The silence in the dining room was thick enough to choke on.

The only sounds were the ragged, frantic sawing of Diana’s breath and the muffled, distant, and angry voice of Richard bleeding through the walls from his study down the hall.

Ryan’s left hand flattened against the center of her back, pinning her spine to the mahogany.

His right hand dropped to the waistband of her tailored trousers.

"Ryan, you can’t," Diana choked out, her voice a desperate, terrified whisper. She tried to wriggle her hips away from the table, but his weight anchored her perfectly in place. "He’s going to hear. He’s right there."

"Then you better keep quiet," Ryan murmured against her neck.

He didn’t fumble with the clasp. He popped the button, unzipped the trousers, and shoved the expensive fabric down her thighs in one brutal, efficient motion.

The sheer black lace of her panties followed a second later, tangling around her knees.

The cool, conditioned air of the townhouse washed over her bare skin.

She shivered violently, her ass completely exposed, the soft, pale flesh shivering under the harsh light of the crystal chandelier.

Ryan unfastened his own belt.

The metallic clink of the buckle sounded like an explosion in the quiet room.

He shoved his slacks and boxers down, freeing himself. He was aching, the head of his cock slick with pre-come, throbbing in the chilled air.

He gripped her hips, his thumbs digging into the soft indentations on either side of her pelvis.

He didn’t bother with a slow, teasing entry.

The sheer, suffocating risk of the situation demanded violence.

He lined himself up against her soaking wet core and drove his hips forward, burying himself to the absolute hilt in a single, devastating thrust.

Diana bit down hard on her own lip.

Her back arched sharply off the mahogany.

Her fingers clawed frantically at the linen tablecloth, dragging the expensive fabric into wrinkled, twisted knots.

A raw, broken whine tore at the back of her throat, swallowed entirely by the crushing effort to keep her mouth shut.

"Fuck," Ryan grunted, his jaw locking tight.

She was incredibly tight, her walls spasming around the intrusion, milking him with a feral, involuntary heat.

He pulled back, exposing the slick, gleaming length of his shaft, and slammed back in.

The heavy, wet slap of his pelvis hitting her bare ass echoed in the massive dining room.

The heavy mahogany table let out a faint, deep groan under the shifting weight.

"We shouldn’t do this," Diana gasped, her head thrashing side to side on the wood. "Ryan—he’s going to hear the table—"

"You say that," Ryan growled, keeping his voice a low, gritty scrape right next to her ear. He maintained the punishing, driving rhythm, his hips snapping forward like a piston. "But you’re soaking wet for me. You’re pushing back."

It was the absolute truth.

Even as she wept with the terror of discovery, her body was completely betraying her logic.

Every time he pulled back, her hips chased the friction, grinding backward into the impact.

Her inner walls fluttered around him, desperate and greedy, swallowing every inch he gave her.

He reached around her waist, his hand sliding up to grip her throat. He didn’t squeeze, but he held her firmly, his thumb resting against her frantically beating pulse.

"You’re a hypocrite, Diana," Ryan whispered, driving his hips faster, harder. The slapping sound of their bodies colliding grew louder, an obscene, filthy rhythm in the pristine, aristocratic room. "You put on that freezing, untouchable mask for your husband. You sneer at my company. But right now, you’re taking my cock on your own dining room table, terrified he’s going to walk out here and see what a filthy little slut his wife really is."

A muffled sob ripped out of her.

The degradation sliced straight through her terror, igniting the dark, venomous kink he had unearthed in her office.

She wasn’t fighting him anymore. She was entirely consumed by it.

"Yes," Diana wept, her voice a fractured, ruined whisper. Her fingernails dug into the wood. "I’m your slut—fuck, Ryan, don’t stop—"

The admission shattered the last remaining fragments of Ryan’s control.

He leaned his entire weight over her, flattening her completely against the table.

The spilled red wine soaked into the sleeve of her slate-grey blouse.

He pounded into her with ruthless, mechanical precision. The table creaked ominously. Down the hall, the sound of Richard’s voice spiked in an angry shout, entirely oblivious to the absolute violation occurring fifty feet away.

The danger acted like gasoline on an open flame.

Ryan felt the agonizing pressure coiling at the base of his spine. The heat inside her was suffocating, milking the climax out of his body.

"Come for me," Ryan commanded, his grip tightening on her throat.

He ground his pelvis flush against hers, crushing her clit between their bodies on every brutal downstroke. "Right now."

Diana’s entire skeleton locked rigid.

She threw her head back, her mouth opening in a silent, agonizing scream. Her walls clamped down on his shaft with terrifying, crushing force.

A massive, violent orgasm ripped through her nervous system, her thighs shaking so hard her knees buckled against the mahogany legs of the table.

The intense, milking pressure pushed Ryan straight over the edge.

He drove in to the absolute hilt, a low, guttural groan tearing from his chest. He erupted, flooding her core with thick, heavy, burning pulses.

He held her pinned to the wood, his chest heaving, his hips twitching as he pumped the last remaining drops deep inside her.

They stayed frozen against the table.

Ryan’s breathing sounded like a freight train in the quiet room. Beneath him, Diana was entirely limp, her face buried in the wrinkled linen tablecloth, tears of pure, overwhelming release streaking her cheeks.

The heavy, muffled thud of a phone slamming onto a desk echoed from Richard’s study down the hall. 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

The sound severed the haze.

Ryan slowly eased his hips back, slipping free from her tight, slick core.

A thick drop of his semen spilled onto her upper thigh, gleaming under the chandelier light.

Diana scrambled to push herself off the table. Her hands were shaking so violently she could barely pull the sheer black lace of her panties back up.

She dragged her trousers over her hips, fumbling blindly with the zipper. Her slate-grey blouse was ruined, stained with the red wine she had spilled.

Ryan calmly pulled up his slacks, adjusting his belt with steady, unhurried hands.

He looked at the wreckage of the woman standing in front of him.

Her hair was a disaster. Her makeup was smeared. She looked over her shoulder toward the hallway, her chest rising and falling in shallow, panicked gasps.

Ryan reached out, his calloused thumb brushing a stray tear from her cheek.

She flinched, but she didn’t pull away.

"Clean yourself up," Ryan murmured, his voice completely devoid of the feral heat from moments ago. He turned, walking back toward his empty crystal tumbler on the other side of the table.

He picked up the glass, swallowed the last drop of the Macallan, and set it down.

He looked back at her.

He felt a hum, a dark, vicious frequency in his blood. He had broken her in her own office, and now he had ruined her in her own home.

"We aren’t done, Diana. I’ll send you an address, we can have dinner without Richard’s antics," Ryan said quietly.

He turned and walked out of the dining room, leaving her standing alone in the wreckage.