The Scorned Luna-Chapter 101: Stubborn

​"No one," Sofia moaned out.

​Alaric growled and pulled his face away from her dripping heat, but he didn’t stand up yet. He stayed on his knees, watching the way her thighs trembled against the glass.

​Alaric reached up, his large, rough hands curving around her waist and pulling her back against his chest as he rose to his full height behind her. He didn’t enter her. Instead, he reached around to her front. One hand clamped over her left breast, his thumb and forefinger catching her nipple and rolling it with a punishing pressure that made her back arch into him.

​His other hand drifted down, disappearing between her legs. He didn’t shove his fingers back in; he simply pressed the flat of his palm against her soaking wet clit. He began to rub in slow, heavy circles, the friction of his calloused skin against her hypersensitive nerve endings making her vision blur.

​"Alaric... please... I’m right there..." she whimpered, her breath hitching as the internal pressure built toward a peak.

​Just as her hips began to buck and her toes curled into the carpet for the release, he stopped. He pulled his hand away entirely, leaving her hovering on the edge of a cliff.

​"I didn’t give you permission to come, Sofia," he hissed into her ear, his teeth nipping at her lobe. "You’ll stay right here, aching for me, until I decide you’ve had enough."

​He did it again. And again. Rubbing her until she was sobbing for the finish, then stopping the moment her muscles began to twitch with the onset of an orgasm. He was edging her ruthlessly, turning her desire into a form of physical torture.

​Suddenly, he grabbed her by the hair—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to control her—and dragged her away from the window toward the large, gilded mirror that hung on the side wall. He forced her to stand in front of it, standing behind her so he could see her reflection.

​"Look at yourself," he commanded, his voice raw.

​Sofia tried to look away, her face burning with a mix of shame and lust, but he gripped her jaw and forced her eyes to the glass. She looked wrecked. Her blonde hair was a wild halo, her expensive blouse was shredded and hanging off her shoulders, and her breasts were flushed a deep pink, the nipples swollen and wet from his mouth. Her skirt was still bunched at her waist, revealing her reddened, cream-slicked thighs.

​"Tell me what you see, Sofia," Alaric growled, his hands sliding down to grip her hips, his thick, pulsing cock visible in the mirror as it thrashed against his abdomen. "Do you look like the ’free woman’ who was laughing in Alexander’s car? Or do you look like an Alpha’s pet, ruined in his office before the morning meeting?"

​"I... I look..." she choked out, unable to finish the sentence as she watched his hands move over her body in the reflection.

​"You look like you’re starving for me," he finished for her. "You look like you’d crawl across broken glass just to have me stop this ache."

​He spun her around and lifted her, slamming her back down onto the cold, hard mahogany of his desk. The transition from the warm air to the freezing wood made her gasp, her skin pebbling with goosebumps. He shoved her legs so wide they hit the edges of the desk, pinning her knees back toward her shoulders.

​He came out of his pants fully now, his heavy length swaying between his legs. But he still didn’t give her what she wanted.

​He leaned over her, his weight pressing her into the wood, and took the head of his cock—glistening and leaking a thick trail of precum—and began to slide it along her slit. He rubbed the broad, hot head against her clit, painting her in his own fluid, but staying firmly on the outside.

​The sensation of cock sliding through her own juices was maddening. Sofia let out a broken cry, her hands reaching down to try and pull him into her, but he caught her wrists and pinned them above her head.

​"Not yet," he rasped, his eyes glowing like a predator’s.

​He continued the slide, moving from her entrance all the way up to her belly button and back down, over and over. Every time the head of his cock brushed her opening, she thrust her hips up, desperate to be filled, but he would move away at the last second, leaving her hitting nothing but empty air.

​"Alaric, please! Just fuck me! Put it in!" she screamed, her pride completely gone.

​He looked down at her, a dark, triumphant smirk touching his lips. "Who do you belong to, Sofia? Say it, and I’ll end the pain."

​"No," Sofia gasped, the word more a sob than a statement of fact. She was trembling so violently the desk beneath her rattled, her back arching off the cold wood as she tried to force herself against his thick, teasing length. "I... I told you... I belong to no one!"

​Alaric’s eyes darkened, the green turning into a storm of black-flecked rage. The stubbornness in her was a drug to him, making him want to break her and worship her all at once.

​"Still fighting?" he rasped, his voice dropping into a huskiness that made her insides quiver. "Fine. Let’s see how much more of ’yourself’ you can handle."

​Alaric stood before her, his massive frame casting a shadow over her trembling body. He wrapped his hand around the base of his red, pulsing cock and began to stroke it slowly, the friction creating a wet, slapping sound that filled the tense silence of the office. He watched her eyes track the movement, knowing she was dying for him to stop the torture.

​Sofia’s chest heaved, her mind full of desperation and defiance. She needed him to end this, but her tongue was still a weapon. "Fine," she rasped, her voice dripping with frustrated anger. "If you won’t finish this... if you’re too busy playing games... maybe Damien will help you. Or perhaps Alexander. They both seemed very eager to see what’s under this skirt."

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