Bang!
The third time her head hit the bedpost, Belinda barely noticed. She was too lost in the rhythm, too caught up in the heat pooling low in her stomach. Instead of pulling away, she arched her back even more, pressing her stomach flush against the mattress. Her nails dug into the sheets, trying to find some kind of anchor as he drove into her from behind.
She could feel it—the way his thrusts were becoming shorter, his movements less controlled. Beads of sweat dripped down his chest and onto her back, sliding between her shoulder blades.
"Harder!" she demanded breathlessly.
His pace slowed instead, his grip on her waist loosening as exhaustion took over.
No. Not now.
Her hands searched for him, reaching out, grasping at empty air.
"Wait, wait—how about you sit, and I get on top?" she suggested, already pulling away, feeling the slick slide of his dick slipping out of her.
A deep groan rumbled from his throat, but he nodded, shifting onto his back. Belinda wasted no time. She swung her leg over his hips, positioning herself above him. Holding his length in her hand, she guided him back inside her, sinking down onto him with a low, satisfied moan.
"Fuck, yes," he exhaled, hands gripping her thighs as she began to move.
This was better. She was in control now, dictating the pace, rolling her hips exactly how she wanted. Every grind, every downward motion sent pleasure rippling through her, coiling tighter and tighter.
She needed to cum. Had to cum before he did.
Maybe this time—maybe he could help. It had been so long since she'd actually reached the edge with someone.
"Fuck, I'm gonna—" he gritted out, body tensing beneath her.
No, no, not yet—
Before she could stop him, he pulled out, thick ropes of cum spilling across her back and ass.
She exhaled in frustration, forcing a small smile as she reached for his softening length, wrapping her fingers around it. Maybe she could get him hard again, keep going.
"Wait, wait—" he groaned, catching her wrist. "I need a couple minutes."
Belinda sighed, flopping onto her back beside him. Her body still ached, unsatisfied, thrumming with unresolved tension.
"Fuckkk," she muttered under her breath.
A beat passed before she turned to him. "You could at least use your mouth," she suggested, hoping—practically begging—for anything that would get her off.
He exhaled heavily. "Just give me a few, babe. I'll be up for it soon."
She knew that was a lie.
Another night. Another fucking night where she got nothing.
With an irritated sigh, she reached for her phone on the nightstand, opening Vistagram. Maybe she had some old messages to catch up on—something to distract her from the heat still pulsing between her legs.
But she couldn't focus.
She set an alarm for 7:30 AM, then locked her phone and sat up. Might as well take a shower.
Sliding out of bed, she padded naked to the bathroom, barely glancing at the man still lying there. He didn't even shower? she thought, rolling her eyes.
This was all Custina's fault.
"Trust me, girl, the bar is where you find men that will break your back."
Yeah. Sure. Look where that got her. A stiff neck, an unfinished case report, and a stomach that hurt like hell.
She let out a slow breath as cold water cascaded over her body, soothing her muscles. Her hands glided down her breasts, then lower, skimming over her thighs.
Maybe she could just…
Her fingers found her clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles.
Fuck. That felt better than she expected. Maybe because she was already so close.
Her breathing quickened, hips rolling slightly into her hand. Almost there… almost—
But her fingers were cramping, her wrist aching.
"Fuck!" she groaned in frustration, yanking her hand away.
What the hell did a girl have to do to get some around here?
With an annoyed sigh, she turned off the shower, wrapped herself in a towel, and padded back to bed. She grabbed her phone again—11:45 PM. Still enough time to get some sleep.
But she couldn't shut her mind off.
Every time she closed her eyes, all she could think about was how unbearably turned on she still was.
She was going insane.
******
******
The warm, damp breath on her ear stirred her awake.
His hand was on her breast, fingers lightly grazing her nipple.
Still half-asleep, her hand instinctively slid down his stomach, searching. Her fingers found his cock—already hard, hot against her palm. Morning wood.
A smirk curled her lips. Maybe she'd finally get hers.
He rolled her onto her back, his lips finding hers in a deep, lazy kiss. She let him take control, sinking into the slow, languid rhythm of his mouth. His hand traced the curve of her waist, then lower, until his fingers slid between her thighs.
Her breath hitched when he found her clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles.
"There," she whispered, her hips arching into his touch.
He took his time, fingers sliding lower, easing inside her.
"Ah—fuck," she gasped, thighs tightening around his hand.
His free hand came up to her throat, pressing lightly.
"Choke me," she murmured.
His grip tightened slightly, but it wasn't enough.
"Harder," she begged. "Like it's Teddy Tuesday."
He chuckled but did as she asked, fingers moving faster inside her.
The pace was almost perfect—almost.
Then his nails scraped against her walls.
She hissed in pain. "Ouch—"
He immediately pulled back. "You okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just be careful."
"You're the one who told me to go faster."
"I know, I just meant—like, careful-faster, if that makes sense."
He blinked at her, unamused. "No, it doesn't. What the fuck do you want?"
She sighed. "Forget it. Just—come here."
She tapped the bed beside her, hoping to salvage what little mood remained.
He hesitated. Then, with a shrug, he leaned in.
Maybe this time, she'd actually get what she needed.
Maybe.
He stared at her for a few seconds, his dark eyes smoldering with lust, before crawling toward her.
Belinda met him halfway, rising onto her knees, tilting her chin up as their lips met. This time, she wasn't letting him take control. She kissed him fiercely, biting down on his lower lip before deepening it into a slow, intoxicating French kiss. Her fingers tangled in his hair, gripping tightly, holding him in place.
She felt him—hard, pressed against her stomach.
Smirking, she guided him backward, pushing him onto the mattress. Without breaking eye contact, she turned, straddling him in reverse, her ass now facing his face while she hovered over his stiff, waiting length.
Her hand wrapped around him, slow and deliberate. She stroked once, twice—feeling the way his body tensed beneath her. A sharp breath escaped his lips, but she wasn't done.
Opening her mouth, she took him in all at once, feeling his cock twitch against her tongue.
"Fuck!" he groaned, his feet jerking slightly against the sheets, his fingers digging into her thighs.
She pulled back, letting the wetness of her mouth coat his length before taking him in again, this time with more precision, more intent. Her tongue swirled around the head before she hollowed her cheeks and sucked harder.
His hips bucked slightly, a deep, guttural sound leaving his throat.
"Shit—right there," he panted.
She barely had time to smirk before she felt his mouth between her legs.
A shiver ran down her spine.
He spread her thighs wider, his tongue running along her folds before closing over her clit, sucking lightly. She gasped, fingers tightening around his shaft as her hips moved instinctively, pressing against his face.
Yes. This was what she needed.
She adjusted slightly, lowering her head back down to his cock, resuming her movements.
"How does that feel?" he asked between kisses, his voice husky against her heat.
She barely managed a breathless, "Good," before he slid a finger inside her.
"Fuck—right there!" she cried out, her thighs trembling.
Her own pleasure built rapidly, her body responding to every stroke, every flick of his tongue. She moaned around his cock, the vibrations sending shudders through him.
"Don't stop," she begged.
Her own rhythm on him grew more desperate. She sucked harder, her fingers gripping at the base, stroking in sync. She could feel him pulsing, his body tightening beneath her.
"I'm close," he groaned.
She braced herself as the first spurts of warmth hit her tongue. The slightly bitter taste spread through her mouth, but she swallowed, milking him with slow, languid strokes.
He barely had time to recover before she shifted, turning to straddle his stomach, sliding up his body. His cock was still slick, still sensitive—but she didn't care.
Lifting her hips, she guided him inside her in one slow, deliberate motion.
"Shit—" he exhaled, gripping her waist. "You're not gonna wait?"
She smirked. "Nope."
His protest died as she began to move, rolling her hips, taking him deeper. He groaned, his hands running up her back before sliding down to grasp her ass, guiding her movements.
Soon, their rhythm was in sync—her nails digging into his chest, his fingers pressing bruises into her hips.
Then, without warning, he lifted her, standing up.
She gasped as he carried her away from the bed, her legs wrapped around his waist.
A second later, her back met the cool, polished surface of the desk.
Her palms slammed down onto the wood for balance, but before she could catch her breath, he was already inside her again—harder this time, rougher.
She tried to meet his pace, to take control again, but he wasn't having it. His grip on her waist tightened, pinning her in place as he pounded into her, his breath shaky.
It was messy. Intense.
Perfect.
Her moans filled the dimly lit room, her head thrown back as pleasure coiled hot in her stomach.
She was so close—
But then he pulled out.
Warmth spread across her stomach as he groaned, his release spilling over her skin.
Belinda exhaled sharply, resting her entire body against the desk.
A second later, she felt his hands on her hips, lifting her upright. When she looked up, he was grinning.
"You okay?" he asked, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
"Yeah," she muttered, checking her knees for any scrapes.
The sharp ring of her alarm filled the room.
She glanced toward her phone on the nightstand. Shit.
"If I don't get ready now, I'm gonna be late for work," she said with a smirk, flashing him a quick smile before walking toward the bathroom.
******
******
She should have gone for a run.
The thought crossed her mind as she stepped out of the shower, steam curling around her body. She wrapped a towel around herself, another around her damp hair, before walking back into the bedroom.
He was still in her bed, lounging against the pillows in nothing but his underwear, flipping through TV channels like he lived there.
She arched an eyebrow. "You're not getting ready for work or something?"
He stretched lazily. "I would, but… I was hoping you'd give me a ride."
"Yeah, sure," she said, making way as he headed toward the bathroom.
As soon as he disappeared, she muttered under her breath, "Dickhead."
Rolling her eyes, she turned toward her closet.
By the time he stepped out, she was already dressed.
A cream-colored tweed skirt suit hugged her body—a stunning, elegant choice that screamed power. The tailored blazer cinched at the waist, the double-breasted buttons adding a touch of refinement. The matching pencil skirt skimmed her hips, stopping just below the knee.
She paired it with delicate, transparent heels adorned with intricate floral details.
"Damn," he muttered, eyes raking over her. "You look amazing."
She smirked, bending down to pick up his jeans before tossing them toward him.
"Thanks. Now hurry up, darling, or I'll be late for my session."
She was indeed beautiful—deep brown eyes, high cheekbones, soft pink lips. Her glasses perched perfectly on the bridge of her nose, adding to her effortless charm.
As they walked to her car, she barely glanced up from her phone, scrolling through her packed calendar.
Her week was brutal.
She sighed. No relief whatsoever.
She heard him whistle low.
"Damn, this is what you drive?" he asked as her Sevilca beeped to life, the headlights flashing.
She nodded, sliding into the driver's seat. "Hop in."
******
******
Minutes later, she pulled up in front of his apartment.
He hesitated, hands tucked into his pockets, staring at her.
"So… when can I see you again?"
She reached for her sunglasses, slipping them on.
A slow, teasing smile curled on her lips.
"Never."
Then, without another word, she pushed the car into gear and drove off, leaving him standing on the curb—stunned, amused, and utterly frustrated.
Perfect.
By the time she reached the office, she was back in work mode.
She checked her lipstick in the rearview mirror before stepping out.
As she walked through the reception area, she felt the stares.
She was used to it.
She thrived on it.
With a confident stride, she headed to her office, already shifting gears from one game to another.
******
******
"Good morning, Bree!"
The cheerful voice rang out as soon as Belinda stepped into the office lobby.
Cherry, the ever-lively receptionist, flashed a bright smile from behind her desk. She was a light-skinned woman, likely in her mid-twenties, with a chubby figure and freckles dusting her cheeks. Her auburn curls were styled in a playful updo, complementing her fashionable yet professional outfit.
She was dressed in a chic, modern ensemble—a beige three-button vest with a sharp, tailored fit that hugged her curves beautifully. The structured lapels gave it a classic touch, while the cropped length kept it trendy. Underneath, she wore a snug white ribbed turtleneck, its long sleeves accentuating the sleek silhouette of the vest. Completing her look were matching beige high-waisted trousers, which draped effortlessly over her form, striking the perfect balance between relaxed and polished.
Belinda barely acknowledged her, rolling her eyes as she passed.
"Good morning, Cherry," she muttered.
Cherry arched a brow. "Oof. Someone's in a sour mood today."
"Yeah, well... last night wasn't it," Belinda replied, sighing as she adjusted the strap of her handbag.
Cherry's curiosity piqued instantly. "Oh? What happened—"
"Later," Belinda cut in, already reaching for the cup of coffee on Cherry's desk. "I have to run."
Before Cherry could protest, Belinda had already pivoted on her heels, coffee in hand, and rushed toward the group of men heading for the elevator.
She caught up just as the silver doors were sliding open.
"Good morning, Mr. Richards," she called out.
The tall, broad-shouldered man in the navy-blue suit turned, offering her a brief, polite nod. His sharp gray eyes flickered with recognition.
"Mr. Richards?!" Belinda repeated, a little louder this time.
"Oh," he said, finally acknowledging her with a faint smirk. "Good morning, Miss Belinda."
"It's Miss Malcolm, if you must," she corrected, lifting her chin. "But good morning, sir. How was your night?"
"Very fine, thank you," he replied smoothly, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve.
"I heard you're the one handling the corporate case. Am I correct?"
"Yes, sir. You are."
"Good," he said, stepping into the elevator. "Then I expect our client to be happy with the outcome."
As the elevator doors began to close, he suddenly called out, "Hold the elevator!"
His secretary, already inside, quickly pressed the button, keeping the doors open.
"Oh, and Miss Malcolm..."
Belinda stiffened slightly, sensing a shift in the conversation.
"I've been getting complaints from your team," he continued, his tone casual yet firm. "Something about an attitude problem. I hope that's not something I need to be concerned about?"
She exhaled, forcing a professional smile. "Of course not, sir. I assure you, I'll handle it."
"That's the spirit," he mused.
Then, without warning, he plucked the coffee cup from her hand.
Belinda's jaw dropped slightly as he took a leisurely sip.
"Excuse me?!"
But Mr. Richards only flashed her a knowing smile before stepping fully into the elevator.
"Have a great day, Miss Malcolm," he said smoothly, raising the cup in a mock toast as the doors slid shut.
Belinda stood frozen, glaring at the closed elevator.
Then she groaned.
"Prick," she muttered under her breath.