68. House of Thorne: Sterling

Trigger Warnings: Adultery/Infidelity, breeding themes, pregnancy entrapment (attempted), rough sexual play, choking, spanking, and explicit language

Sterling

The view from the top floor of the Thorne Tower usually provided me with a sense of absolute clarity, but today, the air in my office felt heavy with the scent of an impending storm. My son was currently drawing on a tablet on the leather sofa, his small brow furrowed in concentration. He had my name, my fortune, and my legacy ahead of him.

The intercom buzzed, breaking the silence. "Mr. Thorne, I'm so sorry, but your sister-in-law is here. She... she didn't have an appointment, but she's already past the desk."

Before I could answer, the heavy oak doors swung open. Beatrice walked in, looking like a high-end assassin in a dress that was little more than a whisper of crimson silk. It was cut dangerously low, her heavy tits practically spilling out with every step she took. She didn't look like a woman here for a family visit; she looked like a woman here to stake a claim.

"Sterling," she purred, her eyes flicking to the boy and then back to me with a dark, knowing glint.

"Vanessa," I said into the intercom, my voice like ice. "Take Leo down to the executive lounge. Get him some ice cream and take your lunch break. I'm not to be disturbed for at least an hour. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

My secretary hurried in, gathered the boy, and retreated. The doors clicked shut, the sound of the lock engaging echoing in the sudden quiet.

"You're a busy man, Sterling," Beatrice said, walking toward my desk and sliding onto the edge of the mahogany. She leaned forward, her tits pressing together to create a valley of pale, soft flesh. "But I think you've been neglecting your most loyal business partner."

"You're not a partner, Beatrice. You're an indulgence," I grunted, standing up. I walked around the desk, my gaze raking over her. The thrill of the taboo, of ruining my wife's sister in my own office while the city watched from below, made my cock give a violent, pulsing throb.

"I'm the only one who truly knows you," she whispered, her hand reaching out to grab my tie, pulling me close. "Bianca gives you the image. I give you the reality. And today, I want to give you something you'll never forget."

She didn't wait. She turned around and bent over my desk, her crimson dress hiking up to her waist. She wasn't wearing panties. Her ass was a pale, perfect invitation, the tight, puckered heat of her hole glistening in the fluorescent lights.

"Fuck me, Sterling," she hissed. "Fuck me like you want to replace her. Breed me right here on your ledger."

I unzipped my trousers, and my cock sprang free-thick, dark, and already weeping with a desperate, heavy need. I grabbed her hair, yanking her head back until her neck was arched at a painful angle. "You think you can just walk in here and demand my seed?"

"I know I can," she sobbed, her hand reaching back to guide the head of my cock to her entrance.

I didn't use any lubricant. I wanted to feel the friction, the raw, unpolished reality of her betrayal. I drove into her with a single, grounding thrust that buried me to the hilt. The sensation of being inside her-the forbidden fruit of the Thorne family-was a sensory overload.

"Oh god... Sterling... yes!" she screamed, her voice bouncing off the glass walls.

I began to move, a slow, punishing doggy-style rhythm. I wasn't gentle. I used my hands to grab her tits, squeezing them until they were marked with my fingerprints. I delivered a sharp, stinging slap to her ass, the sound echoing through the office. Crack.

"Is this what you wanted, Beatrice?" I growled, my pace becoming a frantic, driving force. "You want the man your sister sleeps with to treat you like a common whore?"

"Yes! Call me a whore! Breed your little slut!" she pleaded, her internal muscles clenching around me in a frantic, rhythmic dance.

I flipped her over, pinning her against the desk in a missionary position. I reached for her throat, my hand wrapping around it until her vision sparked. I wanted her to feel the weight of my dominance, the reality that she was nothing more than a temporary relief.

"Beg for it, Beatrice," I hissed, my face inches from hers. "Beg for a married man's cum inside your pussy."

"Please... Sterling... give it to me... I want your hot cum! I want to carry your baby!"

The rhythm became a frantic, wet percussion. I was a man possessed, fueled by the sheer audacity of her seduction. I felt the white-hot spark of my climax beginning to bloom, a tension so tight it felt like I was going to explode.

"I'm close, Beatrice! I'm going to fill you up!" I shouted, my body tensing for the final explosion. "Tell me you want my seed! Tell me you want me to breed you!"

"Breed me! Fill me up! Give me your baby, Sterling!" she screamed, her body racking with a series of violent, rhythmic spasms as she hit her own peak.

I erupted. A hot, thick stream of cum hit the back of her womb, my body shaking with the force of the release. I fired again and again, emptying every drop of my lust into her. I felt her pussy pulsing around me, milking me dry, her body heavy and sated.

I pulled out with a wet, squelching sound, tucking myself back into my suit with a clinical, detached efficiency. Beatrice stayed on the desk for a moment, her breath ragged, a triumphant, predatory smile on her lips.

She sat up, smoothing her dress, and looked at me with a glint of steel. "Well, Sterling... I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you. I'm pregnant."

I paused, my hand on my tie. I looked at her, and then I began to laugh. It wasn't a warm sound; it was a low, mocking chuckle that filled the room.

"You think that's funny?" she snapped, her face turning pale. "I'm carrying your child. I can ruin you, Sterling. I can take everything Bianca has."

"Beatrice," I said, leaning over the desk, my eyes cold. "It's not possible."

She reached into her bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "I have the test results right here. Look at them!"

I didn't even glance at the paper. I just stared at her. "I don't need to read a piece of paper to know you're lying, or at least, lying to yourself. You need to go find the real father, Beatrice."

"What are you talking about?" she stammered, her voice rising in panic.

"I had a vasectomy three years before I even met Bianca," I said, my voice as sharp as a scalpel. "I never wanted the complication of heirs I didn't hand-pick. My medical records are quite clear on that matter."

The silence that followed was absolute. Beatrice looked like she had been struck. Her eyes darted around the room, her mouth opening and closing as the foundation of her plot crumbled into dust.

"But..." she whispered, her face ashen. "If you... if you can't... then how... how did my sister get pregnant? How is Leo your son?"

The question hung in the air like a poisonous fog. I felt a cold, sharp realization prick at the back of my mind-the image of Killian, the stoic bodyguard who was always just a step behind my wife. The way the boy had those dark, silent eyes.

I didn't answer her. I didn't need to. I walked to the door and opened it, my face a mask of iron.

"Get out, Beatrice," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "And if you ever set foot in this office again, I'll have security throw you out of the building. We're done."

She scrambled out, her head down, her pride and her plan in ruins. I stood in the doorway, watching her go, and then I looked back at my desk. The seat of my power.

I picked up the phone. "Vanessa? Bring Leo back up. And call my driver. I need to go home and be with my wife."

The video she just sent me sent a cold thrill straight to my groin.