CHAPTER 9 #2
He put his teeth on the nipple nearest the lamp, lightly, and I lost the end of whatever I was about to add. The loudest thing in the room was a drawer nobody had closed.
He came back to the first nipple and stayed longer. My hand had gone out behind me and found the drawer pull and closed on it.
“Your hand went to the pull when I changed nipples,” he said, “and it has not come off since.”
I did not let go of it. He straightened by degrees, finishing the motion at the speed he had begun it, and stopped with his mouth an inch off my skin.
“Your shoulder came around before your head did. By a whole second. Then your head followed it, and you have had your weight on that desk ever since.”
“You are right,” I said. “Put me on it.”
“I am going to take these off you now.”
He got my jeans down and off over my heels and set them on the chair, because he could not leave them on the floor.
Then he lifted me onto the desk edge with the file and the transcript pushed to the far corner.
He went down on one knee the way he does everything, finishing the motion he had already begun.
His mouth was on my clit before I had my hands set behind me.
“Just like that,” I said.
He put two fingers in my pussy and kept them there, unhurried, and let his tongue carry the argument. Every time my hips came off the wood he waited until they came down again. Then he went back to my clit at the same speed he had started with, and it was the patience of it that took me apart.
He lifted his mouth off my clit once, to look, and the dry air on the wet of it was worse than any waiting he had ever made me do.
“You are so wet that I did not have to work for it,” he said, and did not move his hand. “You were, before I touched you at all. Correct me on that.”
“Put it back where it was.”
“Tell me what you want in the order you want it,” he said, and stayed exactly where he was, on one knee, with his hand not moving.
“Your mouth on my clit. Your fingers where they are. Nothing new.”
“That’s it. Do not change anything.”
He did not change anything. My heel found something solid and pushed against it. The whole run of drawers took the shock and gave nothing back. I came with my mouth open and no sound in it, because that room takes the noise out of everything that happens in it.
He stayed with his fingers in my pussy until I stopped. Then he sat back on his heel and looked at where my leg was.
“You came with your heel against that drawer front and did not close it,” he said.
“I know what I did.”
“Your hand went out to the drawer beside you and closed on the oak. Then it opened. Then it closed again with less wood in it.”
“That was the desk, not the drawer,” I said, and got my hand into his hair and held it. “You are correcting me on the wrong object, little analyst, and I want your cock in my hand before you get it right.”
He came up off his knee. He undid his own belt and his own buttons, because I had a fistful of his hair and no intention of trading. Then he put my hand where I had said it should go. He closed my fingers around his cock himself, once, to set the pressure, and let go.
“Look at you,” I said, working him slowly, my thumb doing a thing he had not described yet.
His breath went out of rhythm for the first time since the night I met him. That was better than any sentence he had ever handed me.
“Take it as slowly as you want,” he said, and his hand on the drawer front spread out until the heel of it was carrying some of his weight.
I got down off the desk and put my knees on the chair he had folded my jeans over. I took his cock in my mouth. He had to put a hand on the drawer front to keep himself standing, and the cards inside it shifted, and he let them.
“You went down before I finished the sentence,” he said, low, unsteady. “You had your left hand on the desk and your right on me. Then you swapped them, and I have lost why.”
He had one hand on the drawer front and one in my hair, and he used neither of them to move me. I took his cock deeper because I wanted to, and the sound he made had no grammar in it anywhere.
I came off him long enough to answer him.
“Because the left one still holds a pen better, and I wanted the good hand on your cock.”
“I am going to lose the order of this.” He got me back up onto the desk with more strength than a man in a waistcoat ought to have.
“The sentence I am holding goes first. The last four minutes go after it. Then your name is the only word left in this building, and I will have it in the wrong order. That is the whole of what I am about to lose, and I am telling you before it goes.”
“Then lose it.”
“I am going to be inside you unless you tell me to stop.”
“Do not stop.”
He took a condom from the drawer under the blotter, opened it with the same care he gave every document, and rolled it on without looking away from me.
He fucked me on that desk with the lamp shaking its green pool across the wall.
He kept his eyes open the entire time, because the man cannot help watching.
He got a hand between us. His thumb settled over my clit, unmoving, and he let his hips do the work of it.
The second one built low and mean and took longer to arrive.
My back went down on the transcript. The file slid, and neither of us reached for it.
“Say the thing you are not saying.”
“Your pussy is doing what it did against my fingers, and faster,” he said, and his thumb held still against my clit while I did all the moving over it.
“Then keep describing it and do not be careful.”
“You have taken my cock to the root twice and you are asking for a third.”
“You feel tighter than you did a minute ago, and I have not altered the pace to cause it,” he said, and did not alter it. “Tell me what you did.”
I came with him moving in my pussy and my heels locked low on his back, and he said my name.
“Avery.”
Nothing after it. No clause, no hook, no clever last word hanging in the ink smell. He put his forehead down on my shoulder and stayed there while his breath came back. For about a minute the cleverest man in this building had nothing at all.
Then he stood and got his shirt buttoned before he had his breath, and he went to the open drawer.
He squared the cards with the tamper, a block at a time, thumb and lead weight, buff edges coming true down the length of the drawer.
He did the ones my heel had knocked out of true.
Then he did the ones nobody had touched.
It took him a long while. I got my jeans back on and my shirt closed and sat on the desk edge and let him work, because stopping him was not available to either of us.
Every card in that drawer went back square except mine, and mine lay face up in the green light.