I free myself from my dress pants, the zipper sounding too loud in the quiet between her words. Her eyes widen before she shakes her head like she doesn’t want this.
She doesn’t wantme.
The head of my cock finds her wet cunt, nudging past that soft resistance, and she takes a sharp breath into the phone.
“Yeah…that’s exactly what I was thinking.”
I push in slowly, making sure she feels every inch stretching her until I’m buried deep. Her knuckles whiten where she grips the counter, but she keeps her tone light for Lucy, voice lilting like she’s not being fucked in my kitchen.
I draw back and sink into her again, setting a pace that’s steady but deliberate, enough to keep her balanced before I bring her to the edge of losing it.
“Mm-hm. We could…we could test recipes before opening.” She swallows around the words, a little breathless now, but still pretending everything is fine when my cock is deep inside her tight cunt. I glance down, watching myself disappear into her again and again, my hands keeping her exactly where I want her.
She’s soft and incredibly warm, and I want to hear her break, but not yet. I press in harder, hips meeting hers, each thrust making her voice catch before she smooths it out.
“Outdoor seating…maybe a mural on the side wall,” she says, pretending like her world isn’t narrowing to the rhythm I’m giving her.
I shift my stance, angling deeper, and her hand flies out to steady herself against the cabinets. Lucy must say something that makes her laugh—soft, breathy, shaky—and the sound curls around my spine.
I grip her harder, pulling her flush against me, making sure she feels exactly how much I own her, right here, right now. My thumb presses into the curve of her hip, anchoring her as I draw back slowly, almost to the point of slipping free, before driving in again.
She inhales sharply, and the silence on her end of the call stretches just long enough to make her scramble. “Sorry—dropped my pen.”
I bite back a smirk. She’s getting sloppy.
I like sloppy during sex.
Her ass fits perfectly in my hands while the hem of her dress stays bunched high around her waist. I push in deepagain, holding there, grinding against that sweet spot until her rationality threatens to give out.
She tries to shift backward, maybe to escape the pressure, but I pull her right back onto me.
“Mm-hm,” she manages into the receiver. “Yeah, we could do that.”
Her words are paper-thin now.
I lean forward, my mouth brushing her ear, my breath loud enough for her but not for Lucy. “Keep talking, princess.”
The flush creeping up her neck tells me she’s feeling it. Her nails dig into the countertop. I keep my pace maddeningly steady—deep, deliberate thrusts that make her bite down on every other word.
She pitches her voice higher to cover it. “And maybe—uh—we could do bread baskets for morning customers. Something light.”
The moment she says light, I give her the opposite, slamming into her hard enough to jolt the phone in her hand.
She sucks in a breath, but Lucy doesn’t seem to notice.
I’m not in a hurry. I’m not here to finish; I’m here to make herremember.
Every word, every second, every twitch in her thighs when she tries to stand straight.
I keep her pinned exactly where I want her, the sound of skin meeting skin muffled by the counter’s edge.
She starts nodding along to whatever Lucy’s saying, even though her eyes are glassy and unfocused. The rhythm of her voice and my hips are out of sync now, and she’s working too hard to pretend they’re not.
Her breathing hitches again. I slow down. Just enough to make her groan under her breath.
Her lips pressed together like she’s afraid anything she says will give her away, and I let a smile curve my mouth, sliding a hand up her back, before tangling in her hair and pulling just enough to arch her spine.
The angle changes, and the little gasp she lets out is pure, unfiltered Sienna.
