CRAVING DADDY'S BEST FRIEND

Chapter Nineteen: The Sovereign Dark

Abigail Macron

Chapter Twenty-One: The Sovereign Dark

The rhythm of the house continued to pull against us like an undertow, but inside the wood-paneled dark of the library, the outside world was nothing but static. The vibration of the bass from the string quartet on the lawn seeped through the floorboards, a rhythmic reminder that hundreds of people were standing just beyond the glass of the conservatory, oblivious to the fracture happening in the east wing.

Caleb didn't let me down from the door immediately. He stayed buried deep within me, his forehead pressed against the dark oak, his breath rattling in his chest. His massive hands were still locked onto my hips, his fingers digging into my skin with a pressure that would leave distinct, shadowed marks by morning.

"Abby," he growled, the word a ragged, torn thing against my neck. "We don't have time. Your father is going to take the mic for the opening speech in less than five minutes."

"Then make it count, Caleb," I whispered back, my voice thick and undone. My fingers were tangled in the crisp linen of his collar, the scent of his skin and the heavy leather of the library blurring into something intoxicating. "Don't stop now."

A dark, lawless desperation seemed to overtake him at the reminder of the clock. He pulled out of me with a gently, dragging motion that made me gasp against the wood. Before my feet could fully steady on the carpet, Caleb gripped my waist and spun me around, forcing me away from the door and toward the massive, leather-topped partner's desk in the center of the room.

He pushed me down against the smooth, dark wood. The cold surface of the leather top bit into the bare skin of my stomach and thighs as he forced my torso flat against the desk. My cheek pressed against the cool finish, my hands sprawling forward, scattering a neat stack of acquisition folders and a heavy brass paperweight that hit the carpet with a dull thud.

"Brace yourself," Abby, his voice dropping into a primal, absolute timing.

He gathered the heavy emerald silk of my gown up to my waist again, pinning the fabric against the small of my back with one hand. From behind, his large frame completely eclipsed the dim moonlight filtering through the high windows. He grabbed my hips from behind, his large palms holding my pelvis and tilting me upward, aligning my core completely with his long, pulsing rod.

When he drove into me from behind—one deep, ruthless, and unyielding thrust—a loud, jagged sob tore from my throat, echoing softly against the high bookshelves. The angle was devastatingly deep, a sharp, possessive stretch that filled me so completely my vision blurred into streaks of silver and green. Hahaha

"Quiet, Abby," he hissed, leaning his heavy chest down against my back, his face burying into the loose waves of my blonde hair at the base of my skull. His left hand shot forward, his fingers gripping the edge of the mahogany desk to anchor himself as he began to move in a way he never did before. "The security guard patrols the east corridor every ten minutes. Keep your mouth shut."

I bit down on the sleeve of his own discarded tuxedo jacket that was draped over the back of the desk chair, my knuckles turning white as I fought to suppress the cries trying to rip from my lungs. The rhythm he set was punishing and hard, a heavy, driving pace that made the massive desk creak subtly against the floorboards with every impact.

The friction was absolute agony and perfection. Every time his heavy thighs slammed against the back of mine, the white-hot heat between my legs tightened further, a rapid, spiraling coil that was racing toward the edge of another precipice. I writhed against the leather top, my hips pushing back against his strokes, chasing the heavy, deep velocity of his body.

Caleb was completely unraveled now. The discipline he prided himself on, the corporate armor he wore like a shield—it was all gone, burned away by the raw, forbidden sight of my back arching under his hands in his partner's private study. His breathing was an uneven, guttural sound in my ear, his movements becoming faster, harder, driven by the desperate realization that our time was slipping away.

"You're mine, Abigail," he rasped through clenched teeth, his hand sliding forward from my hip to grip my jaw, forcing my head back so he could see the wild, undone expression on my face in the shadows. "Look at what we're doing in his house. Tell me you're mine."

"Yours," I gasped out against his palm, my eyes locking onto his dark, dilated gaze through the gloom. "Always, Caleb. Always."

The confession was the breaking point. Caleb let out a low, primal groan, his fingers tightening on my jaw as he delivered three final, brutal thrusts that drove him to the absolute hilt of my core.

The orgasm hit me like a physical fracture, a violent, blinding convulsion that had my inner muscles clamping down around him in tight, wild spasms. At the exact same moment, Caleb stiffened completely against my back, a harsh, ragged breath tearing from his throat as he surrendered to his own release, filling me completely with a heavy, pulsing heat that seemed to vibrate through my entire body.

We stayed locked together in the quiet of the library for a full minute, the only sound the frantic, synchronized gasps of our breathing as the adrenaline slowly began to drain from the room.

Then, through the heavy oak door, the distant, muffled sound of a microphone feedback ringed out across the lawn. My father's booming, confident voice echoed through the outdoor speakers, beginning his opening address to the elite of Los Angeles.

The illusion was over. The clock had struck zero.