Chloe
I spread my legs wider, my palms flat against the glass, my heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat.
My clit is still throbbing from the orgasm he already pulled out of me, and going down on him only wound me up tighter.
His hands find my hips and he pulls me back toward him, bending me slightly at the waist. I keep my hands on the glass and feel the cool air hit my skin as he shoves my dress up over my hips, baring me completely.
His hands move over me slowly, running up over my hips and ass, squeezing and stroking, and I’m already so wound up that every point of contact feels electric. I arch my back without meaning to, my body moving of its own volition, and he groans behind me.
His fingers trace the curve of my hip, down the outside of my thigh and back up again, and it’s so deliberate and unhurried that it makes me want to scream.
“You said you’d fuck me when I asked,” I whimper, looking back at him over my shoulder.
He chuckles, the sound hungry but not particularly sympathetic. “No. I said I’d fuck you when you begged.” His hands move down to squeeze my ass, firm and possessive, fingers pressing into the soft flesh. “And you haven’t begged nearly enough.”
Before I can put together a response to that, he slides his cock between my legs, dragging the head slowly along the length of my pussy without pushing inside.
He does it again, slow and deliberate, his hands firm on my hips to hold me right where he wants me, and I press my forehead against the cool glass and try to get my breathing under control.
I can’t though.
He keeps going, his cock sliding through my pussy lips on every pass, just barely grazing my entrance each time, close enough that my hips keep trying to push back for more and far enough that I never quite get it.
He dips his fingers between my legs and works my clit for a few seconds, just enough pressure to make my knees go soft, and then takes his hand away again.
Goddammit.
“Tristan.” I’m going for annoyed, but my voice comes out more wrecked than I intended.
“Mm?” He drags his cock between my legs again, grazing my clit with the tip. “Do you need something, dimples? I’ll be more than happy to give it to you. You know what you need to do.”
“Please!”
The word comes out before I can stop it. He pauses just slightly, enough to let me know he heard it, and then keeps going, his cock sliding through my wetness with a patience that’s starting to drive me insane.
The last threads of my stubbornness snap, and I keep going, speaking so fast that the words almost run together. “Please, Tristan. Fuck! I need you inside me. I need you to fuck me. Please, please, just—”
“There it is,” he practically growls, satisfaction filling his voice. “Good girl.”
Then he lines up and drives inside me.
The stretch of it pulls a gutteral sound out of me.
He’s big, bigger than I was fully prepared for—even knowing what I know—and he stills completely once he’s buried inside me, both hands wrapped around my hips.
I can feel every inch of him, an intense, aching pressure that makes my fingers splay wide against the glass as I try to remember how to breathe.
My body feels like it needs a moment to catch up with what just happened.
“You feel so fucking good,” he groans, his voice strained. “So tight, Jesus. You feel incredible.”
“I’m not… you’re just… big,” I manage, which isn’t particularly eloquent but is the most honest thing I’ve said all afternoon.
“Not too big for you, dimples.” One large hand strokes a trail down my back, soothing and grounding me. “You’re taking me so well. Just breathe.”
I do, a long slow breath in and out, and the tension in my body gradually eases, my muscles adjusting to the feel of him, the overwhelming fullness of it softening into something I can actually process. When I shift slightly, testing, the sensation that moves through me makes my eyes fall shut.
“Good?” Tristan asks.
“Yes.” I nod, keeping my eyes closed for the moment.
He pulls back slowly, just a few inches, and then pushes forward, and my breath comes out in a rush. He does it again, and again, finding a pace that starts slow and builds with every stroke, his hands keeping me right where he wants me.
Every time he pushes forward, I feel it all the way through me, and I blink my eyes open as my hips start rolling back to meet him on every thrust, chasing the sensation.
“That’s it.” Tristan sounds just about as wrecked as I am, which makes me feel a bit better, honestly. “Just like that. Fuck.”
He finds a rhythm, his hips meeting mine with a sound that fills the empty office, and I clench around his shaft and hear him groan in response.
His hands tighten on my waist, adjusting the angle slightly, and on his next stroke, he hits something that makes me grab the window frame with both hands and hold on for dear life.
“There…” I breathe, not meaning to say it out loud.
“Yeah?” He does it again, making sure to hit exactly the same spot. “Good girl. Tell me what you want.”
“That,” I say immediately, nodding wildly. “Right there, please don’t stop.”
He doesn’t. He keeps that angle, that pace, and I can’t stop the needy, breathy cries that fall from my lips as pleasure cascades through me.
He fucks me hard, both of us well past the point of patience, and I press my cheek against the cool glass and try to remember that we’re still in an office building with a real estate agent somewhere down the hall—but holy fuck, it’s very hard to keep that thought in my head right now.
I manage to stay mostly quiet for a while, muffling the sounds I’m making, my breath fogging the glass in front of me, my body moving with every thrust. Tristan varies his pace, sometimes slower and deeper, rolling his hips so that I feel every inch of him on every stroke, and sometimes harder and faster, his hips snapping against mine until the sound of it fills the room.
Every stroke sends sensation rolling through me from my clit all the way up my spine, my nipples aching with arousal, my skin buzzing with it.
His hand comes around to my stomach, sliding lower, and when his fingers find my clit and start working it in tight, steady circles while he keeps moving inside me, I lose whatever thread of composure I had left.
The combination of his fingers and the relentless pressure of him moving inside me and the weeks of tension finally breaking all at once is more than I can handle.
“I want to feel you come on my cock,” he says against the back of my neck, his lips brushing my skin as he speaks. “You’re so close. I can feel you tightening around me. Let go for me.”
And I do.
I come loudly. Very loudly.
His name leaves my mouth in a cry that echoes off the walls of the empty office as my body shakes, my hips jerking back against his. He keeps moving, working my clit, drawing it out far longer than I would’ve thought possible.
Somewhere in the middle of my own climax, he comes too, his grip on my hip tightening so hard I’ll feel it tomorrow, a rough sound tearing out of him as he pushes deep and stays there.
I can feel him pulsing inside me, filling me up, warmth flooding my pussy as I go up onto my tiptoes, whimpering and moaning.
Slowly, the pleasure starts to ebb, both of us breathing hard in the aftermath as the room goes quiet.
When he finally pulls out, I feel his cum start to slide down my thigh. It feels filthy and wrong, but also… hot as hell.
Why is that so fucking hot?
I make a sound against the glass and grip the window frame tighter to stay upright, my pussy clenching so hard that more cum drips out of me. Tristan makes a sound that’s almost animalistic, a deep growl of appreciation, and I realize he’s watching.
Another whimper escapes me, my heart kicking against my ribs.
Jesus, this man is going to wreck me.
Tristan’s hands slide around my waist, steadying me as he helps me straighten and turn around, and I’m grateful for the solid feel of his palms because my legs aren’t entirely reliable right now.
Cupping the back of my head, he leans down and kisses me.
It’s nothing like what just happened. It’s slow and soft and very thorough, his mouth moving against mine as his tongue darts out to taste me.
Coming right on the heels of how hard he just fucked me against that window, it catches me completely off guard.
I lean into him, my fingers curling into the front of his shirt, and kiss him back.
There are a mess of emotions in my chest that I don’t quite know how to untangle, so I just focus on the contact between our lips and the way I can feel his heart thudding heavily behind his shirt.
He pulls back slowly, his thumb brushing along my cheekbone, and looks at me for a moment with an expression I can’t quite pin down before he nods once.
Then we both start getting ourselves back together.
I find my panties on the floor and step back into them, tugging my dress back into place and smoothing my hair with my fingers as best I can. When I make the mistake of turning to look at my reflection in the window, I wince.
My lipstick is smeared, my hair is a disaster, and I’m flushed and unsteady, probably reeking of sex.
Unless he left the building entirely, there’s no way Russell doesn’t know exactly what happened in this room.
He must’ve heard everything. The walls are bare concrete, there’s no furniture to absorb any of it, and I wasn’t quiet.
I was spectacularly, embarrassingly not quiet.
“I can’t go back out there,” I hiss.
Tristan, who’s straightening his tie, glances over at me. “Why not?”
“Because…” I gesture to myself, as if that explains everything.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t see a problem at all. You look beautiful.”
There’s something about the way he says it that cuts through my embarrassment a little. I get the feeling that he’s looking forward to walking out of this room beside me, with me looking exactly the way I do.
Chewing on my lip, I consider my options.
Well, what am I supposed to do? Hide in here forever?
That’s not really a great option, so when Tristan holds out his arm to me, I take it, letting him lead me out of the room.
He pushes the door open and escorts me out into the hallway, his hand moving to the small of my back as we walk. I keep my chin up and my expression as neutral as I can make it—which, given the current state of my face, isn’t very neutral at all.
Russell is at the far end of the hall with his back to us, his attention fixed on his clipboard in a way that seems designed to make it seem like he’s been very distracted and hasn’t been listening.
He turns when he hears our footsteps, and his eyes land on me for less than a second before darting away, focusing somewhere over my left shoulder.
A flush sits high on his cheekbones. He clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“We like the space,” Tristan tells him, seeming completely at ease. He nods back down the hall. “That office in particular. The view is exceptional. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
His voice drops on that last bit, and heat shoots up my face.
Oh my god.
Russell stammers something in response, but I barely pay attention to it. My focus is entirely on Tristan—and I’m starting to realize that’s exactly where he wants it.