Farrah

 

My heart was still pounding from my close encounter with Leo. My wrists and legs were bruised from where I had had to jam them against the wood of the bunk bed, and my head still whirled against the prospect of Leo touching me.

 

And now I had a whole new thing to contend with: Connor was leading me to his office.

 

Yes, he had saved me. He was smart, and brave, and not to mention sexy as hell. But he was still a Devil’s Wing, and I was still his whore.

 

He owned me and could do whatever he wanted.

 

The rest of the Devil’s Wings had all found something else to do once that older man had shown up, so Connor was able to lead me into the office without interruption. I thought about dashing away, running. Maybe if I just got one good hit in the balls, I could make it out of the building …

 

But, no. Minghelli’s men would be waiting outside, and besides, despite all my self-defense classes, I did not think I could overpower Connor.

 

Not with muscles like those.

 

He wrenched open the door to his office, hurled me inside, and then slammed the door behind him, turning a lock as he did. I glanced around, looking for something, anything, to give me a hint about what to do in my situation. But there was nothing. Filing cabinets. A computer. And a desk strewn with papers. A quick look at them told me they were financial. With an interest I couldn’t help, I bent down to look closer …

 

“You whore,” Connor grunted, making me look up. He was glaring at me, half with rage, and half with lust. His chest swelled. His jaw jutted. He looked about ready to attack me.

 

“You whore,” he said again. “You’re nothing but trouble, you know that? You lied to me and have caused problems from the moment we met.”

 

I did not reply. What the hell did he want me to say?

 

He took a step toward me even as I retreated, banging the back of my thighs against his desk. He was breathing heavily, as if he had just run a race, and his eyes were slipping up and down the length of my body, undressing me as they went.

 

“But you are so fucking hot,” he growled. “Nice fucking tits. Tiny little waist. And that pussy …”

 

He reached out and seized me roughly by the breast. I gasped as heat flared up where his hand touched me, and I stumbled back, but there was nowhere to go. He had me pressed against the desk now.

 

His other hand encircled my neck and pulled me against him. “Oh!” I gasped. I could not help it. A throbbing pleasure was emanating from his fingers, which were now brushing back and forth over my nipple, and I could feel, through my skirt, the bulging hardness of his erection jutting just below my belly button. Still, my body was tense, as if I was resisting him.

 

And then his lips touched my neck.

 

“Oh, yes!” I moaned, relaxing my thighs so that they opened up, and I could feel a trickle of hot wetness wicking from my pussy and into my panties. My hands reached around him, grabbed him by the hips, and pressed his erection even harder against me.

 

“What are you doing?” I thought. “You shouldn’t be enjoying this—ah!”

 

He yanked down on my shirt so that my other tit burst out. He smiled at it, then moved his kissing from my neck down to my nipple.

 

“Ah!” I moaned in pleasure as it hardened, swelling pink and firm as his tongue flicked expertly back and forth. I felt that trickle of wetness between my legs growing, and I spread them even wider as my hands scrabbled uselessly on the leather of his vest.

 

“Do your job, you fucking slut,” he grunted, pulling away from my tit and seizing my hand. With a violent thrust, he shoved it down between his legs and pressed it against his bulge.

 

I whimpered. Even through his pants, his balls felt huge and his member rock hard as a slab of iron. I rubbed, feeling the heat of it radiating into me as I thought, in fearful wonder, how something that fucking big could fit inside me without ripping me to shreds.

 

“Good slut,” he muttered, rocking to the rhythm of my palm. Then, he reached down between my legs, snaked his fingers right up my skirt, and began to flutter his fingers upon my panties, pushing up and into me as my wetness soaked the fabric.

 

“Connor!” I cried, letting him push me entirely up onto the desk so that his one hand could work my pussy while the other hand mauled my breasts. Steaming pleasure seared through me wherever he touched, and my clit, even through my panties, was already throbbing close to bloom.

 

One of his hands reached down to his belt buckle, tearing at it to let his cock out so he could drive it into me. The other, pressed between my legs, paused, and with a single, deliberate finger he hooked around the edge of my panties and drew the seam aside, so that he could touch my naked pussy. “Princess!” he moaned, his finger dipping into my opening…

 

And that was when everything—the whole fucked up situation— came flooding back to me.

 

“No!” I gasped, pushing and wiggling back as if I’d been shocked. He wasn’t expecting it, so it was easy to get away from him, and in the blink of an eye I was on the other side of his desk, using it as a shield between us.

 

“What the fuck?” he demanded, charging at me as I circled. He swiped across the desk, trying to grab me and knocking a bunch of his papers to the floor. “I know you’re not a virgin,” he growled, and a lamp was knocked aside. “I’ve never heard a virgin moan like that. But you’re a fucking terrible whore!”

 

I quivered, overwhelmed by a million different feelings. Lust. Disgust. Fear. Rejection. Embarrassment. Exhaustion.

 

My lips trembled. All the fight and anger that had brought me safely this far fizzled out, like a candle left burning far too long. “Please,” I whimpered. “Don’t.”

 

Connor sighed. He stopped chasing me, and his whole body seemed to sag.

 

“Goddammit,” he muttered, and gave the table a final swipe, knocking even more papers to the floor. For a terrible moment I waited, wondering if he was going to attack me. But no. I sensed no more violence in him. Just frustration and exhaustion. He collapsed into his desk chair, rubbing his brow.

 

Silently, I went about the room and gathered up all the papers, finally placing them on his desk. The top one caught my eye, and a new, tremulous idea occurred to me.

 

“May … may I take a look?” I asked Connor.

 

He looked up at, startled and obviously confused. It was also clear he didn’t care. What did it matter if his whore saw the books?

 

“Sure,” he shrugged, and slid the papers to me.

 

For the first time in ages, I began to feel a twinge of hope.