2. Adrianos #2
She comes hard. Her cunt clamps down around my cock so tight I have to work to keep moving, and I do, driving through it, feeling every pulse of her orgasm grip me and release and grip again.
She’s shaking from her thighs up, her whole body going in waves, and the sound she makes starts low and builds and fills the room completely, raw and broken and loud enough that anyone within ten feet of that door knows exactly what’s happening in here, and she doesn’t muffle a single second of it.
I feel her cum dripping down the inside of her thighs and onto my fingers and I keep working her through every last pulse until her legs are shaking so hard she can’t hold herself up and her sounds have gone from loud to helpless, small and wrecked, her forehead against the tile, her palms dragging down it, and only then do I slow my fingers and let her breathe.
I pull out. Give her three seconds.
“I need a minute,” she says.
“You’ve got one.” I turn her around. Her eyes are half-glazed, honey burned dark, and she looks like a woman who just arrived at a conclusion she wasn’t prepared for.
I get my hands under her thighs and lift her, carry her the four feet to the narrow counter along the opposite wall.
Her legs lock around my hips before I’ve put her down, and I push back in and feel her breath leave in a rush against my throat.
“I just came,” she says, and the affront in it is genuine.
“I know.” I pull back and push forward and feel her hips lift to meet me. “But I’m still hard, and your body hasn’t finished with that yet.”
“That’s not how—” a breath, “—that’s not how physiology works.”
“Tell your physiology.”
She doesn’t answer because I’ve found a different angle here, deeper, and her head tips back and her hands go to the counter edge on either side of her, gripping the lip of it.
The counter isn’t stable. I don’t care. I set one hand flat on the wall behind her and get the other under her and pull her to the edge and watch her face, because her face right now is doing everything she’s kept off it all night.
Her hands let go of the counter and come to my shirt instead, fisting in the fabric at my chest, and she pulls me down toward her and gets her mouth to my jaw and sets her teeth in it. Not a kiss. Never a kiss. A claim, teeth and pressure, and that’s the moment I stop rationing anything.
I pull back, drive into her, and don’t stop.
The pace goes brutal, each thrust slamming her back into the wall, and I chase it like I need it, like something in me has been starved down to the bone and she’s the only thing that feeds it.
I can feel every inch of her cunt around my cock, slick and swollen and gripping me on every stroke, and I pull back and give it to her again, harder, the counter scraping the floor with the force of it.
Her hips drive up to meet each thrust, grinding her clit against me, taking everything and pulling for more, her nails through my shirt and into my back and I feel that and push harder.
I’ve got both hands on her hips now, pulling her onto me with each stroke, and I can feel how soaked she is, feel her dripping down my cock, hear the wet obscene slap of my body against hers with every thrust, and I don’t slow down, don’t soften it, just pump into her relentlessly, chasing the clench and the heat and the sounds she’s making that have gone completely to pieces.
“Harder,” she says against my neck.
I give her harder. I give her everything, my hips slamming forward, burying my cock to the hilt with each stroke, and she cries out and I do it again and again and again, and then something shifts and it’s not about her anymore, not about the sounds she’s making or the grip of her thighs or the scratch of her nails, it’s just the chase, just the heat and the friction and the relentless drive toward the finish line, my hips pistoning forward without mercy, without rhythm, just need, raw and mindless and animal.
I’m close. I can feel it building at the base of my spine, tightening, and I pump into her harder, faster, chasing it, my hands locked at her hips pulling her onto me with every stroke, and I’m not thinking about anything, not the deal, not the night, not her name that I don’t have, just the slick tight heat of her cunt and the way it grips me on every thrust and the pressure building and building until it breaks.
I come with my cock buried to the hilt, throbbing, pulsing hard inside her, and she feels it, feels the first hot pulse shoot into her and her whole body answers, her cunt clamping down around me in waves, milking every throb, and she comes with me, her back arching off the counter, a broken cry tearing out of her throat, her thighs shaking and locked around me while I pulse and fill her and she squeezes every last drop out of me and neither of us moves until there’s nothing left.
I pull out slowly, reluctant, and look at her. Her pussy is wrecked, swollen and slick, my cum and hers both spilling out of her and down the inside of her thigh, and something possessive moves through my chest at the sight of it.
I reach for the paper towels on the counter, run one under the tap, wring it out, and go back to her. She watches me, saying nothing for once, her eyes tracking my hands.
I clean her up carefully and gently, dabbing rather than wiping because she took all of me and I’m not a small man, and I know what that does. She draws a breath when I press the cloth to her, a small involuntary hiss, and that answers the question I didn’t ask.
“Sore,” I say.
“I’m fine,” she says immediately, which only confirms what I said.
I finish, drop the towel, and step back. She smooths her dress down with both hands, chin level, composure coming back online like a system rebooting, and I watch her do it and say nothing.
“So,” I say. “That was fun.”
I lean in and kiss her on the mouth. One hand at her jaw, slow, nothing like what came before, and she goes still for half a second before she kisses me back.
She tastes like whiskey, and I take my time with it, and when I pull back, her eyes open, and there’s something unguarded in them that’s gone before she’s finished blinking.
She clears her throat.
“And that part was unexpected,” she says.
I grin. “I’m full of surprises.”
I straighten my jacket and walk back out.