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She watched as his irises disappeared in a haze of darkness, of need and desire, as he sat at the head of the glass conference table listening to the many heads' of departments explain the quarterly progress of Queen Industries. 

 

She could see the slight hitch in his breathing, the squaring of his shoulders, the rubbing of his thumb and forefinger, as he started right back at her like their was no one else in the room with them.

 

He itched to feel her. He ached to touch her. To kiss her. To lick her. To taste every in of her. To hear his name ripped from her throat in the frenzied ecstasy of their fucking. 

 

And she knew it, a sly smile gracing her painted lips.

 

She knew what she could do to him. She knew the hold she had on him. She knew the power she had over him. This power to make him need, want, and feel things that he had only ever felt with her. 

 

One look. One touch. One whisper in his ear. That was all it ever took, and he would be all hers. 

 

She licked her lips, drawing her teeth over her bottom lip, as she stared at him, matching the need, the want, the desire, the love, that she saw in his eyes. 

 

The meeting was over before the last of the heads' of departments could even speak, Oliver ordering all of them out save for her. But not before telling his EA to lock down the executive floor.

 

She had won.

 

She could see it in his eyes. It had been a long week, a week of him sleeping in their guest bedroom after their disastrous fight, a week of him being forbidden to kiss or touch any part of her until he apologized. 

 

He was desperate. And she knew it.

 

He stalked towards her, like a predator after its prey. 

 

She could feel the coolness of the glass wall seeping through her blouse as she bumped into it. 

 

His hands moved to either side of her, caging her body between the glass and his overheated and hard body. 

 

"Are you ready to say sorry, Mr. Queen," she asked, her voice a barely their whisper as she stared directly into his eyes. His pupils had been completely blown, with only a hint of his baby blues peeking out. 

 

"Who says I have anything to apologize about, Ms. Smoak," his voice breathy, as his faced inched closer towards hers. 

"That's Mrs. Smoak-Queen to you, Mr. Queen. And you have a lot of apologizing to do, Mister." 

 

"Really," Oliver asked, his lips trailing down her neck, barely touching her skin. 

 

"Really," Felicity answered, her heart pounding beneath her chest, aching for his lips to finally touch her skin. He wasn't the only one who had spent the week suffering. 

 

His lips savagely descended upon her neck, all care going out the proverbial window. His lips, his teeth nipped along her neck before moving onto her collar bone. 

 

Moans left uninhibited from her lips. 

 

His hands moved to the collar of her blouse, fingers curling around each side, before he yanked, hard, tearing her blouse in half. 

 

Her bra following seconds afterwards, landing near her torn shirt on the ground. 

 

His hands and mouth were merciless as they moved across her chest. 

 

He licked, suckled, and bit each of her breasts, eliciting even louder moans from her mouth. 

 

Her thong was completely soaked, as he continued a path across her chest. 

 

"Please, Oliver," she begged, wanting desperately to feel him deep within her.

 

"You've tortured me this entire week, baby. Haven't you ever heard the term, payback's a bitch?"

 

"Please," she moaned, her hips moving against his. 

 

He lifted her up off the ground before laying her down on the conference table. 

 

She could feel the burn of his touch as his hands as they inched past her skirt, caressing every inch of her thigh, but never going near where she needed him desperately. 

 

 

"Please," she begged again, fire lightening up every one of her veins. 

 

"I haven't kissed you, or touched you, or fucked you in a week, Felicity. A whole god damn week," he growled. "And I will do as I damn please."

 

His fingers curled around each side of her thong, drawing them down her leg.

 

"You're so wet for me aren't you? You're desperate to feel you inside of you? You miss my touch don't you, baby?" 

 

"Yes, please," Felicity begged, her game of dominance gone as Oliver continued his game of teasing.

 

"I want to taste you first, baby. I've dreamt about your taste all week, that sweet tangy essence that's all you," Oliver whispered against her inner thigh. His voice making her more wet.

 

Her skirt was rucked up around her waist, as he dragged her core towards his mouth.

 

She could feel his desperation as he attacked her core. His tongue licked her clit, as he moved two fingers into her.

 

Her screams reverberated against the glass walls of the conference room.

 

She came quickly, her juices soaking Oliver's face.

 

"Oliver," she beseeched, her voice husky from the aftermath of her orgasm.

 

"Oh, I'm not even close to done yet, baby."

 

His lips moved towards her swollen clit, nipping at it before he plunged three of his fingers deep into her.

 

"Oliver," she screamed.

 

"Oh god, please! Oh god," she moaned, her knuckles turing white from gripping the edge of the glass table.

 

"Say please, Ms. Smoak."

 

"Please, Oliver! Please! Oh god, please."

 

Her second orgasm eclipsed that of her first, as she panted, exhausted from his ruthless touch.

 

She heard the rustling of his pants' zipper before she felt every inch of him plunge into her.

 

 

He moved her legs atop his shoulders, as he pounded into her again, and again, and again.

 

She felt another orgasm on the horizon as he continued to thrust, harder and deeper into her.

 

His lips suckled her left ankle, as he continued to move against her. A mark, she knew, would soon appear in its place.

 

She came, screaming his name at the top of her lungs. Oliver came soon after thrusting into her a few more times.

 

They were both panting, sweat-slicked, foreheads touching each other's, as they came down from their respective orgasms, staying within the other's embrace as her orgasm continued to milk every inch of him that was still within her.

 

"I'm sorry, baby," Oliver whispered quietly, looking her in the eyes, drawing her into a world that was only theirs. "I can't promise that I won't rip every single one of your favourite thongs, but I can promise that I'll buy you new ones every time I do."

 

A wicked gleam entered her eyes as she spoke her next words, "I'm going to need a little more convincing of your contrition, Mr. Queen. How about we move this into your office? I hear you have a new desk that hasn't been road tested yet," she chuckled seductively.