Chapter 8 - Havoc
I have been with women before.
Not many, not meaningfully, but enough to know what I'm doing and enough to have a point of comparison. Brief encounters in dark rooms with women whose names I asked for once and never used again. Functional. Physical. Gone before morning.
Nothing in my limited history prepared me for Ruby Lane on her knees in a break room looking up at me like I'm something worth having.
She's completely undone me.
I've been gripping this desk so hard for the last several minutes that I'm fairly certain I've left permanent indentations in the laminate, and I cannot bring myself to care about anything except the way her mouth feels.
Warm and wet and absolutely relentless, and the sound she makes when she takes me deeper, this small determined sound that goes straight to the base of my spine.
She's not gentle. That's what's destroying me. I expected slow, expected careful, because Ruby moves through the world braced for impact, shoulders slightly hunched, always waiting for the next thing to go wrong.
But this Ruby, kneeling Ruby, looking-up-at-me Ruby, is not any of that at all.
She's thorough. She's focused. She's got her hand working everything her mouth can't reach and her tongue doing things that have made my vision blur twice already, and when she gagged and kept going anyway, eyes watering, saliva at the corners of that gorgeous mouth, and didn't stop…
I nearly lost it right there.
I can feel it building now, the pressure gathering at the base of my cock, coiling tight, and she chooses this exact moment to look up at me through dark lashes with those brown eyes and take me as deep as she can go, and my whole body shudders with the effort of not finishing immediately.
I grab her shoulder. "Ruby—stop—"
She doesn't stop.
"Ruby." My voice comes out broken. "If you, if you keep doing that I'm going to—"
I pull back before she can deepthroat me again, my cock sliding from her mouth with a sound that almost sends me over the edge anyway. I'm gasping. Actually gasping, leaning over her with one hand braced on the desk, trying to remember how lungs work.
She sits back on her heels, wipes the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, and looks up at me with an expression of absolute calm.
"You okay?" she asks.
"More than okay." I swallow hard. "But if you'd kept going another ten seconds—"
"You'd have cum?" She tilts her head, and the smile that crosses her face is something I've never seen from her before. Knowing. Confident. Devastatingly beautiful. "Would that be an issue?"
I look down at her on her knees on a break room floor, my cock still wet from her mouth, her hair half-escaped from its tie, and I make a sound that might be a laugh. An actual laugh, rough and real.
"Yeah," I tell her. "It would be a problem."
"Why?"
"Because I haven't fucked you yet."
Her lips part. She stares at me for exactly two seconds.
"What are you waiting for?" she says.
I move.
I'm not graceful about it. I reach down and pull her up from the floor. My hands find her apron strings first. I yank it loose and drop it somewhere, then her tank top, pulling it up over her head.
And then I stop, because I need a moment.
Her bra is plain black, and the curves spilling over the top of it are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
The beauty marks scatter across her collarbone like I already knew they would, like I've been thinking about them since yesterday, a constellation I want to map with my mouth at some point when we have more than ten minutes.
"Don't," she says.
I look up. "Don't what?"
"Look at me like you're about to change your mind."
"I'm not changing my mind." I hold her gaze, making sure she hears this. "I'm trying not to move too fast because you look incredible and I'm not eighteen years old anymore."
I reach around her, unclip her bra, and her breasts fall free. Full, heavy, perfect, and I'm going to lose my goddamn mind, and then her jeans are next, button, zip, pushed down her hips along with everything else until she can step out of them.
I turn her around, hands on her waist, because I have to see it. Have to.
Her ass is—
Holy fuck.
Round and full and completely disproportionate to everything the universe has any right to allow, and I'm gripping it before I consciously decide to, both hands, fingers digging into soft warm skin until I can feel the marks I'm leaving, and I don't stop until she makes a sharp sound of pleasure.
I drop.
I drop to my knees behind her, because I'm apparently willing to spend the rest of my life on the floor of this break room, and I press my mouth to her right cheek first. Then her left. Open-mouthed, unhurried, like I have nowhere else to be.
"Havoc—" Her voice has gone unsteady. "Please—"
She throws her ass back against my face and then bends forward until her forearms hit the desk surface, arching her back, tilting herself toward me in a way that is absolutely, certifiably insane, and I bite her ass cheek hard enough to make her yelp.
"You're going to kill me," I tell her.
"Fuck me," she says into the desk. "Please. Please."
I stand, grab my cock, and with my other hand take hold of her panties.
I stop.
Because I need a moment for this too.
Her underwear is soaked through. Not damp, not slightly wet—soaked.
The fabric is dark with it, and when I pull it down and away, the evidence of exactly how much she wants this is visible, coating her inner thighs, glistening, and the sight of it does something to my brain chemistry that I'm certain is irreversible.
Her pussy is pink and pretty and absolutely drenched, and I stroke myself twice, three times, and then line up and press forward.
She gasps.
I place both hands on her hips and push. When I'm fully seated inside her I go completely still, and I take a long, slow breath through my nose, because I need it.
Because she's perfect.
She's warm and tight and her body grips mine like we were built for this exact configuration, and she's throbbing around me. I can feel her pulse in the most intimate way possible, and for a moment I just stay there and let myself feel it. Let myself have this.
And then Ruby Lane throws her ass back, finds my cock halfway, and looks at me over her shoulder with dark desperate eyes.
"Harder," she says. "Please, Jake. Harder."
I flex my arms. Bend my knees. And I give her what she asked for.
The desk lurches forward on the first thrust. On the second it scrapes against the floor.
By the third we've both stopped caring about the noise, about the scraping desk, about the slap of skin, about the sounds coming out of both of us that would make absolutely no one in this casino building question what's happening in this room.
I don't care. This is our moment. Let them hear.
I set a pace that's merciless and I don't apologize for it because she's matching every single thrust, throwing herself back to meet me, her ass connecting with my hips with a sound that fills the room, her spine arching deeper, her hands white-knuckled on the desk edge.
I reach forward and gather her hair. All those dark curls into my fist, and pull back just enough to arch her further, to open her up, and she moans so loudly that I feel it in my balls.
"Yes—" she breathes. "Yes, like that…"
Her back is a perfect curve, and I watch my cock disappear into her again and again and the sight of it pushes me to a pace I probably shouldn't sustain but absolutely will until one of us gives out.
Her hands scramble against the desk corner. Her moans shift pitch—higher, more desperate, the rhythm of them breaking apart into something incoherent and I know what's happening.
"That's it," I tell her, low and close to her ear. "Cum on my cock. Right now."
She obeys with the enthusiasm of someone who has been waiting a very long time.
Her whole body shudders, contracting around me so hard that my rhythm stutters, and I have to plant my feet and hold on. She writhes through it, hips rolling, thighs shaking, face turned sideways against the desk surface with her mouth open and her eyes rolled completely back.
Beautiful. She is completely, thoroughly beautiful.
I fuck her through every wave of it without slowing. She grips the desk and takes it and keeps moaning and I could do this forever.
But I want more. I want to see her face.
I pull out, and she makes a bereft sound that I feel in my chest. I grip her hips, scoop her up. She's not light and I don't care, I could carry her anywhere, and put her on the desk, facing me this time.
"Now," I tell her, stepping between her spread knees, "I want to look at you."
She looks up at me, flushed and breathless and thoroughly wrecked, and smiles. Slow and real and trusting, and she spreads her legs wider in invitation.
I don't need a second one.
I step forward and point my cock at her entrance, and she's so wet, so completely ready, that I barely have to push. I slide in, and her head drops back, and I watch her.
All of her.
The soft roll of her belly as she adjusts to my size. Her breasts moving with every thrust, full and heavy and perfect. I reach up, cup both and she covers my hands with hers and presses them harder against her. Her thighs frame my hips.
I've never thought of a woman's body as something to look at, truly look at, with any kind of appreciation beyond the functional. I'm ashamed of that now. I'm ashamed of every encounter I rushed through in the dark.
This woman in this light deserves to be looked at.
"I've never—" She gasps as I angle deeper. "Never been—" Another thrust cuts off whatever she was going to say. "No one has ever fucked me like this—"
"Get used to it," I tell her, bracing my forearm on the desk beside her hip, finding a deeper angle, watching her face fall apart with it. "Because this is only going to get better."
"That's—" She laughs, breathless, incredulous. "That's better than impossible—"