“You’re beautiful,” I tell her. “I love watching you take what you want. Love letting you make yourself feel good.”
I don’t think she’s going to come without me touching her clit, so I don’t. It takes everything I have to hold still and let her do this, but it’s worth it because every time I tell her how incredible she is, how fucking sexy, how fucking perfect, she swears back at me in a whisper that’s somewhere between angry and ecstatic until finally, I don’t think either of us can take much more.
Somehow, I gather the concentration to grab my wallet and pull out the condom I put there earlier this week. Kat looks at me over her shoulder, throwing off her rhythm, eyes hazy behind her glasses. I hold the condom out.
“Open this for me,” I tell her. “My hands are busy.”
That gets one of her don’t tell me what to do looks, so I follow it with, “Please?” and slide my thumb over her clit once.
Kat swallows a noise and unwraps the condom. Somehow I get my own pants undone and out of the way with only one hand, and I give myself one left-handed stroke before Kat hands the condom back over her shoulder. I bury my fingers in her, flexing them one more time, before I take them out to roll the condom on, breathing like I’ve been sprinting.
She looks over her shoulder at me, face flushed, lips bright red like she’s been biting them to stay quiet. I give myself another long, slow stroke, and watch her watch me do it.
“Well?” she says, and it’s teasing and impatient and impossibly sexy, so I lean forward and kiss the back of her neck before sitting in my office chair.
Kat half-turns toward me but I grab her hips, turn her back, guide her down. She grabs the arms of the chair as she sinks onto me, and it feels like the world shrinks to nothing more than this room, the two people in it.
When I bottom out she flexes around me, hot and tight and perfect, and I can’t help myself.
“Good girl,” I murmur into her shoulder.
It just comes out, and I clench my jaw to keep from saying it again, but then Kat whispers, “Oh, God,” so quietly I can barely hear her and I’m done for.
“You feel so good like this,” I tell her. I brace myself, rock my hips. “I fucking love it when you take me this deep.”
“Fuck,” she hisses, and this time her head goes back and she flexes around me again, and now we both groan.
“God, look at you,” I say, even though I feel like my brain is dissolving. “Fucking glorious like this.”
We keep moving. It takes a little maneuvering and a little experimenting to find the right angle and the right rhythm, because I’ve definitely never fucked anyone in my office chair before, but once we get it right I wrap an arm around her and go slow, my face buried in the back of her neck.
I don’t know what I’m saying but I can’t stop saying it: how good everything is, how perfect. Before long she grabs my other hand and shoves it toward her clit, and I laugh and tell her she’s impatient, but I stroke her anyway. I put my hand over her mouth with seconds to spare because when she comes she tries to be quiet, but she doesn’t quite make it. I follow her seconds later, my face against the back of her white shirt now damp with sweat, and bite my own tongue trying not to shout.
We stay like that for a minute. I wrap both arms around her in the near-dark of my office and she leans her head back against mine, lets her breathing slow.
“Shit,” she finally whispers. “I’m gonna be late.”
I grin against her shoulder, kiss it, and then help her stand.
“I look respectable, right?” she asks as she slips her shoes back on, her face flushed, skirt wrinkled, hair mussed.
I’m still in the chair, trying to figure out how to deal with the condom, and I look up at her.
“Perfect,” I say, and she laughs.