She slumped an inch down the wall as her legs began to shake. She wouldn’t last long. My fingers hadn’t been inside her pussy two minutes and she was on the cusp of coming all over my hand. Her hips flicked, and I pushed deeper into her wetness as our mouths stilled, connected but quiet, our breaths mingling as I concentrated on the press and quiver of her pussy as she fucked my hand and my hand fucked her. She stiffened, then her hands fell from my wrist. As her orgasm shivered across her body, she looked at me.
I released her as her body sagged.
“You see? You needed that. You needed to let go.” I lifted her and spun her around and sat her on my desk.
“And what do you need?” She traced her index finger along my eyebrow. The softness in her expression was back. The determination and practicality had left her, and I took pride in knowing I’d done that. I’d helped her forget, just for a few minutes.
“I need you,” I replied.
Avery
I slid my legs wide open on the desk, still boneless from my orgasm but ready for more. Ready for everything he could give me . . . and for any consequences that would follow.
I opened his shorts, but he was so hard against the buttons that my fingers faltered with impatience.
He gasped as the fastening released and his cock burst out, hard and hot and ready to fuck me. My pussy twitched, and I licked my lips.
He groaned, and my eyes shot up in warning.
“We have to be quiet,” I whispered.
It was as much a warning to me as to him. Last night the hotel had provided freedom in more ways than one. But now we had to be more careful.
He grinned as he fingered the edge of my polo shirt, then pulled it up. I lifted my arms and he tossed it over his shoulder. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a condom before letting his shorts drop.
I swallowed and reached for the condom, but he pulled it from my reach.
“Patience. You’ll feel me soon enough,” he said as he tore the wrapper and rolled the latex over his tip.
Soon wasn’t soon enough. I clenched at the thought of his cock and how it felt as it pushed inside me—hard and soft, brutal and gentle.
I grunted and arched my back at the memory. Hayden chuckled. “If that’s what just the sight of my cock does to you, what about this?” he asked, pushing into me in one deep, unexpected movement.
He glanced down at me, his eyes soft. “Breathe.”
I exhaled, my chest lowering as I tried to relax so he didn’t feel as if he were going to split me in two. I looked down to where we were joined, and he was deep inside me. Just a fingertip’s width of his cock was on display. I reached down and smoothed my finger over his hard, silky skin. He tipped his head back and gasped. I didn’t know which I liked more, the feel of him so deep or the sounds I could elicit from him.
I slid my palms up his strong stomach to his chest and he watched me. He didn’t need to say anything. We were just there, in that moment, joined.
Eventually, he started to move, slowly and deliberately. “Feels good,” he said, part question, part statement. The vibration of his voice skirted over my skin and I wondered if anything would ever feel quite as good again.
I nodded, inhaling sharply as he thrust into me again with such force it was almost painful.
His hands pressed into my ass, keeping me in place and pinning me to the desk. He bent his head, his end-of-day shadow scratching against my cheek, setting sparks of lust desperate to burst into flame.
I wanted more, harder, faster, longer. I reached for him—his face, his chest, his arms, his stomach—every part of me trying to convey what I needed. “Please,” I whispered through clenched teeth.
“Avery,” he whispered back as he thrust in again. “Avery. Avery. Avery.” He set out in a rhythm of pleasure and skin and sweat as he pistoned in and out of me. It felt as if my body was made for this. For him. For what we were doing.
I reached around his neck and braced my other palm on the desk, steadying myself so he could get deep, so deep. I caught my breath as he dipped lower, changing the angle so it felt as if his cock was even bigger than before.
Something landed on the floor and even though it felt like it happened two rooms away, I knew one of us had knocked something off the desk. We were making more noise than we should—the creak of furniture, the slap of skin against skin, the buried sounds of ecstasy. It was all louder than it should have been, but I couldn’t stop, didn’t want to. Whatever the consequence, it was all worth it for how he looked at me, touched me, what he did to my body.