Chapter Fifteen #3
The elevator jolted to a stop between floors five and six.
Courtesy of a man who couldn’t even stand someone not holding the doors. She’d seen him fume over it before now. But he did it. Then, in case she was in any doubt as to what this was, he spoke. “Just say if you want me to stop,” he said, and as he did he reached forward. Eyes still on hers.
And he slid his hand directly up her dress.
All the way up, right to the elastic of her panties. The ones she’d worn thinking of the word sensible, but now they seemed like anything but. Too sweet and too cottony for something like this. And especially when he bunched one side of them into his big fist.
It felt outrageous, filthy.
And so good she couldn’t help making a sound.
It just sighed out of her, all high and soft. Then again, when he started easing them down. Slow, like he had wanted her to do for herself in the tent. Gently parting her legs, then lifting her foot at the end so he could completely remove them.
And now all there was between him and her bare pussy was a thin fall of material. The dress she’d worn, soft and flowery. Not her style at all, to the point where she wondered why she’d chosen it.
But she didn’t wonder now.
I want to be fucked, she thought.
Though honestly she had no idea how she had ever thought this was going to happen.
Even now, even at this point, it seemed ridiculous.
Because yeah, okay, he sounded breathless—just as he had the night before.
And she was pretty sure that was a flush creeping over his throat.
Yet somehow she just couldn’t imagine him getting hard enough to do it.
She even went to look.
But he got there first.
“Turn around,” he said, low and hoarse.
And okay, she got it now. It was obvious now.
Most likely he needed to pretend it wasn’t her.
Though god, he was fucking fast about it, if that were true. She’d barely managed to face the wall of the elevator when she heard the rattle of his belt, the snap of rubber. No pause, no working himself to hardness with nothing but the sight of some anonymous curves in front of him.
Just done, immediately.
Then, in case she was in any doubt, he lifted her dress.
Right up, right over her bare ass, one hand actually stroking over her there as he did.
Getting a handful of her and squeezing, before he moved on to the hollow of her hip.
One strong grip deep in it so he could tilt her up to meet him.
So he could get her up on tiptoes, enough that he could do this.
Though it was still shocking when she felt it.
The fat head of his cock between the slick lips of her sex. Back and forth, back and forth, spreading her so thoroughly she couldn’t deny how hard he was. He felt fit to bursting, truth be told. Stiff and solid enough that he could drag the head over her clit, and have her really feel it.
She went up even higher on tiptoes for it.
Couldn’t stop her moan of heated pleasure.
But it was all right. He still didn’t seem to mind at all.
“God, you’re so ready, so eager. Wet enough to take me, and I haven’t even hardly done a thing,” he said, and she wanted to be embarrassed, she really did.
But it was hard to be when she could hear that note of naked want in his voice.
When he was rubbing through her slickness, like he just couldn’t help himself.
And then she processed the other thing: enough to take me.
Because of course she knew what it meant. She could feel what it meant, whenever that heavy shape eased through her folds. He was big, and thick, to the point where he needed her slick. In fact, he didn’t just need that. He had to work her open with his fingers before he could.
Just one, easing in. Practical about it at first.
But then she could tell it was something more. That feeling just started to happen again—those low, deep waves of pleasure—and it was obvious. He couldn’t resist making her feel good. Working her until her thighs started to tremble.
It wasn’t him touching her that really got her, however. It was the low groan he gave in to, when she started to rock against that sweet ache. The way his breathing became unsteady the second excitement made her spill over his hand. “You gonna do that on my cock,” he moaned.
And she didn’t even think twice about saying yes.
Partly because there was no sense in denying it.
Partly because she needed it, now. Her pussy was aching for it, to the point where him starting to ease himself in made her push back against him. He had to hold her still with that hand on her hip. Tell her, “Easy, easy, let me be careful with you.”
And he was. He worked himself into her agonizingly slowly, letting that thick tip open her, then drawing back a little.
Pushing in a little more and then easing away.
His first thrusts were shallow things, barely more than him rubbing the head of his cock just a little way into her, and clearly designed to get her used to him.
Yet it still made her shake. It still made her moan. She still got that sense that if he kept going, she would go over. Just a little more, she decided to say. Although somehow it didn’t come out like that. “Fuck me harder,” she groaned out. “Please fuck me harder.”
Begging now, really.
Not that it mattered to him.
“Like this?”
“Ah god, yeah.”
“And what if I just aim a little—”
“Oh, that’s perfect. Oh, that’s gonna make me do it,” she said, sure that this was the case.
He was going faster now, was more insistent about it, hands on her hips so he could drag her back onto him.
And that angle—it was the kind of thing most men would never think of, it really was.
But it squeezed the pleasure out of her.
It had her panting, trembling, right on the verge.
So it seemed weird that this wasn’t what did it.
It was what she realized when a wave of pleasure made her eyes pop open, and she saw what was right in front of her. He was watching her reflection in the mirrored wall of the elevator. He was looking right at her as she made soft little ohs with her lips, and licked them when it got really sweet.
She even did it for him, just to test it out.
And saw his eyes grow heavy. Felt his thrusts get fiercer, tighter. Like he was both trying to control himself, and not. Though either way, what did it matter? He was clearly doing it all in the full knowledge that it was her.
Her face, her expressions, her cunt.
No pretending this wasn’t, no acting like it was only a physical transaction. Tension spilling over, fakery making it real. None of that. Just Daisy Emmett fucking Caleb Miller between floors five and six of the Venderman Building, slightly south of the city center.
And it was that fact that really made her go over.
Knowing it was them. Knowing that he knew.
Daisy, she thought she heard him whisper, and there it was. That sweet bliss, bursting through her. Wave after wave of it, so intense she had to do it. She had to say it back. Caleb, she said, for the first time unafraid.
In fact, it was only in the aftermath, with someone asking through a speaker if they were okay, and both of them awkwardly tidying their clothes, that some sense she should have been afraid struck her. She went to put on her panties, and caught it out of the corner of her eye.
He was still hard.
Like he could meet her halfway, maybe.
But absolutely nothing more.