Anya
Inodded, but instead of pulling away, I pressed closer, my hand sliding down the crisp front of his tuxedo shirt.
“Not if I don't get to return the favor,” My fingers found his belt, tugging at the leather with deliberate slowness.
His breath hitched, eyes darkening as I unbuckled it, the metallic clink echoing softly in the dim room.
“Here?” he asked, though there was no real protest in his tone — just that raw edge of want we'd both been fighting all week.
“Right here,” I whispered, dropping to my knees before he could stop me.
The tile was hard against my skin, but I didn't care.
The sparkly satin pooled around me like a fallen star as I freed his cock from his pants.
It sprang out, thick and heavy, already straining for me.
I'd felt it inside me before, pounding relentlessly, but seeing it like this — veined, flushed — made my mouth water.
I wrapped my hand around the base, stroking once, twice, feeling him twitch in my grip.
Desmond's fingers threaded into my hair as I leaned in and licked the underside from root to tip.
He groaned, low and guttural, his hips jerking forward slightly.
Emboldened, I took him into my mouth, lips stretching around his girth as I sucked, hollowing my cheeks.
“Fuck, you look like a fucking angel,” he hissed, his free hand bracing against the door.
I worked him deeper, tongue swirling over the head, tasting the salt of his pre-cum.
My other hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently as I bobbed my head, setting a rhythm that had him cursing under his breath.
The tuxedo pants bunched at his thighs, a stark contrast to the formal man unraveling above me.
I glanced up, meeting his gaze — those sharp, doctorly eyes now hooded with lust. It spurred me on; I took him further, relaxing my throat until he hit the back, gagging just a little, but pushing through.
His grip tightened in my hair, guiding me without force, and I hummed around him, the vibration drawing another moan from his lips.
“Enough,” he rasped suddenly, pulling me off with a wet pop.
Before I could protest, he hauled me up, spinning me around to face the linen shelf against the far wall.
Stacks of crisp white sheets and folded tablecloths loomed behind a thin metal frame, the whole thing wobbling slightly as he pressed me against it.
“Can't wait anymore,” he growled into my neck, hiking my gown up again. The satin bunched at my waist, cool air hitting my exposed ass. His cock nudged between my thighs, slick from my mouth. I arched back, pushing against him, desperate.
“Then don't,” I breathed, reaching back to grip his hip. He thrust in with one hard stroke, burying himself to the hilt. I cried out, the shelf rattling as my hands clutched the edge for balance. He was huge, stretching me full, every inch dragging against my walls in the best way.
Desmond set a brutal pace right away, one hand on my hip, the other snaking around to rub my clit in tight circles.
The linens shifted in front of me, a few towels tumbling to the floor with each slam of his hips against my ass.
The sound — skin slapping skin, my gasps mixing with his moans — filled the small space, drowning out the distant murmur of the party.
“God, you're so tight,” he muttered, teeth grazing my shoulder through the gown's strap. He pounded deeper, angling himself to drive harder. I pushed back to meet him, the friction building fast, my body still sensitive from his tongue.
The shelf creaked under our weight, threatening to give, but neither of us slowed.
His fingers dug into my skin, possessive, as he drove into me harder, faster.
“Come again for me, baby,” he demanded, pinching my clit just right.
The command tipped me over; I clenched around him, orgasm ripping through me like fire as I bit down on my lip to muffle the scream.
He followed seconds later, thrusting erratically before spilling inside me, hot pulses that left me shuddering.
We stayed like that, locked together, breaths ragged in the quiet aftermath.
Slowly, he pulled out, a trickle of his cum sliding down my thigh.
He turned me gently, kissing my forehead, then my mouth — tender now, almost apologetic.
“We really can't keep—” I started, but the words felt hollow even as I said them.
“I know,” but his eyes said otherwise, and as we lingered there, adjusting collars and hair, the pull between us only grew stronger.
The shelf behind me was a mess — towels scattered like fallen soldiers, a couple of sheets half-unraveled from our frenzy. I leaned against it, legs wobbly, catching my breath while he zipped up his pants with that efficient doctor’s precision.
He turned to me then, eyes softening from the feral hunger to something warmer, almost playful. “Look at you,” he said, voice husky but laced with a grin. He reached for a folded hand towel from the shelf, shaking it out with a soft snap. “All flushed and ruined. My fault, entirely.”
I laughed, a breathy sound that surprised me, swatting his arm lightly.
“Yours? I seem to recall you begging for it.” But I didn't pull away when he knelt again, this time gently using the towel to dab at the mess between my legs.
His touch was careful, wiping the sticky evidence from my inner thighs, then pressing lightly against my swollen core.
It wasn't sexual now — just intimate, his fingers lingering to soothe the ache he'd caused.
“Can't have you walking back out there like this,” he murmured, glancing up with a wink. “Though I’ll admit… the thought of you carrying a little piece of me all night… is tempting.” He folded the towel over the evidence and tucked it into his pocket, out of sight, before grabbing another to clean himself up.
I watched, biting my lip, as he adjusted his shirt; the crisp lines of his tuxedo somehow still impeccable despite the chaos.
Standing, he cupped my face, thumb brushing my cheek.
“You're incredible, you know that?” His kiss was soft this time, tasting of us both, no rush or demand — just a slow exploration that made my heart stutter.
I melted into it, hands fisting his lapels to pull him closer, even as the distant hum of the party reminded us time was slipping away.
When we broke apart, he smoothed my hair, tucking a stray curl behind my ear.
“Gown's a bit wrinkled,” he teased, fingers trailing down to straighten the satin where it had bunched.
“But it suits you — disheveled and sexy.” I rolled my eyes but smiled, helping him fix his tie while he watched me with that intent gaze.
“Don’t move,” he said with a grin, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “Want to remember this moment, the way you look, how flushed and utterly mine you look right now.” He angled it towards me with a sly smile.
“Fine, but—” and I wrapped his tie around my hand, pulling him to me. “I want you in one, too.” He leaned in effortlessly, pressing his lips against my cheek as his phone captured this stolen moment.
“Promise me we'll behave out there?” I asked, half-joking, though the pull in my chest said otherwise.
He chuckled, low and warm. “For tonight?
Scout's honor.” But as he opened the door a crack, checking the corridor, his hand squeezed mine — a secret promise of more stolen moments.
We slipped out separately, me first, the sparkly gown swishing like nothing had happened.
Except everything had, and the flush on my skin would give me away if anyone looked too close.