Chapter 12
Three nights in a row— too much and not enough time together. If I could, I would spend every night in Nolan’s bed. But unfortunately for me, I actually have to get some work done.
“I can’t see you tonight,” I say for the fifth time, hating myself a little bit more for it.
City Hall has been empty for hours, and with no one around to catch us, I’ve perched myself on Nolan’s lap, and have been reluctant to move since. Not that he’s making it easy.
He’s buried his face in the crook of my shoulder, nuzzling the soft skin which muffles his words. “And remind me again why?”
“Because I have things to do, Nolan. Things I should have been home two hours ago to start.” It’s a half truth, but he didn’t need to know that.
I would be happy to drive back out to his house again, like I did last night and the night before and when he first asked.
The word ‘yes’ jumped in my throat, practically begging to be said.
It's been three days. Three of them, that's it, and I can feel the threads beginning to stitch together, binding myself to him in a way that I should not be feeling. Space would do us both some good, and on a personal note, my vagina some good. Going from no sex to being bent, twisted, pulled, and pushed in every position known to man, and some that weren’t, is wreaking havoc on my joints.
And the Cupid Ball is less than two weeks away, and I haven’t even begun sewing the table runners I said I was going to make. Plus, I still need to verify the rest of the vendors’ arrival times, review the menu proofs the local printer emailed earlier today, and send all the final payments.
Oh, and find a dress, which somehow always ends up being my last task. But I don’t even want to start thinking about braving a department store, especially when I know I won’t find anything in my size.
Which reminds me. “I still have your credit card from when I had to book the new vendor. Let me go get it before I forget again.” I’m not even an inch off his lap before he pulls me back down.
“Hmm-hmm. Keep it, I don’t care, I don't want you out of this position.”
“I can’t keep your card, Nolan. Just let me get it for you.”
I’m shackled into place again. “And I said no.” His voice takes on the tone I now associate with his other side. This is a command, one I want to follow. “Do you want another lesson?” His question is soft as velvet, caressing the side of my neck, as his lips press against my pulse.
“Depends.”
A disappointing tsk comes from behind me. “It’s a yes or no, Harper.”
Not a single cell in my body wants to say no. “Yes, Sir.”
Lucky for him, the morning version of myself slipped on a long flowing skirt.
Nolan’s hands skate carelessly slow up my thighs, under my skirt and to my hips.
I keep waiting for the moment where his touch doesn't ignite a response in me, but it hasn't happened yet.
“If I remember correctly, and I am, your words a few days ago were ‘to know whatever cock warming is’.” He makes quick work of my underwear while he speaks, slipping his hands up my skirt, peeling them from my body and pocketing my underwear again before I have a chance to take my next breath.
“I have a few emails I need to send and I would very much like it if you sat right here while I worked.”
This seems a lot tamer than what I imagined. “I just sit on your lap without underwear?” I question because that can’t possibly be right.
“Oh, no, my Sweet Girl.” His voice is low against the shell of my ear as he snakes one arm around my waist, lifting my body like I’m nothing.
“What are you—oh—” My last word is a gasp. In the span of a millisecond, I’ve gone from empty to overly full. My breath, my thoughts, my sense of up and down disappears, and behind my eyes, a blinding light takes over.
Turns out it’s not simply sitting on his lap with no underwear. I’m impaled on Nolan’s cock. My eyes grow two sizes at the sudden intrusion, and my heart leaps from its normal resting spot in my chest and lodges itself into my throat.
Nolan strokes his hands down the length of my back, sending shivers over every inch of skin.
“Now I need you to be very still. If you move, then I won’t be able to type, and the longer we’ll have to stay just like this.
” He smooths my skirt back down, arranging it so if someone were to see it would simply look like I’m simply sitting on his lap. “Can you do that for me?”
My brain can’t compute whatever it is he’s asking. The only thing it can come up with is the word ‘full’. I feel so incredibly and gloriously full. It’s unlike anything else I’ve felt and has emotions I don’t even have names for flickering to life.
Nolan reaches around me, pulling his keyboard closer and it finally registers he’s not lying.
He’s going to start working again but I don't want that. There’s no possible way I can sit still with him inside me.
Not when every nerve ending throughout my body flares to life, demanding something happen.
Anything at this point would do and it hasn’t even been a full minute. I know, I’ve been watching the clock. Slowly, I roll my hips backward, searching for anything to ease the tension that is slowly circling my insides.
“Harper,” he warns, “no moving.”
A whimper pushes past my lips. “You can’t seriously expect me to sit here with you inside of me.”
“I can, and I do.” He begins plucking away at his keyboard.
“But—”
“No buts. Sit still, or we’ll be here all night.”
He must have an extreme amount of confidence in his stamina.
“I just,” I start with a whine. I’m not going to make it to whatever time limit he’s set in his head. The urge to fuck myself on him fells like I’m being dragged under relentless ocean waves. “I can do all the work, please, Sir.”
His fingers still, even his breath stalls. An eerie silence falls over us. Only my rapid pants of wantonness fill his office before he starts typing again but it’s short lived.
Nolan leans back in his chair. A deep moan reverberates in my chest.
“How was your day?” he asks nonchalantly. As if we’re friends catching up over coffee.
“You’re not seriously trying to make small talk with me right now, are you?”
“What, are you busy?” The smile in his voice is deafening. I don’t even have to look at him to know it’s there.
His hands drift from the keyboard, work already forgotten. Or perhaps this was the plan all along - sit me on his lap and watch me descend into a thick fog, straddling the fine line between pain and pleasure. I’m so unbelievably full that my ability to string a sentence together is quickly fading.
“Harper,” he says, cutting through the haze. “Is this okay?” There’s a tenderness in his voice I’ve grown to crave. I want to answer him, tell him yes, that in fact I’m perfectly content as I ascend to a plane of existence most people never reach.
Deep in the pit of my stomach, pressure brews, threatening an explosion that would level this building.
Each time I think I have an answer for him, the words dissolve like sugar in water, leaving only the feel of hands on my thighs and the ever large presence of him inside of me the only things worth focusing on.
I manage a weak response. “It’s good. I’m good.”
Nothing eloquent floats through my mind, only soft nothingness, but the shudder in his chest makes me think he understands.
Soft hands run up the length of my arms, smoothing the goosebumps pricking my skin. “I didn’t see you much today.” He sounds remorseful, hesitant even. Almost as if those few words hold more meaning than he’s letting on.
But the small talk might actually kill me.
I swallow. “I had a school tour come through, took up most of my day.”
Nolan hums, his hand still roaming across my body.
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Oh my God, you are trying to kill me. Didn’t you say you had work to do?”
“I do, but this is a lot more fun.”
I peek over my shoulder. “What? Torturing me?”
“You know what to do if you want to stop”
I don’t answer.
“Exactly, because you like this, don’t you, Sweet Girl? You like being helpless in my lap. You like being full of me, dancing on the edge of oblivion.” He suffers again. “Barely any time has passed, but you’re so close, aren’t you?”
He shifts, forcing fireworks to explode as I squeeze my eyes shut and clamp down on my tongue to keep from crying out.
“You don’t have to be quiet. In fact, I prefer you loud.”
“Do you know why I like this?” he asks.
I shake my head, falling forward onto my elbows. The sudden change in position pushes him further into me, forcing a groan from my chest.
“Because it's a way for you to let go and give yourself over to me. It's not overtly stimulating, it's a way for you to be in the moment, with me, here. A way for us to be connected, and I like being able to do that for you.”
With his finger, a feather light line drags down my spine, spiking of debilitating pleasure to bloom under my skin. My body shivers. “How long do I have to wait?”
His body vibrates with a low hum as he contemplates. Whatever answer he gives, I’ll happily take it, because at this point I can’t tell if I want to stay like this, skating along the brink of exhilaration, or if I want to jump from his lap, lay face down on his desk, and beg for him to fuck me.
“I’ll let you know when your time is up.”
What an agonizingly beautiful response.
—-
Fifteen glorious, torturous minutes later, he pushes his keyboard back, closes out all his windows, and shuts off his computer. Whatever comes next is sure to be mind blowing but instead of any sort of movement, he asks me a question. “Do you have a dress to wear to the ball yet?”
I don’t move, not until he tells me, but I answer, even with fading thoughts swirling down a drain, unlikely to come back. “What?”
“A dress, have you gone out to buy one yet?”
“No.”
“Good, tomorrow we’ll go and get you one.”
It doesn’t seem worth it to fight the offer and I need to get one anyway. “Thank you.”
I watch him smile from over my shoulder. A soft, tender pull at the corner of his lips. “How do you feel?” he finally asks a few seconds later.
“Good,” I answered honestly. “Very full. Very, very aroused. I think even one small move will send me flying into an orgasm.”
As he laughs at my last comment, I can’t help but think about how much I like hearing it. He’s laughing more around me and not only when we’re in positions like this. But even during quick interactions at work.
We've tumbled into a peculiar relationship where a whole new side of him, one I never knew existed, is wide open specifically for me. I get his quiet laughs, his longing looks, his hands on my curves, and even though they are all given in secret, I wouldn’t change a single thing about what we have.
“How do you feel?” I ask, filling the silence. As much as he says this is all for me, I really like knowing if I’m pleasing him too.
Surprise jumps in his eyes before he answers. “I also feel on edge, like one stroke of this wet, tight pussy will have me spilling into you. And I feel proud, proud and horny.”
“Proud?”
“Of you, of course. Placing your pleasure and curiosity into my hands is a gift, seeing you take to it so naturally, and that I’m the one you choose to give it to, all of that makes me feel proud.”
All I can manage is a quiet “oh” because out of all the things I assumed he might say, proud wasn’t amongst them.
No one’s ever told me they were proud of me. Not my friends, not the people I work with and certainly not my family. At some point, I stopped even reaching out to people for the word and decided as long as I am proud of myself, that’s all that matters.
I didn’t expect hearing the words from someone else's mouth would have tears rushing to the surface.
Nolan shifts forward and my eyes flutter shut, forcing the tears back. I’ve been patient, and now I get my reward.