Not Enough

He didn’t wait for an answer. His hand slid between her legs, tearing the fabric of her silk lingerie. His fingers found her slick and ready, and he drove into her with a brutality that made her arch violently.

Dorian’s fingers felt like relentless whirlwinds in a storm that offered Sigfri no reprieve. The first orgasm hit her without warning—an electric convulsion that stripped the air from her lungs, a stifling cry lost in the vastness of the office and between her fiancé's fingers.

But Dorian did not stop. As she trembled, his thumb found her rose-colored bud of pleasure and began to rub it with an insistent, cruel rhythm.

"I don’t recognize you, Dorian," she moaned in desperation, feeling the searing heat of his thumb's relentless friction on the button that was about to explode.

The second orgasm built upon the ashes of the first—more intense, deeper. Her nails dug into the mahogany of the desk, her body writhing under the implacable assault of Dorian, who watched her with a mixture of lust and contempt, like a scientist studying a reaction.

"That’s it," he hissed. "Surrender. Show me everything you are."

He knelt between her legs, his mouth replacing his fingers. Dorian’s tongue was a whip of fire, expert and merciless. He licked her, sucked her, bit her with a ferocity that pushed her toward a third climax—one so overwhelming that tears welled in her eyes. It was a fusion of ecstasy and agony, a surrender so complete she felt herself disintegrating.

"How is this possible?" Sigfri questioned herself, terrified by the third climax flooding her senses.

As she recovered, trembling and strengthless, Dorian unbuckled his belt. The metallic ring of the buckle echoed in the silence. He freed his virility, erect and formidable, and rested it against her entrance. Sigfri felt panic mingled with savage anticipation. She was about to be taken, consumed.

Sigfri reached out her right hand to stroke Dorian’s length, taking hold of him as one might grasp a long fruit. Her eyes filled with wonder as she whispered through the burning groans that suffocated her.

"I don’t remember you being this thick... or this large!" She smiled depravedly. "It looks twice the size now. Will it hurt?" she finally asked, letting him rest right at the threshold.

But Dorian did not enter. He stayed right there, on the line of the cave’s entrance—a promise of penetration that drove her mad. With a predatory smile, he began to rub the head of his member against Sigfri’s pink almond, stimulating her again and again without rest.

"This is truly unforgettable," she spat, clinging to Dorian’s abdomen and pulling him toward her, desperate for him to enter her fully.

Dorian stripped Sigfri’s hands from his torso and forced her to stay back. The head of his erect pride began to break that invisible barrier between them. He pushed slightly so she could feel that uncontrollable satisfaction, but Dorian could not stop thinking about Carter.

As he thought of Carter—imagining this same piece of flesh sliding into Carter without mercy—Dorian began to swell even more. The thought triggered a fourth orgasm in Sigfri’s body, one that seemed impossible yet arrived suddenly. She didn't deny it; her body, treacherous and thirsty, craved to be pierced by him.

He was the storm, and she was the parched, arid earth, willing to be flooded time and again. Meanwhile, he—the master of the storm—refused to release his lightning, enjoying the power of keeping her suspended in a state of pure, absolute necessity.

Dorian’s smile was a challenge.

"Your mouth," he ordered, his voice a low thunder that admitted no argument. "I want to feel your lips and your mouth receiving this piece of pleasure."

Without waiting for her to move, he grabbed her by the hair and guided her down. Sigfri, submissive and dominated, knelt on the cold office floor. The reddened, mushroomed head of Dorian’s length was before her—a promise of power and pain. She took him with trembling hands and, for the first time, took him into her mouth with difficulty, taking in only a fraction. The taste was sweet, masculine, and filled her with a hunger she didn't know she possessed.

"This is exquisite," she whispered. "I want to swallow it all."

"Then do it!" Dorian replied, his gaze hollow, his memory fixed on another scene.

Dorian allowed her no control. With his hands firmly gripping her head, he dictated the rhythm. First slow, deep, forcing her to swallow him to the back of her throat. Then fast, brutal, using her for his own pleasure.

"Slowly, please," she murmured with tears of pleasure.

Dorian ignored her. He shifted her position, laying her flat on her back on the sofa and kneeling over her chest, re-entering her mouth from above—a position of absolute power where she could only receive and devour.

Sigfri’s excitement was a caged beast. Every thrust into her mouth brought her closer to the edge. Dorian, reading her body like an open book, took her to the floor and placed her in an eccentric sixty-nine. His mouth found her wet, anxious sex while she continued to devour him. The double stimulation was her undoing. With a muffled scream, she spilled relentlessly over Dorian’s face, a torrent of pleasure that bathed him completely.

"Please, Dorian, pierce my interior!" she cried, her voice broken by need. "No more games, take me!"

Dorian stood up, his face serene despite Sigfri’s release. He took her like a bitch, placing her on all fours upon the fur rug. He positioned his erect pride at the entrance of her cave and, with a force that made her scream, he let go of all the ego of a demon king—a deep, merciless movement that left her breathless.

He drove her against the wall, each thrust making her legs shake. Then, against the massive window, the cold of the glass against her breasts contrasting with the fire consuming her from within.

She resisted with all her might the urge to spill again, but it was imminent—an unstoppable tide. With one last harrowing groan, her body convulsed in a final orgasm, even more intense than the first. But Dorian did not follow. He remained firm, controlled—a predator sating himself on the prey without delivering the killing blow.

"Why?" Sigfri asked, her voice a mere thread, completely defeated."Why won't you spill inside me?"

Dorian withdrew from her, a disdainful smile on his lips. "Because not yet," he said coldly. "Because I don't feel the desire to. Your body is entertaining, but it is not enough. You are not enough!"

Humiliation ignited one last spark of defiance in Sigfri. With a cry of rage and frustration, she pushed him with all her strength. Dorian, caught off guard by the sudden onslaught, lost his balance and fell backward to the floor. Before he could react, she lunged at him, mounting him like a beast in heat. She took his thick virility, still erect and powerful, and buried it inside herself with a violence that made them both groan.

She began to ride him with desperate fury, moving her hips with savage force, using her body to force him, to push him to the limit, to make him break. She rose and fell, her breasts bouncing, her hair a curtain of chaos over her face. But despite her effort, despite the brutal passion she displayed, Dorian remained impassive, his eyes fixed on her with cold, calculating amusement.

She was wearing herself out, giving all her power in a failed attempt to make him yield, while he simply watched her—the undisputed master of the game.

"Why won't you spill?" she challenged him face-to-face while her hips never stopped moving. "Is it because Carter’s body is enough?"