4. Ryder
RYDER
Itake measurements in her ruined bathroom and I’m rock hard, thinking about the way she looks when I make her come.
The numbers on the tape measure barely register.
I write them down anyway, forcing myself to focus on the structural damage.
None of it holds my attention the way Charlotte does.
The way she clenched around my fingers. The broken sounds she made.
The way she looked at me afterward, wrecked and dazed, still trying to catch her breath while I walked away.
I want to please her more, but I also want her aching for the next time I touch her. So I finish the measurements, wipe off my hands, and head downstairs.
She’s sitting at the dining room table when I walk in. Glasses on. Hair pulled into a messy bun. Grading papers like nothing happened.
Interesting.
“I’m finished upstairs,” I say.
She looks up, casual as anything, and nods. “Thanks.” Then she goes right back to her papers.
No nervous fidgeting or wide-eyed scramble to pretend she’s fine. Just the soft scratch of her pen.
It spikes something in me. This confident side of her. The one that can take what I give her and then sit there grading like the world didn’t just tilt.
I walk over and rest a hand on the back of her chair. “You grading papers again?”
She nods and doesn’t look up.
I lean down just enough that my breath brushes the shell of her ear. “But you didn’t last night, did you?”
“I did.”
I run my fingertips up the bun at the base of her neck, feeling her stiffen under the light touch, but she keeps grading. Eyes on the page.
“Don’t lie. I can tell when you do.”
“How so?” she asks.
“Because your pen is shaking.”
She sets the pen down immediately. The soft click of it against the table is the only sound for a second.
I bend closer. “There’s one thing left to do before I go.”
She shivers.
“What’s that?”
I don’t answer with words. I slide an arm around her waist, lift her clean out of the chair, and she yelps. I set her on the edge of the table and press her back until she’s stretched out across the surface. Papers scatter. The pen rolls and hits the floor.
“I’m not finished with you yet.” I squeeze her thighs with both hands, hard enough that she gasps. “Unless you are?”
Her chest heaves under the soft fabric of her shirt. Then she shakes her head.
“Say it.”
“No. I don’t want you to be finished.”
I pop the button open on her jeans and drag the zipper down. She lifts her hips for me and I work the denim off her legs, then her ankles, then drop the jeans to the floor. I hook my fingers in the sides of her panties and peel those off too, watching every inch of skin I uncover.
I step between her knees and rest my hands on the table on either side of her hips, leaning in close enough that my breath ghosts over her pussy. She twitches and tries to close her legs. I stop her with a quiet sound and a look.
“Stay open for me.”
She does.
I blow a soft stream of air across her clit and watch the way it makes her tremble. I blow again, tracing the path of the air over every fold. She makes a small, frustrated moan and her fingers curl against the wood.
“Ryder.”
“Patience.”
I keep teasing her with nothing but my breath. Long, slow exhales that never quite give her the contact she wants. Her hips shift. She tries to lift toward my mouth and I pull back just enough to deny her.
“You look so fucking pretty like this,” I tell her. “You have any idea what that does to me?”
She shakes her head. Her glasses have slipped a little. I reach up and push them back into place with one finger.
Then I dip back down and give her one long, flat lick from the bottom of her pussy all the way up to her clit. She cries out. I do it again, slower, tasting every delicious bit of her. The flavor of her on my tongue makes my cock throb.
“Fuck, you taste good.” I lick her again, then again, settling into a steady rhythm that keeps her right on the edge without letting her fall.
I circle her clit with the tip of my tongue. Soft. Then harder. Then soft again. Her thighs start to quake. I hook her legs over my shoulders and drag her closer to the edge of the table so I can bury my face deeper.
“That’s it. Put them right there.” I speak against her, the words vibrating over her pussy. “I want you to come for me again. Once is not enough. Not even close.”
I seal my mouth over her clit and suck, enough pressure to make her hips buck.
Then I lick into her, tongue thrusting the way my fingers did earlier, fucking her with it while my nose presses against her clit.
One hand flies to my hair and grips tight.
The other scrambles for a better grip on the table.
I take my time, not rushing a single second of this. I lick and suck and explore every part of her cunt until I know exactly what makes her thighs clamp around my head and what makes her voice crack on my name. When I feel her start to tighten, I pull back.
She whimpers. “Please.”
“Not yet.” I kiss the inside of her thigh and give it a gentle nip. “I want you desperate for it first.”
I go back to teasing. Long, lazy strokes of my tongue that never settle where she needs them most. I trace every fold. Dip inside her and curl. Circle her clit without ever giving it the steady pressure that would push her over. Her whole body is shaking by the time I finally take pity on her.
“Come on my tongue,” I order. “Right now. Let me feel it.”
I suck her clit hard and push two fingers inside her at the same time.
She shatters. The orgasm hits her so hard her back arches off the table and a broken cry tears out of her throat.
I keep licking her through it, drawing every last pulse out of her until she is trembling and gasping and trying to push my head away because it’s too much.
I pull her off the table by the hips, spin her around, and bend her over the surface so her chest is flat against the wood and her ass is presented for me. She makes a startled sound that turns into a moan when I drop to my knees behind her.
“Stay just like that.” I spread her open with my thumbs. “I’m not done tasting you.”
I lick her from behind with long strokes. She’s so wet that it drips down her thighs. I gather every drop with my tongue and groan into her.
“Fucking soaked. Look at this.” I spread her wider and blow cool air over her heated skin just to watch her shiver. “You came so hard for me and you’re still this wet. You need more, don’t you?”
She nods against the table. “Yes.”
“Then you’re going to get more.”
My tongue works her from behind while my fingers find her clit. She pushes back against my face and I encourage it with a growl.
“That’s it. Ride my tongue. Take what you need.”
I push my tongue inside her and fuck her with it while my fingers keep working her clit. Her hands fist in whatever papers are still left on the table.
“You’re going to come for me one more time. And I want to hear exactly how good it feels.”
When she comes again, it’s with a broken cry of my name and a full body shudder that nearly takes her knees out from under her. I hold her up and keep licking her through every wave until she’s limp and gasping.
I press one last soft kiss to her pussy and stand. I turn her around gently and sit her back on the edge of the table so she doesn’t fall.
I lean in and kiss her, letting her taste herself on my tongue. She melts into it. When I pull back, I rest my forehead against hers for a second.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” I tell her. “Same time. And Charlotte?”
“Yeah?”
“Leave the papers on the table again. I like the way it looks while I make you come.”
I pick up my things, give her one last look, and walk out the front door. The cool night air hits my face and does nothing to bury the ache in my cock.
But it’s okay. I have time.
And I plan to use every second of it pleasing her.