My toes curl again, and my back arching off the desk.
A silent scream rips through me as the pleasure detonates.
I pulse around him, repeatedly convulsing.
Mine—
Corin—
FUCK—
FUCK—
FUCK—
“AMARA!” He roars my name, his hips stuttering.
I feel the rhythmic jerking of him inside me as he spills into the condom. My cunt continues to spasm around him, milking him.
His forehead slams against mine, and he rasps. “Amara...”
We collapse against each other, trembling, our foreheads pressed together.
The air reeks of sex, sweat,us.
The fluorescent lights glare overhead, but all I see ishim.
Mine.
Ruined.
We stay like that for a moment, breathing hard.
Then reality returns
We’re in the island clinic back office. It’s past ten PM. We just had exceptionally loud sex on a steel desk.
Professional boundaries?
Never heard of ‘em.
Corin pulls out carefully, disposes of the condom in the small trash bin near the desk, then helps me down. My legs are shaky.
He steadies me with one hand while smoothing my skirt down with the other.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
I nod, not quite trusting my voice yet.
He gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “That was—”
“Yeah,” I interrupt, because I’m not ready to hear whatever he’s about to say. Not yet. “It was.”
We clean up in silence. I find my underwear on the floor behind the desk. He zips up his pants. We look almost presentable.
Almost.
My hair is definitely sex-hair.
