Options Trading #5
Aleksandr’s hand lingers for a moment, before moving up her thigh. Between her legs, his hand covers hers, the thin material
of her underwear against his palm.
“You can do better than that,” he murmurs. She feels his voice in her stomach as he pushes.
Her vision distorts for a split second as he coaxes her fingers deeper than she’s ever managed on her own before. An involuntary
moan escapes her. “Jesus, Aleksan—”
“Finish what you started.” His hand presses further, so far her knuckles almost ache. She gasps, leaning back to try and accommodate
the depth he’s seeking, this too-deep bliss.
Leaning over her, he starts guiding her hand. “There you go,” he murmurs. “I like watching you fuck yourself, Lili. That’s
what you wanted, isn’t it?”
On a small anticipatory crest of pleasure, her eyes flutter closed. She tries to keep her shallow panting from rising into a moan as her shoulders jostle with the motion of him making her take her own fingers, pressure tightening.
Fabric rustles as Aleksandr adjusts his grip. His hand slides into her underwear, still controlling her wrist and directing
her, but now—
“Fuck,” Lili breathes.
The ring he wears is cold, adding silver friction, and she grinds her hips against him harder, as he forces a third finger
inside of her. Lili shivers, relishing the sharp pain of her body resisting, then giving into, him; the melt of earned pleasure
that suffuses through her, right after.
He notices. He gives a low laugh, nose brushing the contour of her cheekbone.
“You’re always too tight,” he remarks, before he pulls her to the edge of the desk.
The motion pushes her fingers that much further. The whimper wrenched out of her is pained, helpless, and her toes curl. She’s
never felt pressure this visceral except during sex—sex with him.
“Come on, Lili,” he breathes. “Let’s go.”
He shouldn’t know how to touch her better than she touches herself. He shouldn’t be able to coax pleasure, dark, like this;
he shouldn’t be able to make her feel exposed. They’re barely touching, but she feels smothered in him, overwhelmed by his
scent, his fingers, his stare.
But while she has him—while they’re doing this—she’s going to use it.
She’s going to use him.
Moving with each forceful shift of his hand, she begins fucking herself against the weight of him. Each roll of her hips makes
her breath snag, close to spilling into a moan. Distant, outside the insulation of their breath—his steady, hers ragged—she
hears the sounds of the office, footsteps and keyboards. Her hips ache, thighs straining with how far he’s making her spread
her legs. She feels lightheaded, grasping for something luminous in her own body. He’s still not touching her except for his
hands.
“There’s this sound you make, when you’re close,” he murmurs against her ear. “Caught in your throat, a little desperate—like
you’ve forgotten how to breathe.”
There’s nothing quiet about the moan she lets out then, biting her lip a moment too late. His gaze falls to her mouth, and
Lili wants, she wants—
Fuck it. Throwing her free arm around his shoulder, she falls against him and kisses him. Intense, needy, she loses her balance with it, this kiss caught on her unsteady breath so close to climax. Between them, his hand moves faster, harder, and his ring grinds against her.
“There,” she gasps out against his mouth. “God, right there—so close, I’m—”
That edge of release, hot and blinding, keeps rushing up to her, then receding. She lets out a sound of frustration, tight
teeth.
“Come on, sweetheart.” Exertion in his voice, warm against her lips. “Come for me, show me what you can do.”
It’s desperate, her climax. This restless thing torn out of her, incoherent and inchoate within the known language of her
body, because how can she feel this much without him inside her? Through it, her hips keep rolling against their tangled hands,
his firm grip keeps pushing her even as pleasure shifts into something deeper, past where she’d thought it’d finish, new collapses
and restarts, further, until sheer physical overwhelm overtakes the brightness, stop, please, I can’t—
When he finally relents, it’s like breaking the surface of water, gasping for air. His hand stills. Allows her a moment to
reassemble the pieces of herself—lungs, legs, collarbones—pressed so tight against him. The starch of his shirt is crisp against
her near-naked chest.
Aleksandr’s grip shifts, tightening around her wrist. Lili watches as he lifts her hand and brings it to his lips, taking
her fingers into his mouth.
Lili’s mouth parts as she watches him.
A thirst sharpens inside of her, even through the erratic, settling haze of her orgasm.
“Aleksandr,” she breathes. She starts reaching under his jacket for his shirt, its buttons.
Instead, he pulls her off the desk. Suddenly, she’s facing the wall of windows, and her hands slam against the glass to keep
her from falling forward, gleaming city spread out below.
The drag of her underwear—near ruined, sticky, catching on her skin—down her thighs, as he strips it off her. Tension releases
around her chest, bra clasp undone. Fast, Aleksandr sweeps her hair aside, exposing her bare skin, and pressing his lips along
the back of her neck, the open slope of her shoulder: these hot, searing kisses that make her breath kick up.
Her hands flatten further against the glass as he kisses the hollow under her ear, hard. She’s soaking, thighs slick. The window is black and full of skyscraper light. Behind her, she hears the metallic clink of his belt. Her heart thuds.
“Someone could see—” She feels like she has to say it. The contours of protest, none of its substance.
“You just came on my desk,” he says, hands settling heavy on her waist. “I think you’re past caring.”
“That’s—”
Her breath rushes, sudden intake, as he presses into her, pushing her against the window.
It’s easier—barely—taking him when she’s this wet, when he starts slow. Residual pleasure rushes back, with the strain of
balancing on her toes, as she tries to accommodate his height. Her body gives into him with each thrust, the initial cold
clench of surprise melting into growing heat, steadily yielding; and, too, the relief of it, again: him inside of her, oncoming
loss of thought—she doesn’t need to think. Lili lets her head fall back against his shoulder.
A low breath of a laugh, against her ear.
“Are you always this willing?” he murmurs. “Or is it only with me?”
Fight rears back in Lili. “Do you usually fuck on company time, or is it only with me?” she snaps, breathless.
He laughs for real then. Slow, hard thrusts into her, long drags out, as he keeps pressing her harder against the window,
glinting city and black night. “Most women aren’t half as adventurous as you.”
She does not like the mention of other women. Lili pushes her hips back against him, hard.
Another laugh, a huff against her hair. “Jealous?” he says, tease tracing his words. “I don’t mind what it does to you—how
tight you get. Like I’m fucking you for the first time—”
“Or the last time,” she retorts, gathering all the fight she has left.
Aleksandr grabs her face, grip tight against her jaw. “Watch your words, or I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll walk out of this
office limping.”
“Promise?” she whispers, holding back a grin. That competitiveness, the dare of it, is one of the last things she can reach
for—the only equilibrium she can grasp when she’s given him control like this.
A harsh hit of his hips, as he forces her face against the glass, hand tangled in her hair.
“There’s a whole city out there,” he says, the exertion of how hard he’s starting to fuck her only barely coming through in
his voice. “Do you want them to see what a whore you are?” Lili’s moan—stupid, stupid—falls against the glass, fogging it up. “I think you do. I think you love the idea of them seeing you fucked within an inch
of your life—”
“I think you do, too,” she bites back. “I think you get off on this—”
Again, he laughs. That dark, low sound that seems tailor-made to arouse and irritate her, condescension inspiring the most
confusing mix of infuriated want. “I do,” he says. “Keep this up, and you might be some of the best sex I’ve ever had.”
The thought that she isn’t already? It makes something noxious inside of her burn.
He is not going to win this.
Struggling against the weight of him, Lili reaches for his hip, pulling him closer as she grinds back. She tightens her abdomen,
trying to set the rhythm. There’s a change in his breath, and she thinks, for a moment, that she can do it—make him come before
her—she can win—
But that laugh, his stupid laugh.
Aleksandr grasps her hands, pinning them against the window. “Little Lili,” he says. “Trying so hard to keep up.”
It’s brutal, how he slams into her then: unexpected, fucking a cry out of her so sharp and high there’s no chance the rest
of the office didn’t hear. Lili lurches forward, pain blooming bright and beautiful. The glass is cold against her forehead.
People can see her, see them—indistinct figures in distant windows. She can just make out the reflection of her own face,
blown pupils, parted mouth—the gleam of her naked outline visible in the glass, how he’s fucking her. The heavy stretch of
him inside of her—carving out space, making her something for him—pushes her closer to an edge she wants to cut herself on.
Lili has always enjoyed sex. The fun and distraction of it, its predictable but exciting exhilaration; mixing the right amount of alcohol with the right smile, a tilt of her head, a well-timed laugh—then, inevitably, an apartment in Greenpoint or Nolita or near St. Mark’s Place, fixed-gear bikes in the hall, stale weed smoke, navy blue sheets.
The temporary shine of newness, momentary satisfaction.
But this—the way Aleksandr fucks her? Compared to other people—boys, girls—how she has to direct them, nudge them? With him,
Christ, it’s like she barely has to think. She can just let go and fall open, and he’ll know what to do to her; hot and bruising,