Page 33 of The FBI Agents Who Stole Me

Georgie:

Lee: Ugh. Go be happy somewhere else. This is the sad thread.

Marge: Want me to come over and watch murder shows?

Lee: No, I’ll let you know when I am done with wallowing in pity and shame.

Cal: When you are ready for him to die, let Zeke know. He’s got a new gun he’s dying to try.

Lee: You truly are the best friends a girl can ask for.

A bunch more hearts and kissy emojis are shared in the chat for me. My lips turn up even if my eyes are still stinging.

I put on the cookie pajamas Georgie got me. I’ll die in them because my heart stopped beating when Julian left.

And God, what did I do fucking Elliot? I could blame it on the alcohol. But the next morning and afternoon, I was totally sober. Well, unless dick drunk counts. Elliot isn’t small, and he knows how to fuck a girl. I was limping the entire weekend because of him.

And the worst part? Zero shame from him. He's even more flirty now, and gah, those dimples.

I thought I would combust when I saw him in the copy room today. He shut the door behind him and gave me that look. Like I was so sexy and he couldn’t decide which part of my body to stare at the longest.

The memory slams into me. It’ll be impossible to ever shove back down because like I said, dick-matized or whatever.

Without a word, he reaches behind him and locks the door. I scoot back as far as I can go because the copy room is tiny, and there is nowhere else to run.

“I fucking love those skirts,” he whispers. “Bend over.” Instead of waiting for me to comply, he spins me so my back is to him and pushes me down until my chest meets the copier glass. The machine is still warm from whoever used it before.

My skirt is pushed up. With one hand, he slides my panties halfway down my thighs.

“Elliot," I try to protest.

“I’m going to have to get you a proper ball gag," he warns.

I shut my mouth immediately.

He pushes inside me hard, forcing a choked sound from my lips. He is so big it hurts when he buries himself in my pussy. Then he just fucks me like he wants to, not even asking for permission.

It is stupidly hot.

His hips snap against my ass with deep strokes that rock the copier and make my hands slip on the smooth surface. One hand stays on my back and the other squeezes my hip so hard it will surely leave a bruise.

While he fucks me, he leans over my back and speaks against my temple.

“You haven’t answered my calls, Lee,” he says, each word driven by another push. “You’ve been avoiding me. Daddy doesn’t like being ignored. Now I have to fuck you in the office to remind you not to try and run from me. Run from this thing between us.”

I have a daddy kink. I’m in the office with my partner railing me and saying dirty things in my ear.

Bad, bad, bad.

I come anyway, fast and helpless, my core seizes and I squeeze around him while my thighs shake.

His hand squeezes around my jaw, and he starts to cut off my air. My teeth break his skin while I try to muffle my scream. I dig my teeth in harder, tasting his tangy copper blood.

Elliot doesn’t slow down even when I pierce the skin. He fucks me like a machine.

He slams in one last time and stays there, cock throbbing as he empties himself deep inside me in long, hot surges. When he finally pulls out, I expect him to turn and leave. I don’t expect the sharp twist in my chest at the thought of him walking away.

He reaches down, grabs my panties, and pulls them back up my thighs, snugging the fabric tight against my body so his cum has nowhere to go but inside me and against the cotton.