In The Judges Bed

I gripped his back and shouted Daddy as he hit my most sensitive spot, every nerve in my body igniting in a blaze of pleasure. Paradise. Pure, raw, blinding paradise. My fingers dug into the soft curve of his shoulders as he drove harder, faster, his control absolute, his presence overwhelming.

I am the secretary of Conley Davids-the untouchable CEO of MyAlly's Group of Elites, a high court judge whose every decision shaped lives. In public, I was professional, reserved, almost invisible. But here, in the privacy of his penthouse bedroom, all rules were broken, all boundaries dissolved. I was his. His mistress, his secret, his only possession.

He shifted me, rolling me onto my back, his lips pressing against my throat, nipping, sucking, marking me as his own. My breath caught in ragged gasps, my back arching instinctively toward him, desperate for every inch of him.

"Do you feel that?" he murmured, his voice deep, rough with desire. "Every inch of you is mine."

"Yes... please, Daddy..." I begged, every syllable dripping with need. My body shivered under his hands, under the insistence of his touch, under the weight of his dominance.

His hands roamed over me with deliberate cruelty, teasing, tormenting, pulling me to the edge of sensation again and again. My hips lifted involuntarily, pressing into him, craving more, needing more. He chuckled low, dark, and it vibrated through me.

"You like that, don't you?" he asked, voice husky, as his fingers found my most sensitive spot again. "You love when I take control."

"Yes! I... I love it, Daddy!" I gasped, writhing beneath him, every nerve screaming for release, every thought consumed by him.

He smiled at my desperation, the glint in his eyes sharp and possessive. He leaned closer, lips brushing against mine in a whisper of a kiss that left me trembling. "You're mine, always. Understand?"

"I'm yours," I whispered back, words barely audible through my gasps and moans. "Completely yours."

He didn't answer with words. He let his hands and body speak. Each movement was deliberate, each touch a reminder of ownership, of power, of desire. My nails clawed at his back as he drove me closer to the edge, faster, harder, unrelenting.

I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe properly. All I could feel was him, the pleasure, the ache, the fire spreading from my core outward, consuming me completely. My toes curled, legs trembling, and he shifted again, rolling me onto my stomach this time, whispering threats that promised nothing but ecstasy.

"Don't even think about escaping," he murmured in my ear. "You're mine. Every inch. Every sound. Every shiver."

"Yes, Daddy..." I moaned, letting him guide me, dominate me, control me utterly. My body betrayed me, trembling, quivering, begging, desperate for him to claim me fully.

He gripped me tighter, hands and lips and body all claiming, marking, dominating. Every thrust, every movement was precise, deliberate, designed to break me and build me at the same time. I lost track of time, of space, of thought. There was only sensation. Only him. Only us.

My cries filled the room, echoing off the walls, joining the rhythm of our bodies. Each one was a confession, a surrender, a declaration. He responded with grunts and growls, each one sending shivers through me, making me crave him even more.

And then he paused, just for a heartbeat, pulling me into his chest. I gasped, clinging to him, my face buried in his neck. "You're incredible," he whispered. "So perfect. So mine."