It was enough. He pulled his fingers out of her, taking a moment of delight in knowing that he was, however briefly, depriving her, then pushed her over on her back, on the cold metal floor of his office. One hand slid behind her head to cradle it and keep her from slamming it into the ground as she went backwards, then carefully dropped it there to hold onto her hips. Then he was on top of her, hovering over her briefly as he guided himself into her entrance, the head parting her slightly. He took a moment to look down at her and smile, taken with how beautiful she looked in the midst of need and passion, enjoying that he had brought her here, to asking, to begging, for what he was going to give her.<br/><br/>Then he slammed into her, burying himself to the hilt inside her body, barely pulling back before he was in her again. Hard, sharp thrusts, moving inside her. Taking by force and right what was his. He lost himself, in his pleasure, in the heat and tightness of her body, in the way she contracted and squeezed around him, making him groan and whimper her name. His fingers on her hips were dimpling her flesh, she would be bruised there after they were done.<br/><br/>Despite his need, almost desperation, he did not finish quickly or easily, riding her in long brutal strokes. His endurance was impressive, even as he gasped for air and his chest was streaked with a light sheen of sweat. He had no time for words, at least, no moment to pause to consider higher moral truths. All he wanted was to stay like this, buried inside her. Occasionally his hands would stray to brush across her skin, her breasts, her throat. At least once, he dropped his head and kissed her hard, breathless and hungry. But mostly he just took, hard and fast and unyielding.