Lucia #2
Shit, I have to cling to his hair just to stop myself from falling.
His hands grip my thighs hard, holding me still as he devours me.
Tongue, lips, teeth… he uses all of it, sending heat crackling down my spine with every movement.
And when I start to tremble, teetering on the edge, he doesn’t stop.
He slides two fingers inside me, curling them deep, and moans against my skin. My body unravels under his touch, and I can feel how much he’s been craving this. Me.
“Turo, oh my God…” I gasp, barely a whisper.
But before I can get anything else out, my toes curl. I let loose, and I fall. I come so hard, I forget my own name, crying out as pleasure explodes behind my eyes, pulsing through my limbs and making my whole body shudder.
He doesn’t stop until I’m gasping, limp, twitching from overstimulation and completely wrung out.
Then, just as I’m about to tumble, he scoops me up.
The edge of his desk digs into the back of my thighs as he sets me down, not gentle but careful, like he knows exactly how much pressure my body can take before it turns into pain.
Paper slides under my palms. A stack of folders skitters, spilling across the polished wood in a soft avalanche. Something sharp-edged, a clipped bundle, fans out and tumbles to the floor. The lamp tilts, throwing the light sideways, turning the room into shadow and gold.
Turo pauses for a moment, his hands braced on either side of me as he spreads me open on his desk like he owns the space and is trying to convince himself he doesn’t.
His fingers trace the curve of my jaw, slow and steady, his eyes locked on mine.
Then he kisses me again, filthy and deep, letting me taste myself on his tongue.
And I moan into his mouth, because I’ve never felt more wanted. More taken. More his.
“I need more,” I murmur. “It’s time for you to be naked, too.”
With a smirk, he leans back and tugs his shirt over his head. I love the mischievous glint in his eyes. That’s what really gets me going. This isn’t a side of Turo that the world gets to see, and I love that it’s just for me.
His belt clinks as it joins the shirt, and his pants slide down, pooling at his feet.
And oh, God. He’s big. I almost forgot how big. Hard. Thick and flushed, and already dripping at the tip. My mouth actually waters.
“You’re staring,” he says, voice dark as honey and smoke.
“I know, but you just look so good… again.”
He strokes himself once, slow and rough, his eyes never leaving mine. “So are you.”
Then he reaches into the pocket of his coat on the floor, pulling out a small foil packet.
His gaze flicks to mine as he tears it open with his teeth, the sound intense and filthy, utterly in control.
He slides back atop me, braced on trembling forearms, the heat of his chest searing mine.
Every inch of him presses downward, lean muscles taut beneath the fabric of his shirt, the line of his jaw set in hungry determination.
His mouth lowers, lips grazing mine in a kiss that tastes of smoky cologne and something sweeter, desire laced with fierce devotion. I feel the hard length of him against my inner thigh, slick with my own warmth, and I shift, angling my hips until I can feel his tip graze that spot I ache for.
He holds back, just out of reach. His teeth nip at my bottom lip, gentle and knowing. When he pulls away, his dark eyes study me, pupils dilated.
He rasps, “Do you want me to go slow… or the way I’ve been craving you all night long?”
My pulse hammers in my ears. My wrists lie free on the cool sheets, but I don’t move them. I don’t want to break this spell.
“I want you,” I whisper huskily. “Exactly how you want me.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. His only restraint.
“Be sure, Lucia,” he warns.
I curl my legs around his hips, drawing him closer. “Turo,” I murmur. “Ruin me.”
His breath hisses through clenched teeth, and for a heartbeat, the world spins. Then he pushes in with one fierce thrust. Deep and all-consuming.
I gasp, back arching in an involuntary bow. My hands scrabble at the rumpled papers remaining as he drives home to the hilt.
“Fuck, Turo, that feels so fucking good.”
That’s all he needs. He pulls back slowly, then slams forward.
Hard, relentless. Each thrust jerks the breath from my lungs; every slam against my velvet walls presses new, filthy sounds from my throat.
He pivots my hips higher across his waist, angling himself so he hits that sweet, trembling spot.
My head falls back, lips parted in a silent plea as pleasure floods into me.
The desk bites into my hips every time he drives forward, solid and unyielding, forcing me to take him exactly where he wants me.
Exactly where I’m already begging without words.
The neat stacks don’t stay neat. Folders skid, pages flutter to the floor like shaken wings, a pen rolls off the edge and hits the hardwood with a sharp, useless click.
“Touch yourself,” he pants roughly. “Let me see you lose it again.”
I reach up, slick fingers seeking the swollen peak of my clit, drawing tight, circular strokes as he plunges into me. He pauses, watching, eyes dark with possessiveness.
“Good girl,” he groans. “Just like that. Show me how you fall apart.”
I don’t last long. A sharp, glorious fracture of pleasure rips through me, hips bucking, breath catching in stuttered gasps as I bottom out in that delirious moment. My legs clamp around him as I arch my back, and he shatters, too.
“Fuck, Lucia…” he hisses, thrusts stammering in triumph. With one final, seismic push, he spills into me, growling my name against my throat.