The phone kept ringing.
Rhys didn’t move.
He stayed buried inside me to the hilt, thick and throbbing, stretching me open after five years of nothing. My cunt clenched around him in helpless little pulses. Every breath I took made me feel him deeper.
He looked down at where we were joined, then back at my face, eyes almost black.
“Do not answer that,” he said, voice low and rough.
The phone rang again. Louder this time.
Rhys rolled his hips once—slow, deliberate—dragging every thick inch against my sensitive walls. A broken sound left my throat. My nails dug into his shoulders through his shirt.
“Rhys—”
“I said don’t answer it.” He pulled back halfway and thrust back in harder. The desk shook. “You’re going to take this c**k like you’ve been starving for it, and you’re going to do
