Aubrey #3
I stop reaching for another joke.
He kisses me as he pushes in.
Like last time, the stretch steals every clever thing I've ever thought. I grip his shoulders through his suit jacket because he's still too dressed and I'm bare from the waist down on his desk.
Then his cock slides deeper into my pussy and I make a broken sound against his mouth.
He stops. "Too much?"
I shake my head and mutter, "No. Start moving."
He pauses. "Ask better."
I glare at him, but it's difficult to look threatening while clenching around his cock. "Please move."
His hand cups the back of my neck. His forehead touches mine. "See? That wasn't so hard."
"I'll murder you after," I whimper.
"Schedule it." Then he moves.
Slow at first, because the desk is hard under me and my body needs the time. His control is still there, and I hate how much I like it. Each thrust pushes his cock into me with steady pressure. I feel every inch.
His thumb finds my clit.
I grab his wrist. "Already?"
"Yes," he replies.
"But I just came," I gasp.
"You can do it again," he growls.
The laugh that comes out of me is half sob, half disbelief. Then his thumb circles my clit and his cock hits my g-spot from inside and I forget everything else.
His pace changes. He slaps harder. My hips slide on the desk, and he catches me with one forearm at my lower back, holding me steady.
Then his mouth finds mine again, and the kiss is rough enough to bruise. I kiss him back the same way. I'm done being the only person in the room trying to make this smaller.
He drives into me, pounding harder and harder, and I take it, my legs tightening around his hips, my hands locked onto his shoulders.
The edge builds again. I shake my head because this one feels bigger. "Linden..."
"I've got you," he grunts.
"I can't," I gasp.
"You can. Cum for me baby."
His thumb presses my clit. His cock hits deep at the same time, and my pussy tightens around him so hard he curses into my neck. "FUCK."
The second orgasm hits harder, pulsing through me until my whole body goes rigid. I whimper like a madwoman and clamp a hand over my own mouth because the sound scares me, but he pulls that hand away.
"Let me hear you," he says above my whimpers. "No hiding."
I fall apart against him, noisy and furious and helpless, while he keeps moving just enough to carry it out. When I sag, he slows but doesn't pull out.
I'm sweating under my T-shirt. My hair has mostly given up on its bun. My thighs are spread around a man who's still wearing half a suit in his study.
His thrusts grow rougher. Less controlled. His breath catches against my cheek.
Then he drives in deep one final time and cums, his forehead pressed to mine, his body braced so he doesn't crush me.
"Fucking Aubrey FUCK!"
I feel his cock jerk inside my pussy, feel the heat contained by the latex, feel his hand shaking once at my back before it steadies.
He stays there.
So do I.
After a while, he pulls out carefully and deals with the condom.
I reach for my underwear, miss, then grab my T-shirt hem and tug it down over my stomach.
Linden sees.
He doesn't comment.
I finally get my underwear and pull them on while still sitting on the desk, one leg at a time. I do my pants next. He helps with the sore ankle. His shirt is wrinkled now, his tie abandoned beside me.
He picks up that tie, looks at it, then sets it on the desk instead of putting it back on.
That feels worse than if he had.
We should leave the study. That's what the contract expects. Separate suites. Locks. A clean line where the night can be filed as a breach.
Neither of us moves.
I slide off the desk and sit on the floor with my back against the glass wall because my knees are unreliable at the moment. Linden shortly lowers himself beside me, not touching me at first. Then his shoulder rests against mine.
Minutes pass. Maybe more.
"You're quiet," he says.
"I'm deciding whether to make a joke about your office drawer or the contract we both signed," I tell him.
He shrugs. "You can do both."
"Good to know."
His hand rests on the floor beside his thigh, palm down. Somehow that makes it harder not to touch him.
So I do. I put my hand over his.
His fingers turn and thread through mine.
I look at our hands and hate how much I don't want to move.
"I'm not going to your room," I say.
He nods. "I didn't ask. Nor expect it."
"You're not coming to mine, either," I tell him.
He presses his lips together. "I know."
"There. Good." I pause. "We've defined nothing. Mature, right?"
"Operationally unsound," he agrees.
I laugh, and it hurts a little in my chest.
We sit on the floor. At some point I shift because the floor is hard under my hip, and Linden slips off his jacket and puts it behind my back without asking me to stand. At some point my head rests on his shoulder and his cheek touches my hair.
We don't sleep.
We drift.
Linden stays beside me. I stay beside him, my hand still caught in his.
I don't know what this makes me.
Makes us.
I know the door is unlocked.
I know my suite is upstairs.
I keep holding his hand anyway.