My Taming System Makes Me Overpowered

The knock came again, sharper this time, followed by a muffled voice on the other side of the heavy oak. Vince didn’t pull away. His hips kept their slow, deliberate advance, the thick head of his cock stretching Lyrielle open inch by inch while his eyes stayed locked on hers. She bit down hard on her lower lip, a broken sound trapped in her throat as the intrusion burned in the best possible way.

"Ignore it," he murmured against her mouth, voice low and rough. "Whoever it is can wait."

Lyrielle’s answer was a shaky nod. Her legs tightened around his waist, heels digging into the backs of his thighs as he pushed deeper. The stretch was relentless. Every ridge of him dragged against her inner walls until he was seated to the hilt, the base of his cock pressed flush against her. She could feel her pulse throbbing around him, the wet heat of her body clinging and fluttering in reflex.

Vince stayed still for a long moment, forehead resting against hers, letting her adjust. His hands braced on the desk on either side of her hips, the wood creaking under the strain of his controlled strength. Outside, the knocking stopped. Footsteps retreated. The solar fell quiet again except for the soft, wet sound of their breathing and the distant tick of the mantel clock.

"Gods," Lyrielle whispered, the word more breath than voice. Her blue eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide. "You’re... larger than the last time we had sex."

A faint, crooked smile touched his mouth. "Still thinking about medical ethics, Princess?"

She shook her head, one hand sliding up into his hair. "Not even a little."

That was all the permission he needed. Vince drew his hips back until only the tip remained inside her, then thrust forward in a smooth, powerful stroke that forced a sharp cry from her throat. He set a steady rhythm—deep, measured, each stroke bottoming out with a wet slap of skin. The desk shuddered beneath them. Ledgers slid to the floor. Quills rolled and clattered. Lyrielle’s head tipped back, the elegant line of her throat exposed, and Vince took the invitation, mouth latching onto the soft skin just below her ear while he fucked her in long, rolling thrusts.

Her gown was a crumpled ruin around her waist. Her bare breasts bounced with every impact, nipples still tight and wet from his earlier attention. He cupped one, thumb circling the peak in time with his hips, and felt her clench hard around him in response. The sensation made him groan against her neck.

"You feel perfect," he muttered, the words rough against her skin. "Tight. Wet. Like you’ve been waiting for this."

Lyrielle’s answer was a broken moan. Her hands scrambled for purchase—one in his hair, the other braced on the desk behind her—so she could lift her hips to meet each thrust. The angle changed. His cock dragged over a spot deep inside that made her vision spark white at the edges. She cried out again, louder this time, no longer caring who might hear.

Vince slowed without warning, pulling almost all the way out. Lyrielle made a needy, frustrated sound and tried to pull him back with her legs. He caught her wrists gently, pinning them to the desk above her head, and looked down at the place where their bodies joined. His cock glistened with her arousal, thick and flushed.

"Not yet," he said, voice dark with restraint. "I want your mouth first."

He stepped back, the sudden emptiness making her whimper. Lyrielle slid off the desk on unsteady legs. Vince guided her down with a hand on her shoulder until she was kneeling on the thick rug, the polished wood of the desk still warm against her back. His cock stood hard and heavy in front of her face, the head already leaking. She didn’t hesitate. One slender hand wrapped around the base while the other braced on his thigh. Then she leaned in and took him into her mouth.

The first slide of her tongue along the underside made Vince’s hips jerk. Lyrielle hummed softly around him, the vibration traveling straight up his spine. She worked him with the same focused intensity she brought to everything—slow at first, learning the shape of him, then deeper, taking more until the head pressed against the soft palate at the back of her throat. Her free hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently while she sucked.

Vince’s fingers tangled in the silky fall of her yellowish hair, careful not to force her, just holding on. "That’s it," he breathed. "Just like that. Fuck, your mouth..."

She pulled off with a wet pop, lips shiny, and looked up at him through her lashes. "Still think I was only interested in the tattoo?"

The teasing edge in her voice—so different from the flustered princess of minutes ago—made his cock twitch against her cheek. He answered by guiding her back down. This time she took him deeper, throat relaxing, eyes watering slightly as she swallowed around him. Vince’s control frayed. He thrust shallowly into the wet heat of her mouth, watching the way her lips stretched around his shaft, the way saliva slicked down to her chin. The sight alone nearly finished him.

He pulled her off before he lost it entirely. Lyrielle’s chest was heaving, lips swollen and red. Vince hauled her up, spun her around, and bent her forward over the desk in one smooth motion. Her palms slapped against the wood. The position left her completely open—ass raised, thighs parted, the wet pink of her cunt glistening between them.

He stepped in close, the head of his cock sliding along her folds, coating himself again. One hand gripped her hip. The other reached around to cup her breast, pinching the nipple hard enough to make her gasp.

"Standing," he said against the back of her neck. "I want to feel you like this."

He pushed in hard. The new angle was deeper, tighter. Lyrielle’s cry was muffled against her own forearm as Vince set a ruthless pace, hips snapping forward, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the solar. Each thrust drove her against the edge of the desk. Her breasts swung with the force of it. He reached down between her legs, two fingers finding her clit and rubbing in tight, fast circles while he fucked her.

"Vince—ah—gods—" Her voice broke into fragmented sounds. "Harder. Please."

He gave her harder. One hand left her breast to fist in her hair, tugging her head back so he could kiss the side of her throat while he drove into her. The dual sensations—the stretch of his cock, the relentless pressure on her clit—pushed her toward the edge faster than she expected. Her inner walls fluttered, then clamped down hard.

"I’m—" she managed, the warning cut off by a sharp, rising cry as the orgasm hit. Her body seized around him, pulsing in strong, rhythmic waves that milked his cock. Vince growled low in his throat, fucking her through it, refusing to slow until the last tremor faded.

He pulled out while she was still shaking, turned her around, and lifted her back onto the desk. This time he climbed up with her, settling between her thighs in a classic missionary position that let him see every flicker of expression across her face. He sank back into her in one long thrust and stayed there, buried deep, rolling his hips in a slow, grinding rhythm that kept pressure on her oversensitive clit.

Lyrielle’s arms wrapped around his neck. Their foreheads touched. For a moment the frantic pace eased into something almost intimate—deep, steady strokes, the wet sound of their joining softer now, more deliberate. Vince kissed her, slow and thorough, tasting the salt of her earlier tears of pleasure. One of her hands slid down between their bodies to feel the place where he disappeared inside her, fingers spreading around the base of his cock as if to confirm he was real.

"You’re still hard," she murmured against his lips, wonder and hunger mixed in her voice.

"Not done with you yet."

He shifted the angle, hooked one of her knees over his elbow, and drove deeper. The new depth made her eyes roll back. Vince’s own control was slipping; the tight, fluttering heat of her was too much after watching her come on his cock. He sped up again, the desk scraping across the floor with every thrust. Lyrielle met him stroke for stroke, nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.

"Come with me," she whispered, the words almost a plea. "I want to feel it."

That was all it took. Vince buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, guttural sound, hips jerking as he spilled deep inside her. The hot pulse of it triggered a second, smaller climax in Lyrielle—softer this time, rolling through her in waves that left her trembling and boneless beneath him.

They stayed locked together for long minutes afterward, breathing hard, skin damp with sweat. Vince’s forehead rested against her collarbone. Lyrielle’s fingers traced idle patterns through his hair. Outside the tall arched windows, the morning light had shifted, but neither of them moved to close the gap between their bodies just yet.

Eventually Vince lifted his head. The teasing smirk was back, softer now. "Still got questions about my tattoo skills?"

Lyrielle laughed—quiet, breathless, genuine. "Shut up and kiss me again."

He did.