Flames pov
His erection was rubbing against my thigh through the material of my dress as his hands brazenly squeezed my breasts and ass. I arched a brow, a sly smile spreading over my lips. "Someone's eager," I whispered, my gaze lingering on his flushed face. "I would have thought that yesterday's exertions would have left you…incapacitated for a while."
He grinned, flash of white teeth, as he stripped off his shirt. His hands then came under my dress, his fingers closing over and cupping my bare breasts. He seemed to think this was a mutual game, a flirtatious challenge.
"Oh yes," I panted, a husky demand coloring my voice as he knelt, pulling up the hem of my dress, his hand moving between my legs.
My skirt rode up my waist, an open invitation. He came behind me, his eyes fixed on mine, his own need clear. A small, satisfied smile danced across my lips as he drew in his breath, his erection finding home, sliding deep into my soaked pussy. I set the pace, a slow, deliberate movement that drew a low growl from him. This was my territory.
Yes," I breathed, the sensation exquisite as he filled me. "Give it to me. You know I like it rough," he snarled, his thrusts speeding up to match my own as I fucked him harder, my hips rising and falling with increasing desperation. "So tight, so hot." He reached under me, his hands on my ass, but it was I who determined the depth, the speed, the very nature of our joining.
More, I told him, my legs locked around his waist, pulling him in, deeper. "Give me what I want. You know what drives me wild."
He leaned in, his mouth on my breasts, his lips and tongue a hot, insistent pressure. He was learning the language of my body, the nuances of my desire.
"Fuck me," I told him, my back lifting off the floor, a primal command. "Don't hold back.".
"Anything you want," he growled, his grip on my ass clenched as I came down on him, harder and harder, my own orgasm a jarring counterpoint to his desperate hunger.
"That's it," I breathed, my hand closing around my clit, adding another layer of sensation, reminding me where final control lay. "Just like that."
He continued, his lust more frantic, a mere response to my increasing desire. The air was thick with our shared stenches and sounds. The pleasure built, a tidal wave about to break over us. When it did, it was a shared catastrophe, but mine was augmented by a richer, deeper quality.
"So good!" he yelled, and I continued to fuck him, savoring the sensation.
"I can fuck you all night," I told him, my hips lifting and falling, an unrelenting rhythm. He was mine in that moment, absolutely. "I don't want it to ever stop."
"It's the same for me," he told me, his hands on my thighs, his thrusts into mine, but always yielding to my initiative.
Yes," he groaned, I could feel him deep within me. "Fuck me. Harder. Deeper. You know how I like it." I reached up, my hands clutching in my hair, pulling it back, a primal display of my surrender to the moment, but also a silent reminder of my strength.
"You're beautiful," he whispered, his mouth tracing my breasts, his adoration an fleshed thing.
"Take me to the kitchen table," I whispered.
Carrying me with ease. He remained hard. He lifted me, his cock still buried deep within me, his hands shaping to my ass.
By the time he arrived at the kitchen, he set me on the counter, my hair laid out on the cold of the counter. His mouth mapped the curve of my neck, then hesitated across my breasts, his tongue drawing patterns across my skin, all the time still fucking my cunt hard and deep, the way I liked it.
"More," I growled, my need building. "I want more. Now.".
"Whatever you desire, Don," he replied, his footsteps quickening, his hands exploring my breasts with a growing urgency, his caress demanding yet yielding.
"Yes!" I cried out, the familiar crescendo beginning to swell. "That's it! That spot!"
"Give it to me," I urged, my breasts bouncing with every of his powerful thrusts. "I possess you. All of you."
"You possess me," he vowed, his words heavy with desire. "All of me."
A second peak, a release, my body falling victim to the overwhelming sensations he caused.
"Aren't you exhausted?" I asked, an actual miracle that flavored my tone.
"Never," he smiled, resuming our dance immediately.
"Oh…!" I was short of breath as I worked myself toward yet another climax. Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh—damn!
He moaned something—my name maybe—as he collapsed beside me, panting like a dog that had just run a mile. I didn't look at him. Didn't touch him again. Instead, I reached over to the nightstand, pulled out a hundred-dollar bill, folded it twice, and tossed it at his bare chest like it was lint I needed to get rid of.
"That should cover your Uber," I said flatly. "And maybe a little dignity."
He blinked, confused. Probably thought I'd cuddle. Or ask him to stay. Poor thing. He was good, no doubt.
I stood, unapologetically naked, and walked across the room to pour myself a drink. The silk robe on the chair caught my eye, but I didn't bother. Let him see what power looks like unclothed. Let him feel small in the presence of something he couldn't hold.
"Door's that way," I added, sipping the scotch. "Don't make me ask twice."
He fumbled with his pants, still silent. Men rarely knew what to say after being treated the way they usually treated women.
Good.
Let me make one thing plain I don't do emotion. I don't do goodbyes, morning afters, or feelings. I do control. I do power. I do what the hell I want, when I want, and I do it better than most men who've ever dared to stand where I stand.
My name is Flames Perez. But they call me DarkFlames. Adorable, huh? Like I'm a legend, a tale told to naughty crooks to frighten them into behaving.
DON. That's what they call me in person. Out of respect. Or fear. Or both. I don't correct them. Let them gag on the shock of it when they find out the DON wears heels more pointed than their nose.
This is my My domain. My kingdom..
I had just lit up my cigarette when the door creaked open.
I didn't glance. No one enters my space uninvited. So, whenever someone did, it was either that they were stupid, courageous, or delivering something too important to be left outside. I hoped they were stupid. I was feeling like smashing something.
"Don," a voice says behind me. Shaking. Female. Too fragile for a room this sharp.
It was my assistant, Mara. She's the kind of woman who walks like her shadow's apologetic for existing.
"What," I snarl, still not standing. My voice low. A calm sea before the storm.
"There's been… an accident," she says. Her pause is heavy.
I turn now.
Her face is pale. Colorless. The kind of look people give when they're about to tell you your world just leaned over to one side and fell into the abyss.
"Mantio," she gasps, and there it is. His name. Not 'your father.' She called him by his name. Nobody ever utters that word to me about him. Mantio is a name, a legend, a shadow that never gets off your back even in the dark of night.
I raise an eyebrow. "Spit it out, Mara. I don't have time for games."
"He slumped."
"He's dead."
My world paused. It doesn't freeze. My heart falters but I can't show it.
"How dead are we talking?" I ask. My voice is silk wrapped in knives.