Chapter 30 #2
I forced my voice through a throat full of gravel. “Still here.”
Charlie looked up and smiled. Then she moaned around my balls.
My fingers shot to her head, gripping tight in her hair—not pulling, just holding her still, needing to anchor myself to something before I exploded on her without warning.
She stilled. Let me breathe. Let me edge.
Then her hand slipped lower. She licked her index finger, wet and slow, watching me watch her.
And then—god help me—she slid that hand between my thighs and then further up, fingers gentle at first, just exploring, stroking lightly at the crease of my ass like it was nothing, like it wasn’t the most obscene , intimate, filthy thing she could’ve done.
Then she pressed her finger between my cheeks and her fingertip circled my hole.
My stomach tensed. My cock jumped.
Her tongue was back on my shaft, long slow licks while that single slick finger toyed with my asshole, pressing light, teasing, never forcing—just making contact, gliding around the tight ring with maddening patience.
Every part of me clenched and burned.
She kissed the tip of my cock—then sucked it back into her mouth. Her tongue swirled again. She squirmed like it was her getting off.
And that finger? Still there. Still teasing. Rubbing tiny circles around my entrance like she was drawing a sigil.
My thighs shook.
I felt it rising—hot, sharp, unstoppable.
I grabbed the edge of the desk behind me with one hand, the other fisting in her hair again. I wanted to warn her. Tell her I was about to come so hard I’d black out.
But I couldn’t speak—and she didn’t stop.
Her mouth was silk and suction, her tongue a weapon—every flick, every swirl around the head of my cock stoking the fire from inside out. But that finger—that one slick finger, circling my asshole with deliberate, devastating precision— that was the real threat.
I was standing, cock in her throat, balls in her hand, my spine arching like it was trying to outrun the pleasure ripping through me in waves. I couldn’t stay still. I couldn’t.
My hips started to move. Instinct took over.
I thrust—slow at first, careful—but I needed more.
My cock slid deeper into her mouth, pushing past her tongue, hitting the back of her throat as I fucked forward once, twice, then again.
She choked softly and moaned like I was giving her wine, not dick.
Her lips sealed tighter, jaw relaxing, letting me in inch by inch until I was fucking her face and twitching like a live wire in her grip.
And below—her finger never stopped.
Teasing circles. Pressure and promise. My legs were shaking.
My thighs trembled as I tilted my hips just enough, pushing back into that hand, grinding my hole down onto her finger with a desperate little wiggle I never would’ve allowed myself if I was thinking straight. But I wasn’t thinking. I was suffering.
She looked up at me then, eyes dark, brows lifted slightly in a silent question: More?
I nodded. Once. My jaw clenched so tight it ached.
She licked her lips around me, then pushed. Just a little. A breath of pressure. Her fingertip slipped past the tight ring of muscle, no more than a whisper, and I gasped—loud, raw, wrecked.
“Fffuck—” I choked out.
Jason’s voice jumped. “Wait—what? Something wrong with the clause?”
Shit. Shit.
“N-no,” I rasped, my cock still buried in Charlie’s throat, her finger inside me, my balls tight in her palm. “Wrong tab—uh, document—hang on, I’ve got another call coming in. I’ll have to get back to you.”
I didn’t wait for a reply. I slammed the call closed with a flick of the screen and dropped both palms to the desk, breathing like I’d run ten miles uphill in July.
And Charlie smiled.
She let the tip of my cock slip from her mouth, coated in spit, then leaned in again and devoured me—slow and deep and determined, while her finger slid further, curling just slightly.
I groaned—no holding it back this time—and her free hand cradled my balls, tugging lightly in rhythm with every wet, obscene suck of her mouth.
“Fucking please, ” I begged, voice hoarse, hips jolting forward and back against her mouth, grinding down against that finger, searching for friction, for pressure, for anything .
She stilled—just for a heartbeat—then drove forward with a sudden push.
Her mouth took me deep, deep , tongue pressed flat under the shaft as her throat swallowed around the head, while at the same time her finger slipped further inside me, knuckle-deep now, twisting slightly, curling up.
And that was it.
I exploded with a broken cry, my cock jerking in her mouth, cum pouring in thick pulses down her throat.
My legs buckled, eyes slammed shut, my vision white-hot.
She kept sucking—slow and strong—swallowing everything I gave her as my orgasm dragged on, helpless and volcanic, until I was shuddering against the desk, a wreck of nerves and muscle.
She pulled off gently, licking her lips, her finger slipping free just as slowly. And in my head I swore to every god I could name that if she ever did that again, I’d marry her on the spot.
She stood slowly, unhurried, like her knees weren’t made of pure sin, and grabbed a tissue from the desk—dabbing the corner of her mouth like she was at high tea and not a crime scene.
My legs were barely holding me up. My dick was twitching like it had unfinished business. My brain was flatlined.
She kissed my jaw—soft, casual, devastating.
Then leaned in to whisper in my ear: “Well, that’s another one down— we’ve done slow and sweet, and now we’ve done something surprising and new.
” Her tone was wicked. Too proud. Too calm.
She pulled back with a grin. “Also, I hadn’t tasted you yet, which felt.
..unfair. Especially after the enthusiasm you showed for my custard. ”
Then she winked, and walked out of the room, barefoot, legs bare, my shirt clinging to her hips like it knew where it belonged.
I just stood there, pants around my ankles, trying to remember my name.