Stalked by love

I like older men. Simple as that. They move slow, know what they want, and never rush to peel your clothes off. Take Allan, the CEO at my father's company. He watches me with patient hunger, gentle but never weak. When he finally pulls me close, I can feel the restraint in his hands, the way they rest just above my ass as though he is asking permission and promising to ruin me all at once. I drop to my knees for him, blonde hair brushing his thighs, and he lets me worship for a while. Then he lifts me onto the desk and parts my legs. His mouth finds me, tongue slow and thorough, tasting every wet fold until my breath breaks. He slides in deep, taking his time, filling me with steady strokes that hit every aching spot. A redheaded intern watches from the doorway, eyes wide, and I catch her gaze as he fucks me harder. Later, when he finishes across my face, warm streaks paint my cheek and lips, I lick what I can reach and smile up at him, already wanting the next time.