16. She’s Handled Mrs. Martinez’s Feelings About Email Attachments #4
"I know. But I want to be the first. The only." My hand stroked down her spine. "Will you let me?"
She bit her lip, considering, then nodded. "Yes. But slow at first. Please."
"Always." I pulled out of her pussy, reaching for the lube we kept in the bedside drawer. "Tell me if it's too much. Use the safeword if you need to."
I started with my fingers, working her open slowly, carefully, watching her body relax and accept the intrusion. When I finally pressed the tip of the lubed dildo against her tight entrance, she tensed.
"Breathe, baby," I murmured, one hand stroking her back. "Relax for me."
She took a shaky breath, and I pressed forward slowly, watching the purple silicone disappear inch by inch into her ass. The sounds she made—half pleasure, half pain—were driving me insane.
"More?" I asked when I was halfway in.
"More," she whimpered. "God, Petra, more."
I pushed deeper, slower, until I was fully seated inside her. We both stayed still for a moment, her adjusting, me fighting for control.
"How does it feel?" I asked roughly.
"Full. So full. I… oh my god…” Her words dissolved into moans as I started to move, shallow thrusts that gradually deepened as her body accepted me.
"You're taking it so well," I praised, my hand sliding around to find her clit. "Taking my strap in your ass like you were made for it."
"Harder," she gasped. "Please, Petra, harder."
I obliged, fucking her ass with increasing intensity while my fingers worked her clit. The combination had her shaking, incoherent sounds spilling from her lips.
"Come for me," I commanded. "Come with my strap in your ass."
She came with a sound that was almost a sob, her whole body convulsing, her ass clenching so tight around the dildo that I could barely move. I worked her through it, gentling my movements as the waves subsided.
"Again," I said when she'd caught her breath.
"I can't possibly—"
But I was already moving again, and within minutes she was climbing toward another orgasm, this one somehow even more intense than the last.
"Petra—I'm going to—oh god—"
"That's it, baby. Give me another one."
She came screaming my name, and this time I let myself tip over the edge with her, the base of the dildo pressing against my clit through the harness, sending me spiraling into my own release.
I pulled out carefully, removing the harness and tossing it aside before gathering her trembling body into my arms. She was shaking, tears streaming down her face, and I kissed them away gently.
"Hi," she finally said, blinking up at me.
"Hi," I said.
We stayed like that for a long time, breathing, the room going slowly dark around us as the last of the evening light disappeared. Outside, the desert had started its night sounds, the kind of quiet that wasn't quiet at all once you'd lived in it long enough.
"For the record," she said eventually, her voice soft against my chest, "I knew someone was going to behave badly today."
I looked down at her. "You knew?"
"Not those two specifically. But there's always someone." She shrugged one shoulder. "What I didn't expect was how everyone else responded."
"Miller's face," I said.
"Miller's face," she agreed. "And Rodriguez already standing there before you'd finished talking." She paused. "And Stevens."
I went still. "Stevens?"
"He knocked on the truck window before you started the engine. You didn't see him?"
"I… no."
"He said he was sorry it happened at something that was supposed to be fun. That I was a real one. That he hoped we'd come back for the next one." She was quiet for a moment. "And then he left before it got awkward. He read the room."
"He really is getting better at that," I said. "It's almost alarming."
"He also told me the tournament bracket is unfinished, and he needs my official cornhole data to complete the records."
"Of course he does."
"I told him I'd send my stats in writing." She yawned, settling. "Library science. Gotta document everything."
Outside, the desert had gotten dark and enormous, the stars over San Jacinto absurd in their abundance.
I lay there with my hand in Vera's hair and thought about Stevens on the roof of the brush truck with his good frisbee that had flames on it, and Miller at the end of the table all afternoon watching everything and saying almost nothing and being more present than people who talked twice as much, and Rodriguez not needing to be asked.
"Jackson's going to pretend this was all fine at the next shift," I said.
"Miller's going to pretend it never happened."
"Rodriguez is going to bring it up in a one-on-one and be extremely sensible about it."
"And Brandon," she said, "is going to show me the completed tournament bracket with my arc statistics annotated."
"Laminated," I said.
"Oh, definitely laminated." She pressed her lips to my chest. "Goodnight, Petra."
"Goodnight, baby."
She was asleep quickly, the way she always was, her breath evening out against my shoulder.
I lay awake a little longer. The crew had shown me who they were tonight, too. Not just the two who hadn't.
Mostly, I thought about that.