Page 32 of Ruthless Roses

For the first time, her actress mask slips. “Jon—”

“I said bend the fuck over, or I’ll be forced to take my wooden ruler to that fat ass of yours.”

She makes a whiny noise of protest from her throat that would make me laugh if I wasn’t so damn turned on. I spin her around and push her down. Flipping her skirt up, I’m greeted with the delectable sight of her round, bare ass and pussy lips.

My fist clenches shut around my dick for a few strokes. “Fuck, you’ve been such a bad girl. Failing your project. Sucking my cock like a slut. Now look at you, wandering the halls without panties.”

She squirms, whether intentionally or unintentionally, making her ass look that much more delicious—it shakes in front of me with each squirmy move.

I slide right into her tight, slick heat. She claws at the wooden desk and makes another whiny noise from her throat. I’m hunching over her, breathing fast and ragged at how good she feels.

But, as much as I want to rut away without care, I pick up on a few cues.

…cues that tell me we’re losing it again. The spark is fading.

I hold her close, bringing my cheek against hers. “Stay with me, Phi. Tell me how good it feels to have my fat cock in that little pussy.”

I thrust in and out in slow movements, still holding her against me, seeking to create a flow. She settles into the sawing motion, though the tension in her body is undeniable.

Her eyes are screwed shut and she clings to my arms wrapped around her waist with nails that sink into my forearms.

It’s uncomfortable for her.

I kiss her neck and tell her how sexy she looks. How amazing her pussy feels. How she’s my naughty girl that must be punished.

But nothing works. Not my dirty talk. Not my fingers finding her clit. Not my slow, measured thrusts.

She’s checked out. The spark, or what little we had generated, is gone.

I pull out of her, frustrated but still determined. “Lay on the desk. Spread your legs.”

“Jon—”

“Do it. Now, Phi. I’m going to make that pussy fucking squirt like old times.”

“I can’t right now. It’s time to feed Dom.”

“The nanny—”

“I forgot to pump enough for a bottle. I have to feed him.” She straightens up and then pushes past me on her fast quest for the door.

It slams shut with a resounding thud that only stokes my temper. I release a furious growl, sweeping my arm across my desk and knocking everything on top of it to the ground.

This can’t go on. This must be fixed.

Something is messing with Delphine’s ability to enjoy herself. If Rhino and Stitches—and my instinct—are correct, I know just what.

Or who that could be.

9

delphine

Dominicand I have doctor’s appointments on the same morning. We visit Dominic’s pediatrician first. Doctor Blanchard gives him a perfect bill of health. Dominic’s a healthy weight and responds well to the reflex tests given. The doctor holds out a teddy bear for him to take, and he reaches out his tiny, dimpled hand to clutch onto it. He giggles at the funny noises the doctor makes and his eyes—now a darkish blue-gray kind of shade—light up when he tells him to look at mommy.

“Very good,” the doctor replies, winking at me. “Very sharp. He’s a smart little guy, aren’t you, Dominic?”

Dominic gurgles in answer and attempts to clutch the teddy bear to his chest. The only problem is the bear’s the same size he is.