Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Sutton
He leans in, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he inhales deeply, the sound barely audible but devastating.
Then his mouth claims mine, soft at first but commanding all the same. His kiss is deliberate, like he's savoring me, and my hands instinctively grip the edge of his desk to keep from falling apart.
Logan grabs my wrist, guiding my hand down to his pants. I freeze for a moment, my breath hitching, before I feel it — the hard, unmistakable bulge straining against the thin fabric. My body burns as I gasp, and his eyes lock onto mine, dark and smoldering.
"Do you understand what I’m saying, Sutton?" he murmurs, his voice low, guttural, and laced with challenge.
My lips part, but I can't answer. I don't have to. His hand presses against mine, holding it firmly there as I rub against him, feeling every hard inch of him beneath the fabric. My core clenches, and I bite my lip, unable to stop myself.
His hand slides away, leaving me in control.
I hesitate only for a second before tugging at the belt of his pants, loosening it.
I slide my hand beneath the waistband and into his warm briefs.
The heat of his skin, the soft patch of hair, and then — the length of him.
My fingers curl around his cock, thick and hot in my hand.
"Fuck, Sutton," he groans, his voice breaking as he leans into me, capturing my lips with his.
I stroke him slowly at first, my hand gliding up and down the velvety hardness, feeling the weight of him, the way he twitches under my touch.
He kisses me harder, his hands cupping and squeezing my breasts through my blouse, but I'm too focused on him.
My strokes quicken, faster and firmer, and his body shudders in response.
Logan pulls back, his eyes wild. He glances around as if jolted by the reality of where we are, but it doesn't stop him. His lips curl into a wicked smirk, and he places both hands on my shoulders, pressing me downward.
"Get on your knees," he commands.
I sink to the floor, the carpet scratching against my knees, but I don't care. I watch as he fumbles with the zipper of his pants, pulling them down just enough to free his cock. It's massive, swollen, the tip glistening with pre-cum.
Logan steps closer, gripping the back of my hair firmly, tilting my head up. The intensity in his gaze sends a jolt straight through me. He brushes the slick head against my lips, smearing the saltiness over them.
"Take this cock," he growls.
I open my mouth, and he doesn't hesitate. He slides in, thick and heavy, filling me completely. I suck hard, my cheeks hollowing as I bob my head, working him.
Logan groans, his hips moving slightly as he fucks into my mouth. His grip tightens in my hair, pulling me closer as I take him deeper. My hands wrap around the base of his shaft, stroking what my mouth can't reach.
"Fuck, Sutton," he moans again, his voice raw, his head falling back slightly.
I pick up my pace, my tongue swirling around him, and tears prick the corners of my eyes as he thrusts deeper.
He starts to move faster, his control slipping, and my hands grip his thighs to steady myself.
He's relentless, shoving his cock in and out of my mouth, making me gag and choke, tears streaming down my face.
His moans grow louder, more desperate.
"Fuck, Sutton. I'm gonna cum," he warns, but I don't stop.
Instead, I grab his ass, pulling him closer, taking him even deeper.
His movements become erratic, his hips bucking as he growls low in his throat.
Hot spurts of his release flood my mouth, coating my tongue as his body trembles above me.
I swallow quickly, his cock pulsing against my lips.
His grip in my hair loosens as he struggles to catch his breath.
I slowly pull back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. My knees ache and I start to rise — but before I'm fully standing his hands are already on me.
He doesn't give me a moment to recover. He grabs me with both hands — fast, almost rough, like a decision made before he finished making it — and lifts me off the floor entirely.
I gasp as he carries me across the office to the leather sofa along the far wall, thick and dark and expensive, and lays me down against it with the controlled force of a man who has stopped pretending he has limits tonight.
"Logan—"
He doesn't answer. His hands go to my blouse first — buttons pulled open with focused efficiency, pushed off my shoulders and onto the floor.
Then he reaches for the zipper of my skirt, drags it down, and pulls it off me in one motion.
He stands over me for one second, his shirt still half buttoned, his chest rising and falling, his eyes moving over every inch of me with a hunger that makes my skin burn.
Then he drops to his knees in front of the sofa.
His hands grip my thighs and wrench them apart.
He doesn't ease into it — he pulls my panties to the side and drives two fingers inside me without warning and I cry out at the stretch, my back arching off the cushion.
He works them deep, curling, twisting, his thumb grinding against my clit as his eyes stay fixed on my face like he wants to watch every second of what he's doing to me.
"You're already soaked," he says. His voice is different now — lower, rougher, stripped of everything professional and controlled.
"Every time."
I can't respond. My hips are rolling against his hand and I've lost the ability to care about anything except the pressure building fast and hot at my core. He pulls his fingers free before I can finish and I make a sound that embarrasses me — desperate, involuntary — and then his mouth is there.
His tongue drags through my folds in one long, devastating stroke and I grab the back of his head with both hands.
He eats me like he has nothing else to do tonight, like he has all the time in the world and intends to use every second of it — his tongue pushing inside my pussy, his lips closing around my clit and sucking hard, his hands gripping the backs of my thighs to hold me exactly where he wants me.
I'm grinding against his face and he lets me, groaning against my pussy in a way that vibrates through my entire body.
I wince out loud as he sucks harder. His fingers drive back inside me at the same moment and I shatter — my thighs clamping around his head, my whole body shaking as I come apart on his mouth, soaking him, my moans filling the office without apology. He doesn't stop until I've given him everything.
When he finally pulls back his chin is wet from my release and his eyes are filled with want.
He's already unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way. He shrugs it off. His chest is broad and defined—just as I remember it from before. He reaches down and frees his cock — it’s already hard again, thick and ready — and I barely have a breath before he's over me.
He hooks my leg over his hip as he lines himself up.
His eyes find mine as he drives his cock inside of me.
I cry out at the fullness of it — the immediate deep stretch, the angle on the sofa pushing him even deeper than before.
He doesn't ease in. He sets a brutal pace from the first thrust, his hips slamming into me, the slap of skin filling the room alongside the sounds I can't hold back.
His hand wraps around my throat — not choking, just holding, his thumb pressing at the side of my neck in a way that sends heat flooding straight to my core.
"Look at me," he growls.
I look at him. His jaw is clenched, his eyes locked on mine, his whole body focused on nothing but this — on me, on what he's doing to me, on the way my body takes everything he gives and asks for more. He rolls his hips on the next thrust and hits something that makes my vision blur.
"Don't stop — please—"
He doesn't stop. He fucks me harder, deeper, his hand tightening at my throat just enough, his other hand gripping my hip to hold me exactly where he wants me.
The orgasm builds fast and rough and when it hits it takes everything — my nails raking down his muscular back, my whole body arching into him, his name tearing from my throat like something I can't control.
He follows seconds later. His movements go ragged, his groans raw and low, his cock pulsing deep inside me as he comes — hard, long, filling me completely. He holds himself still, buried to the hilt, his forehead dropping to mine as his body shudders through the last of it.
Neither of us moves for a long moment.
He stays inside me, the warmth of his seed spreading, and then dripping slowly down the inside of my thigh.
The office is quiet around us — just our breathing, still uneven, and the city doing its indifferent thing beyond the windows.
The room smells of sweat and sex and the expensive leather of the sofa beneath us, but none of it feels like a mistake.
Logan shifts. He rolls to his side and pulls me with him — one arm coming around me, settling me against his chest. My cheek finds the warmth of his skin. His heartbeat is still elevated beneath my ear. His hand rests at the curve of my hip, heavy and still. We don't speak.
I can feel his cum on my thigh. My body is still humming, every nerve ending raw and satisfied and already awake to the fact that he is right here, his chest rising and falling under my cheek, his arm around me like something that doesn't need to be explained tonight.
Outside, San Francisco does what it always does — lights and fog and the indifferent hum of a city that doesn't know or care what just happened in this office.
In here, everything is different.