“Take your tits out of your top,” I ordered gruffly. She did it. I was using both hands to finger fuck her, one stroking off her clit, the other fucking in earnest. I licked and sucked on her nipples until they were wet and deep red.
I knew she was close, and I pulled both hands away abruptly.
“What the hell? Don’t stop!”
I sent her a pointed look, dropping to my knees. “Not so fun being teased, is it?”
She just snorted and pushed my face into her pussy, the spoiled brat.
I set about spoiling her even more.
I swirled her clit with my tongue, finger fucking her with purpose, one hand kneading at Mayhem.
She was adequately tenderized by the time I rose, slipping my dick out of my athletic shorts, hooking the waistband under my scrotum.
I didn’t kiss her, instead I watched my tip play with her, rubbing around her, mashing against her clit until she moaned.
We both had our heads aimed down, staring as each thick inch of me disappeared inside of her.
I was enthralled by the sight, captivated like this act was something new to me, something novel.
I was about halfway in when that fevered, frenetic energy got hold of me again, and I started fucking with hell-bent purpose.
I moved our bare chests flush together deliciously, our eyes locked, and grabbed her hips, pinning them as I hammered into her.
My big hands positioned her tiny self just so, her hips canted forward so that every inch of the top of my cock dragged hard against her as I pulled out at an angle. It was abrasive even to my cock, so I didn’t imagine it went easy on her tender flesh and still I couldn’t stop, couldn’t get enough.
Our eyes were locked though and she was panting, eyes free of pain.
I wanted to say something.
I wanted to kiss her forever.
Instead I threw my head back, spine arching, bottomed out, and came like an avalanche.
“I’m still adjusting,” I told her when I was coherent again. It was an apology. “You feel too good. It’s messing with me.”
She just looked at me with her soul devouring eyes and squirmed a bit. “Can… you?” she asked.
She was near incoherent, but I got the gist of it.
I pulled out, kissed her, and got her off with my fingers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I CLEANED US both up but didn’t let her change.
She owed me a full workday.
I even made her keep her tits out while we ate lunch in the breakfast nook.
We were both ravenous.
She shifted in her seat. “I’m very full of…”
I put my chin on my hand, gazing at her with besotted delight. “My cum?” I finished with relish.
“Yes, that. Can we shower after lunch or is me being sticky part of the deal? I’m leaking onto this seat.”
My eyes rolled back into my head, and I held up a finger for her to give me a minute. “You may, but you must put the teddy back on even when you’re clean. And I get to wash you.”
I washed her squeaky clean and got her off in the shower but restrained myself from taking pleasure.
She kept trying to stroke me, but I batted her hands away. “Why aren’t you. . . ?” she began but couldn’t finish as my fingers jammed in and out.
“I’m saving it all for office kink on our French teddy day. Do me a favor: mark today in our calendar. Let’s make this an annual tradition.”
She didn’t answer. She wasn’t coherent yet. I didn’t mind.
I put her back into the teddy myself, pulling the top down so her delectable breasts were still on display.
We returned to work in her office.
She sat at her desk.
I lounged back on the sofa and just basked in the view for a while. “Open,” I told her blandly every time she unconsciously started to close her legs.
“I’m going to bend you backward over the arm of this couch,” I drawled sometime late into the afternoon, “and stuff you like a turkey.”
“That’s quite the picture you’re painting.”
It felt like a challenge. I continued to recite my special brand of poetry at her. “First I’ll prop your plush little ass on that desk and eat your peach.”
“Another fine portrait.”
“I live for the arts.”
We shared an eye crinkling smile.
So this was that elusive thing called intimacy. You had to experience it to know how much it had been lacking before. Feel its fullness before you understood its absence. It was so much more than just a word.
It made making love into more than an action. More than sensation. More than want. More than lust.
Our bodies joining was more than a mating.
It was a place we had built together.
It was somewhere remote, separate from every other plane of existence where nothing else mattered. It was only the two of us. No one else existed.
It was where need collided with essentiality.
It felt necessary. It felt right.
It felt safe.
And that was terrifying. But so addictive I didn’t let that part bother me.
I was good at putting things off until later.
Deadlines.
Feelings.
I did everything I’d listed at her. I sat in her chair and buried my face in her pussy long enough to make her relaxed to the point of limp.
I carried her to the sofa, laying her back carefully over the arm, her hips propped at the highest point, legs dangling.
It was perhaps an advanced position but she’d always been a student that liked to excel.
I gripped her hips in my hands and teased her with my heavy cock, grinding my shaft against her, close to her entrance but not penetrating at first.
She was writhing under my hands when I finally sank my tip in, advancing forward more slowly than my body wanted to. Her body took me in, devouring, sucking, clutching at my girth deliciously. I made it a little more than halfway before my hips took over, and I rammed my cock the rest of the way forcefully into her.
The madness took over again, but I had enough brain function at least to make it good for her, finally.
I drove into her repeatedly, strong, measured thrusts, as she silently gasped, my finger relentless on her clit.
I pushed down on her hips, arching her back, so that every pull in or out was grinding against the rawest part of her.
Luckily it was hitting a good nerve going by the filth coming out of her mouth.
I fucked her into a limp puddle.
“Is it always like this?” Ro asked me sometime later. I was sprawled out limp on the couch, her limp self draped across me, her head facing up in my lap. “I think I get why you have a sex addiction.”
“One, no it’s never, ever like this. Only we are like this. Our chemistry is out of this world. And two, I do not have a sex addiction. I just really, really like having a lot of it.”
“Every day. Several times.”
“You say the sweetest things,” I told her. “Just give me a few more minutes and I’ll do my best.” Our affectionate eyes met. “It’s the damnedest thing,” I began softly.
“What’s that?”
We were both speaking softly, our tones almost romantic.
“I think I could fuck us both to death. Certainly I’m willing to give it an honest shot. Literally everything else is a worse way to die.”