Chapter 75: Long Investment I ***
Ryan didn’t give her time to catch her breath.
He reached down, slid his hands under her arms, and lifted Diana to her feet like she weighed nothing. Her heels wobbled once on the carpet, wrists still bound tight behind her back by his silk tie.
She swayed slightly, glasses crooked on her nose, a thin shine of spit still glistening on her chin and the lapel of her jacket.
The powerful woman who’d stared down entire boardrooms looked dazed, flushed, her chest rising fast under the tailored suit.
Ryan didn’t speak at first. He just looked at her, then turned and swept one arm across her desk.
Everything went.
The folder from the IRS meeting flew off the edge, papers scattering like leaves. Pens clattered to the floor. A half-empty coffee mug tipped and rolled, spilling cold liquid across the carpet.
Her laptop slid to the side but stayed on the desk, screen still glowing faintly. The sound was loud in the quiet office – the crash of metal and paper hitting the floor, the finality of it. For a second the only other noise was the cars forty-seven floors below.
Then Ryan lifted her again, hands on her waist, and sat her on the edge of the now-cleared desk.
He pushed her back until she was lying flat on the polished wood, the cool surface against her back making her gasp. Her bound wrists pressed awkwardly beneath her, arching her chest up.
The skirt had ridden high on her thighs, the top button of her jacket straining. Her reading glasses had slipped even farther down her nose, but she hadn’t tried to fix them.
Ryan stood between her spread legs, looking down at her.
The city lights painted soft blue and gold across her body – expensive suit still mostly buttoned, hair half-falling out of its pins, wrists tied with his own tie. She looked like every fantasy he’d never let himself admit he had.
He reached down and hooked her legs over his shoulders, one heel on each side of his head. The position folded her almost in half, her ass lifting slightly off the desk, skirt bunching around her waist.
Her panties were still shoved to the side from earlier. She was soaked, glistening, completely exposed.
"Ryan..." Her voice was quiet, almost uncertain. The unhurried, precise Diana was gone. This version sounded raw. "We sh– "
He didn’t let her finish.
He lined himself up and pushed in – slow at first, one long, steady inch after another, watching her face the whole time.
Her mouth fell open on a silent gasp. Her thighs tensed against his shoulders. When he bottomed out, buried to the hilt, her back arched off the desk and a low, broken moan finally slipped out.
"Fuck," he breathed, gripping her hips to hold her steady. "You feel that? That’s you getting invested in."
He started moving.
Not gentle and slow. He set a relentless pace right from the first thrust – deep, hard strokes that made the heavy desk creak under her.
The sound of skin on skin filled the office, wet and filthy, echoing off the glass walls. Every time he drove in her tits bounced inside the open jacket, her bound wrists pressing into the wood beneath her.
The glasses stayed on her face, fogging slightly with every breath, and Ryan couldn’t look away from the contrast: the composed Diana with legs over his shoulders, getting fucked on her own desk.
"Do you like getting invested in?" he said, voice low and rough as he pounded into her. His hands gripped her thighs, holding her open wider. "Answer me."
Diana’s head tipped back, eyes fluttering behind the lenses. "Yes... I do," she managed, the words breaking on a moan when he hit deep.
"Louder." He thrust harder, the desk rattling. "You’re the asset now. My asset. Say it."
Her voice cracked. "I’m... the asset. Fuck – Ryan – "
"That’s right." He leaned over her, folding her even more, her knees nearly at her shoulders. The new angle made her cry out, loud and desperate.
He fucked her like he meant it – relentless, steady, a pace that didn’t let her catch her breath.
The wet slap of his hips against her ass mixed with the creak of the desk and her broken moans. Her heels dug into his back, ankles crossed behind his neck. The silk tie around her wrists kept her arms pinned uselessly beneath her, forcing her chest out, nipples hard and visible through the thin blouse.
Ryan kept talking, voice steady even as sweat started to bead on his forehead.
"Think your husband would believe this?" He slammed in deep and ground against her, making her whimper. "That you’re getting fucked by the man he looked down on."
Diana’s eyes squeezed shut for a second, then opened again, glassy behind the glasses. "Ryan – please – "
"Please what?" He didn’t slow down. If anything he went harder, the desk shifting an inch across the carpet with every thrust. "Please keep auditing you? Please remind you who owns this pussy tonight?"
She moaned loud, the sound raw and helpless. Her walls fluttered around him, tight and slick, and he could feel her getting close already.
The powerful, unhurried woman who never rushed anything was falling apart under him, glasses slipping, hair completely loose now, expensive suit rumpled and open.
Ryan reached between them and found her clit with his thumb, rubbing tight circles while he kept pounding into her. "Come on, orgasm for me."
Diana shattered.
Her whole body locked up – thighs clamping against his shoulders, back arching hard off the desk, a loud, broken cry ripping out of her that she tried and failed to swallow.
Her pussy pulsed around his cock in tight, rhythmic waves, soaking him, soaking the desk beneath her. Ryan fucked her straight through it, relentless, drawing it out until she was shaking and gasping, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes behind the fogged glasses.
He didn’t stop, not for a second.