After We Clock Out Workplace Erotica #4
“You could have gone back to inbound.” Third light. Yellow she took. His fingers slipped and she grabbed his wrist, not to pull him off, to put him back. “Left. Stay there. I didn’t say you could wander.”
He stayed. She was close already, leftover from the car, from the fridge, from the desk. Her jaw tightened. She would not cum at a light if she could help it. Cole watched her profile and the road and the way her throat moved when he hit the right spot.
Fourth light. Red.
Rhea’s hips twitched. She killed it. “Don’t you make me do that at an intersection.”
“You want me to stop.”
“I want you to slow down. I did not say stop.” She glanced at him, mean, flushed. “You’re going to be late on Monday because you can’t walk. I’m still going to write it up. Ask me if that’s a problem.”
“Is it a problem.”
“No.” The light went green. “Your place better have a door that locks. I’m not finishing this in a hallway.”
Fifth light. Someone’s headlights in the rearview made Cole’s shoulders jump. Rhea laughed, short.
“Still flinching. Cute. Security truck isn’t dating you.” She spread her knees a little more against the seatbelt. “Two fingers. Not in. On. I’m driving.”
He rubbed her with two wet fingers and she breathed through it, 23 years old and still giving orders at 40 miles an hour. The warehouse badge on his chest tapped the belt. Her radio sat in the cup holder dead. The city was empty in that ugly between-shifts way.
Sixth light. Red.
Rhea grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand out of her pants. She held it there, shiny, in the dash glow, and looked at him.
“Lick that.”
He did. She watched his mouth. The light took forever.
Green.
“Two blocks,” she said. “You live in the brick one. Don’t you give me a speech on the stairs. You unlock the door. If I change my mind I change it before the key. After the key I want you in a bed and I want you to last until I say the word I have not given you all night.”
“I can last.”
“You keep saying that like it’s a personality.”
She parked crooked on purpose, close to the stoop.
Engine off. Quiet. The car ticked. Rhea fixed her button, grabbed her bag, and got out like she was walking into a shift meeting.
Cole followed her up the stairs. Work boots on his own steps.
Her ass in front of him in those pants. His hands still smelled like her.
On the landing she stopped.
“Last ask of the stairs,” she said. Not manager voice. Not quite. “Can I come in.”
He had not expected her to take that one.
“Yes,” Cole said. “Come in.”
Rhea nodded once.
“Then unlock it before I change my mind.”
He got the key in. The lock stuck the way it always stuck. She waited, 23 years old, hair still yanked back, mouth still a little swollen, warehouse dust on both of them, and she did not look down the stairs.
The door opened.
She walked through first.
Cole’s apartment was dark except the stove bulb he never turned off.
Rhea dropped her bag on his chair like she owned the write-up for the room. Twenty-three years old, polo wrinkled, pants still undone from the car. She looked at the bed, then at him, then at the door until he locked it.
“Clothes off. Not cute about it. I have been in a Civic.”
He stripped the hi-vis, the shirt stuck to his back, the belt that had been a problem since 2 a.m. Rhea watched him the way she watched a pallet come in crooked.
Then she pulled her own polo off, unhooked the work bra, and shoved the pants and boots off in a heap that was not neat.
Bare. Flushed. Mean in his lamp-less bedroom.
“On your back,” she said. “I want to sit on it. You’ve been driving my hand and my car and my patience.”
“Can I put my cock in you.”
“Yes. I do the moving. You keep your hands where I put them.”
Cole lay back. She climbed on, wrapped her fist around him, and sank down in one slow drop that made both of them swear. Tight. Hot. Swollen from a cage and a desk and a fridge and a back seat. She took all of him and sat there, palms on his chest, hair finally coming loose.
“That’s better than your car,” she said. “Don’t you thrust. I didn’t say you could.”
He didn’t. His hands hovered.
“Hips,” she said. “Hold. Not lift.”
Rhea rode him. Not bouncing. A grind that kept him buried and rubbed her clit on his body at the bottom of every pass. The wet sound filled his small room. Her tits moved. She put his hands on them and told him squeeze, then told him not to look grateful about it.
“You live like this,” she muttered, glancing at the stove light through the door. “One bulb. Shoes in a line. I should have guessed.”
“You want to talk about my bulbs.”
“I want to talk while I use you. Yes.” She lifted and dropped harder. “You’ve been taking my shit since October. Tonight you take this. If you cum before I say, I leave and Monday is ugly.”
“I’ll say if I’m close.”
“You will.”
She fucked him from above until her thighs shook, 23 year old manager using a 23 year old picker in his own bed, still sounding like a radio even when her voice broke.
Cole thumbed her nipples because she had put his hands there and she swore and sped up.
She came on him with her head tipped back, pulsing around his cock, nails in his chest.
He held still and took the pull and did not follow.
The sound he made was ugly. She liked it.
Rhea folded forward, still full of him, hair in his mouth.
“Stomach,” she said into his throat. “Mine. I want you behind me and I want you to stop treating me like I’ll snap. I won’t. Ask.”
“Can I fuck you on your stomach.”
“Yes. Deep. Don’t you go back to short and quiet. This is not the office.”
She lifted off him, hissing at the empty, and dropped onto her chest on his sheets.
Cole got behind her, lined up, and pushed in to the root in one stroke.
Rhea’s hands fisted the cheap comforter.
He gave her deep, long drives that shoved her up the bed.
The slap came back. His hips meeting her ass.
Wet. Honest. No radio. No camera corner. No windshield.
“That’s—yes. That.” She pushed back onto him. “Harder. I can take it. I’ve been taking you all night.”
He gave her harder. One hand in the hair that had finally come down, not pulling until she said he could, then pulling when she said it.
The other under her, two fingers on her clit.
Rhea came again with her mouth in his pillow, muffling a sound that would have carried through warehouse glass.
Her pussy locked on his cock and milked him and he had to stop buried and breathe at the ceiling so he would not ruin the only rule she had kept all shift.
She reached back and found his thigh.
“Close?”
“Yes.”
“Hold it.”
He held it. Shaking. Sweat on his spine. Her 23 year old body under him, wrecked on purpose, still giving orders into cotton.
Rhea turned her face on the pillow. For a second there was no joke on her mouth. Then she put one back.
“In me this time,” she said. “Not the car. Not my stomach. I want it in my pussy. You ask. You wait for the second yes. Then you do it.”
Cole’s forehead dropped to her shoulder.
“Can I cum in you.”
Rhea’s laugh was quiet and not entirely kind.
“Ask me like that again when you start moving.”
She pushed back onto his cock and waited.
Cole started moving again because she pushed back onto him.
Deep. Slower than the last stretch. Rhea’s fists stayed in his comforter. He could feel how close he was in every stroke, the night stacked up in his spine from the cage forward. Twenty-three years old, buried in his 23 year old manager on his own bed, and he still waited.
“Can I cum in you,” he said into her shoulder.
“Yes.”
“I need it plain. In your pussy. Now.”
Rhea turned her face enough that he saw her mouth.
“Yes. In me. Fill me up. That’s the second one. Do it.”
He drove in and came.
The sound he made was wrecked. Heat tore out of him in thick pulses he had been denied since 2 a.m., shoved high into her, his whole body locked over her back.
Rhea took it with a low noise into the pillow, clenching around him like she could keep every drop.
Cole’s vision went white at the edges. His hips jerked.
He poured into her and kept coming and she reached back and held his thigh so he would not pull away from it.
He stayed in.
They stayed joined while he emptied, while the pulses slowed, while his arms shook on either side of her.
His cum was already slick around his cock when he breathed again.
He could feel it. She could feel it. The room was just a room: stove light from the other side of the door, a truck on the street, her hair on his mouth.
Rhea did not talk.
That was new.
Cole kissed the place between her shoulder blades because nothing mean was happening and he did not know where to put his hands except still inside her.
She let him. Twenty-three years old and quiet under him for the first time since she had radioed aisle C.
His heartbeat slammed her back. Hers answered, slower.
When he started to soften she made a small unhappy sound.
“Don’t pull out yet.”
He didn’t. He eased them onto their sides, still connected, her ass tucked to his hips, his arm around her waist. His cum leaked anyway, warm down her thigh onto his sheets. Rhea covered his hand with hers and kept it on her stomach like that would hold the rest in.
A minute went by that did not belong to the warehouse.
Then she ruined it, because of course she did.
“If inbound is short on Monday I’m still putting your name on it,” she said into the dark. “Don’t look at me like I just married you because you came in me.”
Cole huffed a laugh against her neck. “I wasn’t.”
“You were thinking something stupid. I could feel it in your arm.” She squeezed his wrist. “I’m still mean on the floor. You’re still slow when you stare. This does not make you lead.”
“I don’t want lead.”
“Good.” A pause. She stayed anyway, which was the part she did not joke. “Your sheets are a disaster.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not washing them.”
“Okay.”
He slipped out because his body gave up, not because she told him to.
Rhea hissed at the empty. Cole put two fingers against her pussy, not to start anything, just to feel the mess he had left.
Slick. Open. His cum on his own knuckles.