3. Ellie #3
Very Cyrus.
I roll my hips until I find a rhythm that works just right at this angle.
He fills me differently than Tank. He's not as stupidly huge, obviously, because Tank is just fucking ridiculous in every way, but that piercing hits spots I didn't even know existed, dragging against them with my every rise and fall.
"Fuck," he breathes, one hand sliding up to wrap around my throat above the collar. His hand is gentle but the touch still makes me clench around him. "You feel so… fuck…"
"Eloquent," I manage, and his answering thrust makes me yelp into my palm.
I think we've found our rhythm. Me riding him while his hand stays loose around my throat, the monitors glowing blue around us. His hips meet mine on every downstroke.
"Harder," I gasp, bracing my hands on the desk.
He complies. His grip tightens on my hip, angling me so the piercing drags across my spot with every thrust, and then I'm gone, losing every ability to think straight.
"Come," he says against my ear, and the command in his voice, the same one that made Jinx shudder, pushes me over the edge.
I come with Cyrus's name on my lips, my pussy clenching around him hard enough that he follows mere seconds later. His hips stutter and his grip turns bruising. He buries himself to the hilt as he fills me.
The aftershocks roll through us both. His breathing is still ragged against my neck, his chest heaving against my back as I slump forward onto the desk. It feels like every bone in my body has turned to jelly, my cheek pressed against the cool surface of his desk while his cock softens inside me.
The monitor in front of my face displays a half-finished search query, the cursor blinking expectantly.
"I like Take Your Prisoner to Work day," I slur, staring at the blinking cursor, too blissed out to properly care that I'm drooling onto the oak.
"You're a pet, not a prisoner," Cyrus corrects, ever the pedantic one. He grabs my hips and hoists me off his cock, come dribbling down my thighs. "And now I have to bathe you, since you've gotten come all over my work station."
"Dick," I grumble, leaning heavily on his desk as he tucks himself back into his sweats. "You know, you're just as bad as me. You might not count, but you can't even handle a little mess."
"Is that so?" He leans back, spreading his legs further. "In that case, on your knees."
I look at him in confusion, my brain still stupid and hazy from the fucking.
He looks pointedly at the spot on the chair between his thighs where his come mingles with my arousal. "Clean it up."
I fix him with a stare and the sharpness in his eyes tells me he's not joking. That realization makes my thoroughly fucked pussy clench, like I didn't just come.
Slowly, I lower myself onto my knees and maintain eye contact with him as my hands wrap around the armrests and I bend myself down.
I watch the way his eyes darken when my tongue glides over the leather chair.
He watches, barely blinking, as I clean up the evidence of our "work.
" And with my head between his thighs, I have an up-close and personal view of the bulge in his pants growing again.
"Good girl." His voice is ragged. He grabs me by the chin and strokes his thumb along my jaw. "Now get up. It's my turn."
He pulls me to my feet before I can even comply, grabbing me by the waist, dropping me onto the edge of his desk. My ass smashes into the keys, which probably isn't great, considering he's wound up in federal databases, but that seems to be the furthest thing from his mind.
The composed, studious Cyrus is gone and in his place is that dominant, unhinged version I got a glimpse of before when it was me, him, and Jinx.
He spreads my legs open unceremoniously and descends on my cunt, licking a stripe up through his own come. I'm still so sensitive I scream as he licks into me, and spreads me open with his fingers for better access.
Holy fucking shit, Cyrus eats pussy like he's starving.
It really is always the quiet ones.
I clench around his tongue as it delves deeper into me, and then laves its way up and over my clit. The recently fired nerves are still screaming, and it's almost too overwhelming.
My fingers grip his hair, tightening, and I'm almost ready to tap out and pull his head away when he wrenches another orgasm from me. This one is fast and intense and shaky, and my thighs grip his head hard enough to suffocate him.
He doesn't seem to mind, or be in any hurry to pull away, though. He licks me through it until I'm babbling incoherently, and when I finally give his hair a desperate tug, he looks up with a smirk tugging at his come-slick lips and his glasses sitting crooked on his nose.
"Can't handle a little mess, huh?" he asks in a husky voice. "You sure about that, Princess?"
"Point made," I groan, my head dropping against his monitor.
Glad that thing is bolted the fuck in.
I always thought Cyrus was the most normal one out of the group, or at least the sanest.
Clearly, I do not know these men as well as I thought.