Chapter 33 Wesley
Wesley
Traviesita
The office door opens unexpectedly, and I’m suddenly a teenager, caught with my hand around my cock by my mum. I slide the black notebook into the drawer as Madison steps into the room. “Oh, Madison.”
“Hey,” she says brightly, eyes flicking up to my face from the drawer I’ve just gotten closed. “Eleanor says dinner will be ready in two hours and there’s nothing left to chop, so I came to see if you needed any help.”
“Just about to take a break, actually,” I decide instantaneously, rolling backwards in my chair.
“Oh, good.” Her smile is cat-like as she reaches behind her. I hear the lock turn, and blood rushes through my body, collecting low.
Before I can stand and meet her halfway, she starts sauntering towards me with her arms behind her back in an innocent posture. “So, what’s new?”
Taken off guard by the abrupt change in temperature, I settle back and watch her come to me.
“Well, it appears Felix has followed through on his promises. He filed a missing person’s report and sent over the confirmation email from the General in response to the proof of death. You’ve just made him a very rich man.”
“Like he wasn’t already,” she mutters. She rolls her eyes and pauses in her journey to give her cat a scratch under the chin.
When she bends over, I realize the strategy in the move. Her skirt comes up in the back just high enough that I can see… everything. She’s not wearing panties.
She wants to play.
My heart starts pounding, desire pooling in my veins and throbbing in my dick as it hardens within the confines of my trousers. Every muscle in my body tightens, and I nearly stand from my chair. She’d look excellent draped over the arm of that couch.
Then I recall a request she’s made in the past—an almost flippant remark about working together and sitting on my lap.
“Madison,” I say, voice low in a way that makes her straighten. I can’t see her face, but I can imagine the tilt of her lips when she realizes she’s about to get what she wants. “Come here, please.”
She spins, eyes dropping to the thick outline against my thigh. Doing as I ask, she saunters over, arms still behind her back so her breasts jut forward. An offering.
“Have a seat,” I say, gesturing to my thighs.
Trying to hide the spark of thrill, she bites down on her grin and nods eagerly.
She turns and shifts her weight back, effectively presenting me with her ass.
My palm itches to slap it. But I don’t—I let her settle, getting one leg over each of mine.
I tilt us back and push my legs together so she can straddle me more comfortably, and when we shift forward again, she’s so wide open that I can feel her warmth radiating and smell her desire in the air. God, she smells delicious.
Sitting on my lap, she’s still short enough that I can see over her head, so when I spin the chair, my screens are still visible.
Not that I’d get anything done with my little distraction getting me unbelievably hard by wiggling what I know is a bald, bare pussy against my trousers—even if I were going to do work with her like this.
“So, this is what you see, huh? This is what it feels like to be SpyderMan.” She looks around and points to the edge of the desk. “You need a big framed picture of me right there.”
“Do I?” I ask, dropping a kiss onto her shoulder. She smells so good, and her skin is so smooth; it’s an effort to pull away.
“Maybe one with you and me and Some Bills. Like, an awkward family portrait.”
Her use of the word squeezes my heart. Family. Her and me. I want that. “Not sure you could look awkward if you tried,” I say, placing my lips higher on the side of her neck.
She shifts her hips, her hot slit finding the outline of my cock. I can hear the stuttered exhale, can feel the throbbing in her flesh against mine.
“Madison,” I say, letting my warm breath blow into her ear. “Why are my trousers getting damp? Have you been a naughty girl?”
She squeals in surprise as I wrap my arm around her waist. The noise in her throat turns into a long moan as my fingers slide under her skirt.
“No panties,” I tsk. “And here I was, thinking I’d shove them into your bratty little mouth. We’ll have to do something else to keep you quiet, then, you little menace.”
“Traviesita,” she whispers, and I can hear her smile in the word.
“What?”
“Traviesita. It means little menace in Spanish. Little troublemaker.”
“Traviesita,” I repeat, hearing my own British accent attempting to mimic hers.
A shiver crawls down her spine. “Dios,” she says, her breath heavy.
“Do you like hearing me speak Spanish to you?” I ask, leaning down and pressing another hot kiss on her shoulder in the dip near her collarbone.
“Yes,” she groans, letting her head fall to the side to give me more access to her neck. “Say more. Please, Sir.”
“You’ll have to help me become fluent,” I say, punctuating it with a light brush of my lips. I hover over her pulse, sucking on the skin. “As it is, my vocabulary is somewhat limited and textbook. I’ll need direction for the dirty stuff.”
She nods eagerly. “Yes. Anything. More. Please.”
“Me encanta sentir tu peso sobre mí.” I love to feel the weight of you on me.
She starts rocking her hips faster, grinding her pussy into me harder.
“Estás tan cálida, y tu piel está tan suave.” You’re so warm, and your skin is so soft.
“Mi piel es tan suave,” she corrects. “Keep going.”
I slide her hair out of the way and press a kiss over one of the ridges in her spinal cord.
My hands glide up the tops of her thighs, my calluses rough against her smooth skin in a way that highlights our differences and excites me on a primal level.
I grab the dip above her hips, using them like handles and moving her in the rhythm I want on my lap.
She moans and reaches back for me, but I shake my head, grab her wrists, and place her hands flat on the desk.
“Eres traviesita. Puedes portarte bien conmigo ahora, ?verdad?” You’re a little menace. But you can be good for me now, right?
“Sí, papi.”
Oh, fuck me, I like the sound of that. “Open the top right drawer there,” I instruct.
Panting and a bit disoriented by the change in pace, it takes her a second to realize what I asked. Then, she reaches for the pull and leans forward to peer inside. Her delighted laugh fills the room when she finds and retrieves the sex toy I made for her.
“I had a feeling we’d need it in here,” I explain.
“And you were right.”
“I usually am.”
She laughs again. “Can you really call it getting lucky if I’m so down bad for you that I’m a sure thing?”
“Yes,” I reply instantly, quite serious. “Because I feel lucky every time I’m with you.”
Her hips slow to a stop, and she tosses her hair out of the way to look over her shoulder at me. “Wesley,” she says, voice thick with emotion. “That was really sweet!”
The urgency of the moment changes—the thrumming, mounting desire plateaus—and I reach up to take her face in my hand.
I pull her head up and back, slanting my mouth over hers.
Our kiss is gentle and tender, and I sweep my thumb back and forth across her cheek.
She places her hand over mine, holding it tightly.
But it doesn’t take long for the press of our lips to turn into something hungry and desperate.
Every sound she makes against my mouth vibrates through my chest. Every small motion of her on my lap presses on an already-pulsing dick.
Every whiff of her delicious warm scent reminds me how long it’s been since my head was between her thighs (this morning).
I release her jaw and trail my hand down the front of her, grabbing the zipper on her pullover and dragging it with me. Not breaking the kiss, I palm her breast and give it a good squeeze. The whimper she makes into my mouth sets my blood on fire, so I move to her nipple and pinch.
Her back bows, causing her breast to jut forward into my hand, following the prick of pain. She’s trembling already, legs shaking.
“Me encanta tus pechos,” I tell her, pulling away. I have the pleasure of watching her eyes pop open, then glaze over with lust at the Spanish praise. I do love her breasts. I love how they spill out over my hands and how responsive her nipples are, beading and hard for my touch.
I let my fingers trail down her stomach. “Me encanta tu… erm… tummy?”
She lets out a little giggle. “Barriga.”
“Barriga,” I repeat, failing miserably to roll my r’s like she did. “Todo en tu cuerpo es redondo, suave, y perfecto.” Everything about your body is round, soft and perfect.
I give the flesh right over her belly button a knead, making her gasp. I know it puts pressure on the bladder and can heighten the feeling of arousal. Seems to have worked, because she starts grinding on me again. “Please, Wesley.”
“And I love this very much,” I breathe into her ear, strumming against her clit with two fingers.
She chuckles. “We stole that one. Clítoris.”
“I think I can remember that.”
I rub a small circle around her sensitive center. She’s not very wet, but I’ve come to expect this, and I don’t care a whit. My girl isn’t self-conscious about much, but clearly in her past someone made her equate moisture to desire.
I know she wants me. She knows I want her. It’s not about that, and the solution is too simple to spend any energy letting it bother my ego—especially when it’s a conflation. The more reading I do on the matter, the more I understand that sexual desire and female moisture are only loosely related.
“There’s lube in the drawer as well,” I say, relishing in her little shakes of excitement. “Let’s put in your special toy, shall we?”
“You mean the Dream Cream?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Wesgasm 5000?”
“Worst one yet.”
“Spyder Vibe?”
I pause. “Actually… that one isn’t so bad.”
With a triumphant laugh, she leans forward and reaches into the same drawer for the bottle I left next to the device. I realize almost too slowly that she intends to do it herself. That won’t do.