the sight.
“Sit. Down.” I use my courtroom voice, and he tenses, his head whipping to meet my gaze, eyes dark. If I didnt know him so well, I might think he looked wild. But Xaden Riorson was always in control, painfully so.
I raise a hand, point at him, curl my finger, and then flick my hand to the seat beside me.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, glaring the entire time, he moves to sit beside me. His frame feels enormous, flopping into the uncomfortable chair, somehow still elegant despite his attitude.
“Thank you,” I say it haughtily, raising my chin. His smile is saccharine in return. While he looks at me, I adjust, shift my weight on the opposite chair arm, continuing to fan myself with the thin notebook. I feel the fabric of my shirt pull away from my skin, leaving half of my chest on display for him, where he sits beside me.
My choice today is underwire, with two triangles of black lace, leaving a slit for my nipple, and a red bow that pulls the pieces of lace together. Tied just below my hard, exposed peak.
I flick my gaze back to him, but he didn’t catch my movement, looking away too soon. His arms are crossed, muscles bulging, soft black curls dusting over brown skin. His collar is also undone, revealing sharp collarbones, adorned with a rippling silver chain. I want to hook my finger under the metal to drag him towards me, bite the skin in the hollow of his throat. His profile is beautiful, the slope of his nose, his plump lips, and his drawn, dark brow. He's deep in thought, I know better than to pull him out of it. His lips move, his teeth dragging along the lower one, a thoughtless motion that has me clenching my thighs.
This little game had done more than just prove that I could distract Xaden Riorson, it proved that he could distract me, and I wanted him to. I wanted his hands on me, his lips on mine, my legs around his– I groan, tilting my head away from him, attempting to scrub the thoughts from my mind.
I hear him adjust, the scratch of fabric rustling before he hisses and clears his throat. “Sorrengail.” I spin my head to look at him.
“What?” My eyes glare, my lips are drawn, and I’m hot and bothered because of more than just the room’s temperature.
His eyes dart over my body before landing on my face, whatever he finds there seems to frustrate him.
“Fuck, never mind.” He throws his head back, fluttering his eyes closed, leaning against the wall.
The column of his throat is now on display, and fuck. It’s easy to forgot that this started with me trying to tease him. I want to bite his pulse point, lick the harsh angle of his jaw, climb in his lap, and watch him fall apart.
I battle my thoughts for a little while longer before we hear voices and footsteps outside the waiting room. Xaden’s head snaps up, turning to me. His gaze blazing, his tone so commanding I melt.
“Cover up– right now, Violence.”
His body shifts to block the sight of me from the door to our right, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. We hear the click of the door, and his eyes flick down to my chest.
“Now, Vi.” His eyes meet mine as he shortens my name, vicious, hungry, and something I have no words for. My fingers fly to pull the fabric closed, Xaden’s body still blocking mine as the door begins to swing open and the volume of the voices increases.
He’s almost never used my first name, let alone a nickname other than Violence. One he gave me years ago when we first met. Our first case.
I also hadn't realized he consciously noticed my teasing. And it was the first acknowledgment that he understood I wouldn't want just anybody to catch sight of my body cloaked in lace. Or maybe he just doesn't want anyone else to see my body.
The judge and his clerks file into the room. “Ah, Riorson, Sorrengail, sorry to keep you waiting. And sorry about the air in here.” His eyes catching on our discarded jackets.
The next time I tease him is entirely an accident.
I’d forgotten what time our meeting was. And there's been a light out in my office for weeks. So in my stubbornness, I am standing on a chair in my office attempting to change the lightbulb when the door opens. My back is turned, and I assume it’s Rhiannon. My dear friend and co-counselor on the case.
“One sec, Rhi.”
The voice that responds is gravely, and goes straight to my core. “I know you’ve threatened me with murder before, Violence. But this time I’m certain you’re trying to kill me.” I freeze my movements, slowly lowering my arms and spinning my head. Xaden Riorson leans against my closed door, arms crossed and eyes trained on my waist. I was wearing a suit today, but with the task at hand, I’d removed my jacket, assuming no one who shouldn’t see me in a lacey cami would be entering my office. I glance down and realize that said garment has ridden up, and my slacks have fallen lower on my hips, revealing black straps arching over each swell of my hips, disappearing below the waist of my pants.
Slowly, a flush rising on my cheeks, I lift my eyes to his. They’re focused, pinning me in place, and I feel a bit ridiculous standing on a chair in the middle of the room. But the way he watches me. I’m terrified to move.
“Is it working?” My voice is a croak, and I wish it were more sultry, but the way his body tenses at my words shows he doesn’t seem to mind.
His head tilts back, exposing the sinful stretch of tawny brown skin that covers his neck, throat bobbing before he speaks. “Please tell me you’ve been doing this on purpose. That at least I’m losing my mind for a good reason.” I watch him, but he refuses to look up at me.
“Well…” his shoulders rise. “It wasn't all on purpose.” His head snaps up, his eyes molten, trailing over every inch of me.
“You vicious little thing.” His lips twist into a smirk. “I’ve thought about reaching under your clothes to feel those strappy things you’ve been wearing. I’ve wondered if you think about me when you put them on. If, when they rub against your clit, or your nipples, you wish it were me instead.”
I whimper. And suddenly he’s across the room in two strides, face level with my belly.
“Tell me I can touch you.” It's a command, and there isn't a world in which I would consider disobeying.
“Please.”
His teeth drag along the edge of one of the straps, his hands palming my ass, hauling my body towards him. I sway on the chair, dropping my hands to brace against his shoulders. He nips and licks every inch of my skin at the waist of my pants.
“Fuck Vi, I’ve been thinking about getting my hands on you for years.” His thumbs dig into my flesh, hooking under two of the straps.
I have to swallow a moan at his words. Years?
“But my thoughts have never been as filthy as the past couple of months. When you flashed me that lacey black thong, all I could think about for the rest of the meeting was about bending you over the conference table and working my cock into you, licking your clit until you were screaming for me.” His hands work fast on the button and zip at my waist. He bites and tugs one of the straps, releasing it to snap against my skin.
I whimper. “It was a one-piece that day, so every time I stretched my torso, it rubbed my clit. Eveytime–” I gasp, his thumbs pressing into my hipbones. “–I wished it was your hands. I couldn’t stop staring at them in that meeting. I was worried I'd left a spot on the chair, I was so wet.”
“Fuck.”
He scoops his arms around my thighs and lifts me, shifting my weight so he can carry me towards my desk, devouring my lips as he does. Letting go so I can slide down the length of his body, until his hands cup my ass, pulling my hips against his. I groan into his mouth, feeling the hard planes of his body under my fingers, and his erection against my stomach.
“When you wore those garters, I thought about pulling you onto my lap, making you sit on my cock, keeping me warm, teasing you until you came around me. I want to feel you come.”
His mouth is going to be the death of me. I’m on my tiptoes, pressing up past the low heel I’m wearing, his height absolutely ridiculous in comparison to my stature. I slide my hands under the lapels of his suit jacket, trying to slide it off his shoulders. He assists me, tossing it behind him before bracing his hands around my waist. I whine when he pulls away, causing him to chuckle darkly at me.
Reverently, he strips off my clothes, slowly pulling the lacy cami over my head, then easing my trousers over my hips to pool at my feet. The set I’m wearing today is entirely bands of black material, some silky and some stretchy, taut over every curve. The thong has crisscrossing straps that arch up to the small of my waist, the ones he’d seen when he’d first walked in. The bra is also entirely bands of material, cut-outs revealing the curves of my breasts, only really obscuring my nipples. There's another strap that winds around my ribcage, a metal ring in the center.
“Absolutely lethal Violence,” he shakes his head as he says it, his hands trailing over the dip of my waist, eyes dark and devouring every inch. To think he sees me as lethal, when he's all warm brown skin, high cheekbones, and lips so plush they must be poison. He tugs the lower one with his teeth, biting down, pressing an indent there. I want to lick it away.
I surge into him, dragging his mouth down to mine, arching my body to claim him. His finger loops through the ring at my sternum and tugs, pulling me to him. Our lips battle, pushing and pulling through the slick, hot pleasure of kissing, of tasting.
He walks me back until he can lift my ass to sit on the edge of my desk.
“I've been thinking about this so long, I have to taste you. Be good and quiet for me, Vi.” His smirk might just kill me as he drops to his knees, broad shoulders pressing my legs apart. Tousle of glossy black curls tickling my thigh, I moan at the sight, even more turned on by the image of him kneeling for me. He tsks against my skin, nibbling and kissing his way up my thigh. “I said Quiet, Vi, and you're already moaning, getting me hard just looking at you.”
He slides the black strappy material aside and licks my slit. I throw my head back and have to bite my lip to keep from crying out. It’s around lunch, so the hall is pretty empty, and my calendar is blocked for a meeting, but— ‘fuuuck’ I whisper it, unable to stifle the words as he clamps his lips around my clit while teasing it with his tongue, teeth scraping gently.
“Xaden, fuck that feels so good.” He chuckles softly against my skin as his finger traces my entrance. I have to resist the urge to snap my legs shut, knowing my thighs tremble instead.
He resumes his attention to my clit as he slowly strokes a finger into me, matching it to the pace of his lips, curling it up against my wall every few thrusts. It's the most lovely and overwhelming combination of sensations, all I can think about is where our bodies touch and how he makes me feel.
His hand reaches up, and he swipes his thumb under the bra to pull my nipples up and on display, so the straps dig into the pillowy skin of my breast to push them up, spilling over the top. I groan.
“So fucking pretty Violence, all wrapped up like a present for me, I want you on display for me when you come on my tongue.”
He dives back in, tongue stroking, lips sucking, and fingers thrusting mercilessly into me. I have to swallow my moans, only letting the quietest whimpers fall from my lips, my hips and thighs twitching and jerking as he brings me closer and closer.
I rock into him, chasing the electric sensation he’s causing in my body, zapping in my abdomen, leaving me breathless. All at once, it becomes too much, my thighs shake, back arches as I grind into his face. My left arm flies up to my mouth, and I bite down hard at the flesh of my bicep just above my elbow, letting it muffle my cry as I come on his tongue.
My chest heaves, my other arm giving out below me, so I slowly fall to lie back on the desk. His mouth doesn't relent, his fingers fucking me through the tremors of my body, pulsing and clamping around him.
I pull my mouth from my arm, eyeing the indent of teeth that will certainly bruise. My skin is flushed, and I can't think with Xaden's lips on my clit.
“Xaden, god, fuck I’m sensitive.” I breathe out the words, still trying to steady my gasps. His fingers curl inside me, and I keen, his lips placing a gentle kiss on my clit before lifting his face to speak. I feel his stubbled jaw lean against my inner thigh. His voice his deep and rough, harsh against the soft ringing in my ears.
“Do you want me to stop?” He curls his fingers again, but doesn't move his face.
My exhale is near hysterical. “Fuck no, don't stop.”
“That’s my girl, you can take it, Vi.” I feel myself clamp around him at the words, a whine dying in the back of my throat. But he catches it, he catches everything. “Oh, you like being called mine? You like being told what you can take? Knowing I’ll take care of you, because you're so good for me.”
I’m pulsing around him, tightening and getting wetter at his words. His laugh is sinful, and if I weren't so fucked out, I’d worry what it meant. What delicious promises it held.
My heels hang off my feet, where he has my legs spread. I lift one thigh to throw over his shoulder, digging the heel of my foot into his back, the shoe dangling to hit him as well. He huffs, the breath tickling where I’m most sensitive. “I shouldn’t be surprised that a violent little thing like you likes to be taken care of, likes rough and overstimulated, likes to be told how pretty she looks, taking my fingers, what a good girl she is, keeping quiet.” His voice is low and smooth, washing over me, making me drip.
I throw my head back, hanging over the edge of the desk, blood surging to my crown. I cover my face with my arms as I moan, knowing he can feel how much his words are making me come undone.
“None of that, Violet.” His voice is commanding, sending a shiver and a zap of pleasure up my spine. “Sit up for me.”
I sigh, but lift my body, hyperaware of his fingers still inside me with the movement. I brace my hands behind me and loll my head as I look down at him, his jaw still pressed against my thigh.
“I’m so fucking hard knowing my words turn you on, that you like what I like. Let me make you feel good, but don't hide from me, Vi.” His tone is tender, and warmth fills my chest at the implication of his words. I don't think I’ve ever felt as seen as I do by the man kneeling before me.
I nod, and his answering smile is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
He suctions his lips back around my clit, the pace of his fingers picking up, thrusting into me at a torturous pace. This time, I let my body fall forward, my hand tunneling through his hair, fingers snagging in the strands. I scrape my blunt nails against his scalp, tugging gently every time I want to cry out, grinding against his hand and lips.
Warmth sparks up my spine, coiling low in my abdomen until it ignites again. Electricity coursing through me as I shatter. This time, biting my lip so hard I worry it’ll bleed, tugging so firmly at Xaden’s hair, I’m surprised he doesn’t cry out.
Our breathing feels close in the quiet room, filling it with ragged, broken inhales. He groans into my core as he slides his fingers out. I'm still pulsing and tender. His lips graze my puffy, sensitive skin, ghosting kisses over me.
His thumbs dig into the divot of my hipbones as he slowly rises, my hand falling from his dark curls. I tilt my head to the side, taking in the sight of him. His lips glisten, a soft peachy flush high on his cheekbones, and his hair is a wreck, devastatingly gorgeous.
He pulls me up by my hips, fingers splayed wide, steadying me, and I find my footing on my low slip-on heels.
I lick my lips and trail my eyes over his still clothed body, focusing on the straining bulge in his trousers. I reach out to palm him, I moan along with him when I realize just how big he is, and how hard eating me out made him. “I want to feel you.”
“Thank fuck” His voice is rough.
“Condom?” I arch a brow, because I certainly hadn’t planned on office sex. His brows draw, lips tightening.
“I don’t exactly carry one at all times.” His eyes drift over my face, “though with how you’ve been teasing me, maybe I should’ve, but I thought it was all in my head.” He licks his lips, and my heart stutters, remembering his admission before about wanting me for years.
I hold him through the fabric of his pants, “I’m clean.”
His lips part, and he swallows hard before nodding, “Me too.”
I bite my smile and nod, “ok.” I feel his cock twitch in my palm.
His brows stay drawn, his eyes search mine before he dips to kiss my lips, letting out a shaky exhale. “Are you saying I can fuck you raw?”
I groan as he says the words into my mouth, obscene and delicious. “Yes, if I don’t get to come around your cock like you teased, I might explode.”
He makes a sound deep in his throat, sending a vibration over my skin. “Fuck Violence, I’ll pull out, I promise.” Then he’s devouring my lips again, my knees are weak, and I just might fall if he wasn't holding me so tightly against his body.
He spins me and presses down between my shoulder blades. Eager to get him inside of me, I bend my body over my desk, bracing my hands on the opposite side and arching my back to roll my ass up on display for him.
“Deadly, Vi.”
I hear the rustle of fabric as his hands soothe up and down my sides, before one spreads across the small of my back, holding me steady. The other reaches between my thighs and teases my folds, swirling the moisture around my entrance and down to my clit. He strokes two fingers into me with ease, gently scissoring and curling the digits to make sure I’m ready.
He pulls out of me, and I whimper at the loss, his other hand presses into me, and I feel his tip at my entrance. Part of me wants to watch him take me, the other part is dripping from how hot it feels to be bent over for him.
“Xaden, if you don’t–”
He slides into me, the first inch an aching stretch that has me rocking back into him, moaning. My nipples are so hard and sensitive, moving against the desk and the tight strappy material.
“If I don't, what, Violence?” He presses in another inch, hands moving to grip around my hip bones, ready to take control of my body.
I keen, voice high and breathless. “Please, I need you.”
I feel his hands twitch against me at the admission, before he lets out a strangled groan and rolls his hip, slamming the rest of the way into me. I gasp, fingers braced around the edge of the desk, arching into the delectable sensation. Feeling split around how thick he is, how deep he is. It’s so fucking good.
I relax into the sensation, letting my forehead press against the smooth surface of the desk, my body still arched up, resting on my elbows. I grind against him, adjusting to the fit of him, bigger than my last partner.
A strangled groan escapes his lips, and I bite back my satisfied smirk, rolling my hips deeper into the angle. “Goddamn Violet.” With a moan, he thrusts shallowly into me, clearly also adjusting. “So wet and tight, like you were made to take my cock. We fit so. Fucking. Perfectly.” He punctuates each word with a roll of his hips, thrusting deep.
My hips lift and I’m gasping against the wood, feeling impaled and tender, another orgasm already teasing around my clit. His breathing steadies, and with his hands gripping my hips, he begins a steady, mind-shattering pace. It’s quick enough that he keeps me on the edge, but slow enough that I can’t quite crest the wave of pleasure lapping at my abdomen. His belt and the zipper of his trousers biting against the sensitive skin at the back of my thighs.
His fingers move to dig into the curve of my ass, kneading and flicking each cheek as he fucks me. “Your ass is insane, Violet.”
“So is your tongue.” I barely get the words out, my voice breathless, but he hears me, his laugh a sharp bark that ends in a chuckle.
“You're incredible.” His tone is almost reverent, and if his cock wasn't working my body close to oblivion, I might consider what it meant. “And I want to feel you come on my cock, Vi. I want to fuck you through it.” He bends over my body, arms circling my waist, hands raising to grip my breasts, his thumbs flicking my nipples. My hips jerk with the stimulation, so overwhelmed with the feeling of him. He uses the position to pull me up with him, so my body isn't quite upright but is no longer bent over. The position causes him to pull out a bit, not able to fuck me as deeply with the swell of my ass in the way.
I whimper at the loss, but sink into the feeling of being completely manhandled by him like this. At his mercy, at his pleasure. Though I suppose so far he’s been pretty singularly focused on my pleasure.
He bends his knees, thrusting up so that he can still fuck into me at the odd angle. He presses his chest against my back, his lips latching onto my pulse point.
“What does your pretty wet cunt need in order to come?” He licks the length of my throat. “Do you want my fingers on your clit?”
“Please.”
One hand still palming and kneading my breast, the other drifts down to circle where I’m most sensitive. I moan at the contact, leaning my body forward, wanting to brace against the desk again. He lets me go, using his arm to help ease me down, before trailing over the length of my back. Tracing the knobs of my spine with his thumb, flicking the straps of my thong to snap back to my skin, before finally pressing into my tailbone.
I have to bite my lip again to keep from crying out, the pleasure, sweet and sharp, coiling in my belly. My hips grind against his, losing all rhythm as I chase the wicked pressure of his fingers and the fullness of his cock. “Xaden, Xae— Fuck, I–” I press my lips to my arm, babbling into the bend of my elbow as my entire body tenses, clenching around him as I come. I squeeze my eyes so tight, stars burst behind my lids, and my ears ring. Xaden's hand stays on my back, fingers teasing as he continues to work his cock into me. My toes leave the floor with how high I’ve lifted my hips, flexing my abdomen and arching my back, entirely overwhelmed by coming around him.
He lets out a groan that is certainly not quiet.
“Fuck, fuck, Violet.” I clench around him hard at the use of my name, so soft and gentle, his tone wrecked and rough. He groans as he fucks into me, his thrusts becoming desperate and uncontrolled. His hand is heavy on my spine, the other still playing with my clit as my orgasm continues to flutter around him.
I hum and sigh, so deliciously full of him, pulsing with his every thrust. My whole body feels relaxed, floating above the sensations of my body, thoroughly mindless with pleasure.
“Fuck, I’ve never come like that, you're so big, so thick, and so good to me.” I’m groaning and moaning, barely getting out the words, pleasure quickly swelling in my belly again. “Please don’t stop, I think I’m–” Gasping and writing under him. “Fuck Xaden, I’m going to come again.”
My walls have barely stopped shuddering from my first orgasm before another is tearing through me. All my muscles tensing, my hips arching back, grinding into him as I come around his cock again. A string of obscenities falls from his lips, his hand leaving my clit to grab my ass, fingers digging in hard, kneading the flesh there.
“Holy– Vi, fuck–” His pace is fast, rabid, chasing his release, and it’s so good to feel him lose himself in me. With a bitten back groan, he pulls out, hands squeezing my ass together as he fucks his cock between the globes as he comes. Wet and hot, painting himself across my spine, still sliding himself through my ass. His movements slow, and so does his breathing as I stretch and settle beneath him, a satisfied smile on my lips.
His thumbs glide under the straps over my hips. I feel the weight of his cock softening against my ass, his hips still pressed flush to my body. He drops a kiss to my spine, just above where I feel the ropes of his come on my skin. Possessive ass. Yet, it feels oddly more intimate in some ways than when he was inside me a moment before.
“So fucking pretty.” I chuckle as he brushes the words against my skin.
His hands travel over every inch of my skin, massaging over my hips, my thighs, my shoulders. I sigh into the sensation, still flying above my body with the force of my orgasms. His touch slowly brings me back to myself, and I stretch beneath him, wiggling my ass to tease him.
“Do you have napkins or anything?” His voice is rough against my skin, but there's a warmth to it, a softness.
“Top drawer, and my water bottle is in my bag.” I give him instructions, and he pulls away. I hear him moving around, the slide of the drawer, the rustle of the material, the sloshing of the water. I think about how I must look, still wearing my lingerie, Xaden’s come decorating my spine. A chill runs over my skin, causing it to pucker. I’m shocked at how turned on I am at the image, how erotic it seems.
I feel him behind me again, cool, damp napkin moving over my back to clean me up. Once he's finished, his warm lips brush over my skin, kissing up the ridges of my spine. Then he’s scooping his hands under me again, lifting me so my back is against his chest, before spinning me in his arms. He captures my lips in a tender kiss as he bends and lifts me, guiding my thighs around his waist.
I feel boneless in his arms, and I hear my heels clatter to the floor, finally falling from my feet. He walks us to the small couch across from my desk and sits, settling me in his lap. I curl up, letting his hand cradle my head, the other curled around my thigh. My breathing calms, and I focus on the feel of his heartbeat against my cheek.
“How much longer until our meeting is over?” I murmur the words into his neck.
His responding laugh is clear and soft, and I want to live cloaked in that sound forever.