Page 60 of The Wrong Guy
She mumbles something I can’t understand, but her nod is loud and clear.
I go a little faster, a little deeper, whispering to her, “That’s it. Take all of me, swallow me down. You look so fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth.” Her green eyes peer up at me, begging me to do it, and the next time she swallows, it sends me over the edge. I groan as hot jets of my cream pulse down her throat, and she swallows over and over until she can’t keep up and gags a little. But she doesn’t lose any and goes right back to licking me clean, wanting every drop.
“Get up here,” I order her, wanting to give her as much pleasure as she’s giving me. I help her rise from the floor and undo her pants as quickly as I can. When they fall to the floor along with the panties I shove down, she steps out of them, and I spin her around. I bend her in half, letting her forehead rest against the door as I wrap an arm around her waist. I bend over, too, but I lay my cheek on her bare ass, letting my palms trace appreciatively over her soft skin.
I move lower, dipping my finger into her slick folds. She arches her back for more, and I circle over her clit gently a few times before tapping it quickly in succession. I find a rhythm that drives her crazy—three long, slow circles followed by a flurry of taps like I’m her own personal ten-speed vibrator.
Like me, she’s on the edge quickly. Her hips are bucking reflexively, and her knees are shaking as she searches for the release I want to give her. “Are you gonna come for me?”
She nods jerkily.
“Keep it quiet. You don’t want the whole office to hear you coming for me, do you?” I don’t think there are many people still here at this hour. Maybe a few here and there, but most importantly, there’s one man a couple of doors down who I don’t want to hear Wren. Now that she’s mine, her sounds are mine, and no one gets to see or hear her in that primal state but me. It’s a trust she places in me, and I’ll guard her at her most vulnerable of moments.
She makes a choked noise, holding back as fresh juices coat my fingers in pulsing waves. I keep my attention on her clit, helping her ride out her orgasm as long as possible, and holding her tight at the waist because her knees are bending more and more, threatening to give out beneath her.
When she shudders a final time, I stand and look around. We’ve joked before that our height difference makes things interesting sometimes, but when we’re laying down, we can align however we need to. But there’s nothing to lay on in here, except ...
I pick Wren up and carry her over to her desk. Shoving my jeans and underwear down to my thighs, I guide her to bend over her desk. I lean over her, my cock notched right at her opening, and whisper in her ear, “I’m gonna fuck you right here, and then when you’re working, you’re going to randomly remember what we did and get horny for me. Every time you do, I want you to tell me right then. Call, text, send a fucking smoke signal, I don’t care. I just want to know that you’re remembering the filthy things we did in your office. Understand?”
As soon as her chin lowers in a nod, I slam home. She’s wet and ready for me, but taking me all at once is a shock to us both. She grunts, trying to stay quiet, and I praise her, “You feel so good, Wren. Look so beautiful with me stretching your sweet pussy.”
She sighs happily, wiggling beneath me, and then commands, “Fuck me, Jesse. Like I’m yours.”
Goddamn, her mouth. She likes my dirty talk, but fuck if she can’t nearly send me over the edge with one word.
“You are mine,” I remind her with deep, powerful, bonding strokes.
I grab her hips, tilting them up even more, and her tippy-toes leave the floor. Her legs flail a bit, looking for an anchor, and she finds my legs, wrapping around them with her own and locking her feet behind my calves.
I think we’re still being quiet, but I’ve honestly forgotten to give a fuck when Wren is writhing beneath me until there’s a knock on the door. Though I don’t want to, we freeze.
“Wren?” Oliver calls out.
Fuck that guy.
I start to slide in and out of Wren slowly, fucking her as I feel her go extra slick again. I lean over her, gripping her hair in my fist to turn her head. Meeting her eyes, I warn, “Get rid of him or I’m gonna answer the door with my dick out. Let him see me covered in your sweet honey so he knows you’re mine and I’m yours, and he’ll never get at this beautiful pussy.”
She must see something in my eyes that says I’m dead fucking serious—which I am—because she says, “Uhm, Oliver—” Her voice cracks, and she clears her throat roughly before trying again. “Hey, can we continue this ... ungh ... tomorrow? Mmm.”
She’s doing her best, but I’m intentionally making it hard on her, rolling my hips to hit the front wall inside her at the right angle as I slip in deep with each stroke.
“Yeah, see you in the morning,” he says slowly. I can hear the anger in his voice, but he’s not my concern right now.
I wait a second to give him time to walk away and then let loose on Wren. She’s on the edge again, so close to falling apart, and I want to give her that. I want to feel her release every control she holds so tightly and fly, her pussy sucking another orgasm from me as she does it. I thrust into her hard. Deep. Fast. She’s losing control and reaches for my hand, placing it over her own mouth to help her stay quiet. I press harder, watching carefully even though I know she can breathe through her nose, and keep my pace.
It only takes a few more strokes for her to spasm. Her nails dig into my hand as she holds it there even tighter, muffling her cries of pleasure. I do my best, gritting my teeth and trying to hold in my grunts as I come with her. Her pussy quivers around my cock, pulling my cum from me, as we ride out the high together.
Reality seeps in slowly as Wren untangles her feet and reaches toward the floor. I release her mouth and hips, straightening my legs, which are suddenly threatening to seize on me. I slip out of her, and though I mourn the loss of being inside her, as I stand up straight, I hiss, “Shiiit.”
Wren giggles quietly as she adjusts, too, stretching her arms over her head and reaching as high as she can. Her breasts lift enticingly in her shirt, and I realize that I didn’t even touch them. Instantly, I vow to show them extra attention next time. Maybe see if I can get Wren to come solely through nipple play?
Challenge gladly accepted.
“I think we’re made for bed sex, or couch sex, or floor sex. Something where we can align our parts without you crouching down and me arching my back like I’m in a contortionist yoga class.”
“Wall sex. I can hoist you up, pin you, and then go to town,” I suggest as another alternative.
The easy joke eases the transition back to the reality of what we just did in her office. “Do you think he’s gone?” she asks, not needing to explain who she’s talking about.