Feel Her Wrath

Dana DeArmond owns every room she walks into, especially her corner office. Zoe's latest screw-up just crossed the line. Dana's got her pinned against the desk, then shoved flat across it. She buries her face between Zoe's thighs and doesn't come up for air. Zoe's legs shake, her breath hitches, but Dana keeps licking like she's starving. When Zoe comes, it hits her hard enough to arch her back off the wood. She's still breathing hard when Dana pulls her upright and drops into the chair. "Your turn," Dana says, already spreading her legs. Zoe drops to her knees, tongue moving quick and sloppy, not stopping until Dana grips the armrests and groans loud enough that the blinds rattle. Dana's not finished. She straps on, presses Zoe back down, and drives the toy straight into that slick, tight spot. Every thrust forces a new sound out of Zoe, her nails scraping the desk, hips slamming back for more until she breaks again, shaking and cussing under her breath, and Dana just watches with that wicked little smile.