I stare at her, unable to look away from those lush lips, those dreamy eyes. “Did you picture my cock? My tongue? Or my fingers?”
She lifts her chin a little defiantly and answers like a woman who owns her pleasure. “I pictured you coming on me. On my tits.”
Oh, fuck me. She’s so deliciously dirty. I slam my mouth onto hers and take a hot, savage kiss, breaking it to say, “You’re such a filthy girl. With a filthy mouth.”
She pulls apart from me. “What do you want to do with my mouth?”
“Jules,” I warn.
“Finn,” she counters, holding her own.
I narrow my eyes. “I came in here to remind you who’s in charge of your orgasms.”
“And how are you going to do that?” she challenges.
I grab her hip, jerk her against me. “I can make you come in one minute.”
“I dare you.”
She has no idea who she’s dealing with. “Pull up your skirt. Turn around and lift your ass.”
She obeys beautifully, multitasking by tugging up her skirt as she spins.
Yes, she’s wearing a beautiful pair of white lace panties. With her face to the door, she slides her arms up the wood then pops out her ass, showing them off.
“Ah, too bad they’re not the pair I sent you,” I say.
“Such a shame.”
“But this.” I cup her center briefly. “This is too good.”
She moans, wriggling against me.
But I don’t touch her right away. She’s a cautious woman about some things I’ve noticed, and it’s only fucking respectful to touch a woman with clean hands. “My fingers are going to be deep inside you, fucking you hard in a few seconds,” I say as I go to the sink and wash them.
She smiles, like I read her mind. “I like your dirty mouth and mind though.”
“I know,” I say, returning to her. “Now tell me, Jules,” I say, praising her as I curl a hand over one gorgeous globe, plucking at the edge of the white lace. “Tell me who owns your orgasms,” I demand.
“You do,” she gasps, wriggling against my hand.
“That’s right,” I say, then crowd her, kiss her neck, and slide my hand around to the front of her panties and under them. She’s so slick and ready. “I knew you’d be soaked.”
“I am,” she whispers. “I want you.”
“You want me to make you come, don’t you?” I ask, rubbing a soft circle on her hard clit.
She shudders. “Please.”
I kiss the back of her neck, line my body up against her, and nip on her earlobe as I stroke. “Count,” I command.
“Sixty,” she says.
Another stroke, another kiss, another shudder.
She counts down from sixty, quickly losing track, as I kiss her neck and fuck her with my fingers till she’s writhing, and moaning, and dangerously close to letting the restaurant know that no one can fuck her like I can—and in under a minute. “Quiet,” I warn her.
“I’m trying,” she whimpers.
“I’ll help you,” I say, then cover her mouth with my free hand as I play with her sweet clit. “Give it to me. Come on my hand.”
Seconds later, she’s trembling and flying over the edge. And there’s nothing better in the world than her pleasure. As she shudders, I lick my fingers, then turn her around, kissing that beautiful mouth. She grabs onto the lapels of my jacket, then gazes up at me. “I want your dick, Finn. Please let me suck you.”
I groan, then run a finger over her top lip. She nips at my finger, and draws it into her lush mouth, sucking, letting me know with words and deeds what she wants. “Let me,” she says, when she releases my finger.
“You’re such a beautiful beggar,” I tell her. “A beautiful beggar with a dirty mouth.”
“Please,” she says in a needy whisper. “Please, let me suck you off.”
“Beg for it,” I demand.
She answers in action, parting her lips in a lingering O, thrusting out her chest, showing off those tits. “I’m begging you for your cock. Please let me taste it. I want to swallow your come. Want to feel it sliding down my throat. Want to walk out of here after you’ve shoved your dick in my mouth.”
My chest is a furnace. My body is on fire as I shed my jacket and then she’s kneeling on it, unzipping me, and dragging my dick to the back of her throat.
The pleasure is unholy. The clock is ticking. Someone will knock soon. And I don’t fucking care.
She’s too perfect to resist.
I thread my fingers through her chestnut locks. “Look at you. Needing my dick.”
She trembles, clearly loving the praise as she draws me impossibly farther into her warm mouth.
I shake with lust. “That’s right. You take me so fucking well.”
She looks up with eager eyes as she shows off, letting her throat relax so my cock can slide a little deeper. I grip her hair tighter. Hot pulses of electricity jolt my legs. “You want to choke on my cock, don’t you?”
Another savage nod. A fierce yes in her eyes. I curl my hands around her skull, thrusting deeper down her throat. She gags but doesn’t relent, just mercilessly pursues my release. She sucks me until my thighs shake and my balls tighten. My vision blurs and I spill down her throat with a bitten-off groan.
I’m still shaking from the aftereffects as she stands, slams her sexy body against me, and shoves her hand up her skirt. She’s fucking her fingers, chasing another orgasm in this tiny bathroom.
“Mine,” I growl. “That pussy belongs to me.”
“Then shut up and make me come,” she demands, and wow.
That’s hot.
“I’ll give the orders,” I say, “and the orgasms. And you better be quiet this time.” I bat her hand away from her glistening pussy, then stroke her until she’s shivering and coming again, pressing her lips together to seal in her scream of ecstasy. I watch her the whole time, her face twisted in exquisite, stolen pleasure after a business lunch in the middle of Manhattan.
When she’s done, she pants, and moans, and sags against me. It’s breathtaking, and I want to take her to my office, set her on my desk, and eat her pussy till she comes so many times she begs me to stop.
For now, I let go of her, and we straighten up. Once I’ve dried my hands, I hold out a palm. “You know what to do. Give them to me.”
With a delighted smirk—she takes orders so damn well—she reaches under her skirt, shimmies off her white panties, and hands them to me. I ball them up and put them in my pocket. After I sling my jacket over my shoulder, I kiss her. It’s short but passionate, chased by a needy groan.
I wish I could see her again. And I wish I could quit her too. She’s so bad for me.
When I break the kiss, she’s the first to say, “We can’t do this again.”
She’s right. We can’t. “We won’t do this again,” I add, and I’ve got to keep my promise this time.
That evening, after I leave the office, I swing by the shop I now know she likes. You Look Pretty Today is a feminine wonderland, with pink divans and faint notes of lilac perfume drifting through the store, an olfactory complement to the soft music that plays overhead. The whole vibe is subtly seductive.