Chapter 22 #2
My breasts spill over the cups, and cool air touches their damp undersides before his mouth closes around one nipple. His tongue moves firmly over the tight point, and his free hand covers my other breast, squeezing until a broken sound leaves me.
I arch toward him.
Artur’s careful bite sends a sharp pulse through my pussy. The garter clips tremble against my thighs when my legs tighten around his hips.
He releases my nipple, leaving a wet flush around it, darker than the rest of my skin.
His hand moves between my legs.
Two fingers press the thong against my pussy and find my swollen clitoris through the fabric. Artur rubs once, dragging lace across the sensitive point until my wrists strain eagerly inside his hold.
“Look at me.”
I obey.
His gray eyes stay on my face as he moves the fabric aside. One fingertip passes through the wetness at my entrance before sliding upward. Direct contact hits harder than the lace, and my breath catches as his slow circles make the need ache.
Artur watches every response without asking for an explanation. He knows when my thighs begin shaking, when my hips need more pressure, and when the breath caught in my lungs means his fingers found the exact place.
He pushes two inside me.
The stretch opens my pussy around his hand while his thumb keeps moving over my clitoris as both fingers curl deep, drawing pleasure into a tight pressure low in my stomach. I rock into each stroke as far as his body allows.
He still holds my hands against the desk.
The control belongs to him because I choose to give it.
Artur drives his fingers deeper while wet sounds mix with our breathing, the polished desk warming against my ass as papers crumple around my stockinged heels.
The orgasm approaches too quickly after four empty nights. Pressure gathers low, tightening with each inward stroke until my body begins to close around his fingers.
Artur stops.
I make a sound of protest.
His mouth brushes mine. “You ended my call for my attention. You have all of it.”
The filthy certainty in his voice makes the interrupted pleasure burn hotter.
He releases my wrists, strips the bra from my body, then removes the garter belt. He leaves the stockings in place, their dark fabric ending high on my bare thighs with the damp thong between them.
Artur turns me to face the desk.
One palm presses between my shoulder blades, and I bend eagerly into the pressure with both hands on the scattered reports, lifting my ass toward him.
He draws the thong over my hips.
The lace catches at the top of one stocking before sliding down my legs. I step free, then spread my feet without being told; cool study air moves over my bare pussy.
Artur stands behind me without touching.
The pause exposes every wet inch to his attention. My skin tightens as his gaze travels from the open curve of my ass toward the slick entrance below it, where moisture has begun moving along my inner thigh.
His palm strikes one cheek with a sharp slap.
The sound cracks through the study, and heat blooms where he struck me, followed by the rough stroke of his fingers over the place he marked.
My body pushes backward.
Artur catches my hip before I reach him, keeping me bent over the reports as he opens his belt with the other hand. Metal touches wood when he places the buckle beside my fingers.
Fabric moves behind me.
I look over my shoulder.
The shirt hangs open from his broad chest as his trousers fall past his hips. Dark hair narrows over the firm muscles of his stomach. His cock rises thick against it, flushed from base to head, with a clear drop shining at the opening.
The same heavy length swung behind the clear patch he wiped into the shower fog, when glass allowed him to torment me from a distance; tonight nothing separates my body from his hands.
Artur steps out of the trousers, and his broad thighs flex in the study light and force mine farther apart when he returns behind me. The old damage along his right ribs is pale but no longer draws him away from the present.
He opens the desk drawer.
The black packet I placed there waits on top of the spare keys, and Artur’s mouth curves with brief approval when he glances from it to me.
He tears the foil and rolls the condom over his cock. Black latex follows the hard shaft to its base, making the width look more severe against his hand.
Artur grips my waist.
The covered head slides once through the wetness between my legs, and it catches against my clitoris before moving lower. I push back, trying to take him, but his hand stops me.
He controls the first entrance.
The broad head presses into my pussy, and my body opens slowly around it, stretching until the first inch settles inside. Artur holds still long enough for the sharpness to ease, then drives forward in one deep stroke.
He fills me completely.
My fingers tighten around the desk edge as fullness reaches deep into my pelvis when his thighs meet the backs of mine, and I move against him to show him the ache has become hunger.
Artur draws out almost to the head.
His next thrust drives me across the reports.
I cry out, and he catches my waist with both hands and pulls me back onto him, setting a hard pace before I recover. Each stroke fills the room with the slap of his body against mine and the rough sound of paper shifting under my palms.
This is what I wanted when I opened the first button. I wanted Artur’s command, the strength that makes the safe house answer every movement. I wanted him to take the provocation from me and turn it into pleasure I can barely hold.
I push back to meet him.
My eagerness tightens his grip; fingers press into my waist as he angles my hips higher, forcing his cock against a deeper place until another cry tears from my throat.
“Harder,” I gasp.
He gives me exactly that.
The desk shifts with our weight, and Artur bends over my back, his open shirt brushing my ribs and his chest warm against my shoulders. One hand leaves my waist to close around the front of my throat without restricting my breath.
Possession, held in his palm.
I turn my face toward him, and Artur kisses me from above, rough enough that our teeth meet once. I open for his mouth as his hips continue driving into me.
His other hand slides around my body.
Two fingers find my clitoris, and the first firm circle makes my knees weaken. Artur holds me upright against his chest, controlling my balance as his touch builds the pleasure he denied earlier.
The orgasm returns with frightening speed.
My pussy begins tightening around his cock, each thrust stretching the contraction before his fingers pull it tighter again. Sweat gathers along the undersides of my breasts as the study fills with the smell of ink and warm skin, while the salty taste of him stays on my mouth from the kiss.
“Please,” I say.
It is the only word I have left.
Artur’s fingers move faster.
Pleasure breaks through me, and my body goes rigid against his, then pulses around the thick cock still moving inside. I cry his name as each contraction travels from my pelvis through my shaking thighs.
He keeps me open and takes me through every wave.
The last one has barely weakened when Artur grips both hips again. His control breaks into harder, deeper strokes that make my swollen pussy clench around him.
His breathing turns ragged near my ear.
I push backward, wanting all of it.
Artur buries himself with one final thrust, his cock jerking through the condom as his body shudders over mine. He holds me tightly against him until each pulse ends.
We stay bent over the desk until my arms begin to shake.
Artur withdraws carefully, turning me before my knees can fail and sitting in the chair with me across his lap. The tops of my stockings press into his bare thighs, and his open shirt surrounds us both with warmth along my sides.
I rest my forehead against his shoulder.
“Your concentration performed poorly,” I say.
“Sabotage invalidates the result.”
Artur laughs against my hair without lowering the sound.
The study phone begins vibrating on the desk.
He looks at the screen. “Boris.”
I take the phone before Artur can answer. “Hello?”
Boris waits for one respectful beat.
“Will the security briefing resume?” Boris asks.
I look at the reports crushed by my bare ass, then at Artur’s open shirt and discarded trousers.
“The boss has encountered an operational delay.”
Artur’s laughter fills the study.
Boris exhales through his nose. “I’ll move the remaining items to morning.”
“Excellent security judgment.”
He ends the call.
Artur removes the condom, ties it, then drops it into the wastebasket under the desk. After cleaning us with a warm cloth, he carries me to the bedroom despite my claim that both legs still function.
“One bed,” he says. “It would be inefficient to waste it.”
“You spent four nights trying.”
He puts me on his side.
When he lies down, the distance disappears: Artur pulls me against his chest with one thigh heavy across mine and his hand closing around my waist, and sleep softens his breathing before I expect it.
I stay awake until the safe house settles around us. Air moves through the low vent, and a guard crosses the gravel beyond the bedroom wall with his radio muffled by the glass.
Artur’s hand stays warm over my stomach.
Nausea rises without warning.
Sour saliva floods my mouth while heat breaks across my forehead as a contraction folds me forward.
I throw off Artur’s arm, run barefoot into the bathroom, then reach the toilet before my body heaves.