Chapter 475: Last LAST (R-18) "That’s what I thought." His smile was victory and salvation combined, predator and savior merged into a single devastating entity. "Now let me give you what you’ve been starving for." With a guttural cry that was pure, primal fury, she lunged. She grabbed the front of his shirt, her fingers hooking into the expensive fabric. With a violent, desperate tug, she ripped. Buttons sprayed across the marble floor like shrapnel. The shirt tore open, revealing the hard, sculpted landscape of his chest and abdomen. Her hands were everywhere, roaming, clawing, not in gentle exploration, but in a frantic attempt to claim as much of him as possible. She fumbled with his belt, her fingers clumsy with urgency. The buckle jingled, and she yanked his trousers and boxers down in a single, savage motion. And then it was free. Her cock. The monster from the screen. The beautiful, terrifying thing she had masturbated to while crying in her office. She let out a sharp, shocked gasp, a sound of pure, unadulterated awe. It was even more magnificent in person. A thick, heavy column of flesh, alive with pulsing veins, the head a dark, furious purple, already weeping a clear, viscous fluid. It wasn’t just big; it was a work of art. A weapon. Her hands shot out, gripping it with both hands. She couldn’t close her fingers around it. The heat was incredible, scorching her palms. She could feel the blood coursing through the thick, corded veins, could feel the powerful, living weight of it. "Oh my god," she breathed, her voice a reverent whisper. She leaned in, her tongue darting out to lap at the bead of fluid on the tip. The taste was salty, primal, perfect. A whimper escaped her, a sound of pure, abject need. "I need this... I need you to fuck me with this... NOW." He growled, a low, dangerous sound that vibrated through her entire body. He knew this wasn’t the time for submission or mind games. This was the time to fuck her brains out. He grabbed her, hauling her to her feet and spinning her around. He slammed her against the glass, the impact rattling the panes. Her hands flew out, bracing herself, her palms flattening against the cool surface. He kicked her legs apart with his feet, positioning her. She felt the massive, flared head of his cock notch against her entrance. Her body went rigid. This was it. "LOOK AT ME!" he commanded. She craned her neck, looking over her shoulder, and their eyes locked. His face was a mask of pure, brutal lust. He drove forward. "AIEEEEEEEEEEE!" The scream was torn from the depths of her soul, a high, piercing shriek of twisted agony and ecstasy as he breached her. The stretch was incredible, a searing, full-body burn as her tight pussy was forced to accommodate his impossible girth. His eyes rolled back in his head, a guttural groan escaping his lips as he felt her hot, silky walls clamp down on him like a vise. He didn’t give her time to adjust. He pulled out almost all the way, then slammed back in, deeper this time. "FUCK! OH FUCK! SO DEEP!" she cried, her knuckles turning white where she gripped the glass. He established a brutal, punishing rhythm. Each withdrawal was a slow, teeth-grinding drag, the thick, prominent veins on his shaft rasping against her sensitive inner walls, a devastating friction that made her vision blur. Each thrust was a deep, powerful, bone-jarring impact that lifted her onto her toes. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! The sound of his hips smacking against her ass was sharp, wet, and obscene, echoing loudly in the high-ceilinged office, mingling with her loud, desperate cries and his own guttural grunts. Then, he changed the angle. He wrapped one powerful arm around her waist, lifting her. Her heels left the floor. She was suspended, her entire weight supported by his arm and the frantic bracing of her hands against the window. The new position was devastating. It angled her pussy perfectly, allowing him to drive even deeper, to hit the end of her with every punishing stroke. "AHH! AHH! AHH! AHH!" Her cries became a rhythmic chant, timed to his brutal thrusts. She was no longer a person, just a vessel for his pleasure, a thing to be fucked. His free hand came around to roughly palm her breast, tweaking her nipple, sending sparks flying through her overloaded nervous system. "YOU FEEL THAT?" he snarled in her ear, his voice a raw, primal thing. "YOU FEEL HOW MY VEINS ARE STRETCHING THIS TIGHT LITTLE PUSSY? YOU FEEL HOW YOU WERE MADE FOR THIS COCK?" "YES! OH GOD YES! YOUR COCK! IT’S SO BIG! IT’S RUINING ME! DON’T STOP! PLEASE DON’T STOP!" She was babbling, a stream of filthy, incoherent encouragement. She was suspended between the glass and this god, being fucked in mid-air, and she had never felt more powerful, more alive, more completely and utterly used. The entire city could see her, the entire building could hear her, and she didn’t care. She just wanted more. She wanted him to fuck her until she was nothing but a screaming, cumming, broken mess. He was a machine, a brutal piston of pure, masculine force, and she was the sex-crazed, sobbing, beautiful mess being fucked into oblivion against her own window. Her screams were a constant, high-pitched wail, echoing off the glass, back into the office, a testament to the raw, primal power he was unleashing. But something was changing. She could feel it in the way his movements became less rhythmic, more possessive. His control was cracking. Her tightness, her desperate cries, the way her pussy was spasming and clamping down on him—it was overwhelming even for him. He snarled, a sound of pure, frustrated pleasure, and pulled out of her with a wet, sucking pop. He snarled, a deep, guttural sound of pure, animalistic frustration. Being inside her was heaven, but this position wasn’t enough. It was too controlled. He wanted to see her face when he ruined her. He wanted to see her eyes when she took every inch. With a feral growl, he pulled out of her with a wet, sucking POP. She cried out at the sudden, hollow emptiness, "NO! DON’T STOP! WHAT ARE YOU—" He didn’t give her time to finish the sentence. He didn’t gentle her. He didn’t guide her. He grabbed her by the upper arms, his grip like iron, and hauled her off her feet. He half-dragged, half-threw her across the office, his movements a blur of desperate, violent grace. She stumbled, her legs useless, completely at his mercy. He reached her mahogany desk. With a single, sweeping motion of his arm, he roared, "EVERYTHING OFF!" and the world of Catherine Reynolds imploded. Her laptop was smashed to the floor. Stacks of contracts, worth millions, were scattered like confetti. A crystal pencil holder shattered, sending shards flying. The antique letter opener skittered across the marble. It was a sonic boom of destruction, the sound of her power and control being obliterated. He threw her onto the now-empty desk. The impact knocked the wind out of her, a soft "oof!" escaping her lips. Before she could even think, he was on her. He didn’t just climb on top of her; he launched himself, covering her body with his, his weight a glorious, suffocating blanket that forced the air from her lungs. He forced her legs wide with his knees, a purely dominant, brutal stance that left her completely exposed, completely vulnerable. He braced his hands on the desk on either side of her head, his face inches from hers, his eyes burning with a frantic, unhinged light. She could see herself reflected in their depths—a sweaty, disheveled, fucked-out slut with a look of pure, ecstatic terror. He didn’t kiss her. He didn’t whisper. He braced his hands on the desk on either side of her head, his face inches from hers, his eyes burning with a frantic, unhinged light. She could see a droplet of sweat run down his temple, see the muscle twitching in his jaw. He looked crazed. Insatiable. "LOOK AT ME WHEN I FUCK YOU, LOVE!" he snarled, his voice a raw, jagged thing. It wasn’t a request. It was a command from a god who had lost all patience with mortals.