He f****d the apology out of me on that desk until the folder was ruined and I had come twice with my cheek stuck to the wood.
I counted the first one out loud, broken, while he slammed into the mess he’d already left in me. The second one hit when he reached under and ground my c**t, and I sobbed his name into the polish. He finished deep, grinding through it, adding another load to the one I’d been plugged with all morning. When he pulled out, it poured onto the contract. He made me photograph it. My spread cunt. His c*m on the page. The bite on my neck in the corner of the frame.
Send it.
I sent it to Callum with no caption. The read receipt came back before Roman had tucked himself away.
We didn’t go back to the penthouse. He took me down to the garage, put me in the front seat of
