He hooks his fingers in the lace and pulls, the fabric tearing. Then his hand is on my bare skin, and I’m gasping into his mouth. His fingers slide through my folds, exploring, learning. “Fuck, Little Genius. So wet already.”
I can barely form words. “I’ve wanted this, too.”
He circles my clit with his thumb while two fingers slide inside me. My head falls back against the monitor behind me, my hips moving in rhythm with his hand.
“Look at me.” I force my eyes open. “I want to watch you and learn what makes you feel good.”
The intensity in his gaze, combined with the perfect pressure of his fingers, pushes me toward the edge faster than I thought possible. Every stroke hits exactly right, building pressure that’s almost unbearable.
His mouth finds my neck, teeth scraping my pulse point. “That’s it, Remy. Your pussy is so wet… so ready. Let go for me.”
The command, combined with a particularly perfect twist of his fingers, sends me over. I shatter. My muscles lock, then release in spasms around his fingers. He gentles his touch, working me down from the high with deliberate strokes until the intensity fades to shivers and my muscles give up entirely.
When I can breathe again, his mouth is on mine before I can think. He pulls back. “Do you have any idea how incredible you are?” And then he kisses me again, deeper, with more longing.
I’m already working at his belt, and his hips shift forward, helping. His pants hit the floor, and then there’s nothing between us but the thin cotton of his underwear. I can see the hard length of him straining against his boxer briefs, and my mouth waters.
I hook my fingers in the waistband and pull down, freeing him. Breck is thick and hard and perfect, and when I wrap my hand around him, he bites out a curse.
“I need to be inside of you,” he manages to say.
He pulls a condom from his wallet—thank god one of us is thinking—and rolls it on with hands that shake slightly. Then he’s positioning himself between my thighs, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance.
I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him forward, taking him in one smooth thrust. We both gasp at the sensation—the stretch, the fullness, the absolute rightness of it.
He holds still, allowing me to adjust to his size, his whole body tensing. “Fuck. This is better than I ever dreamed it would be.”
I rock my hips experimentally, needing more. “Move.”
And then his control snaps. He sets a rhythm that’s both gentle and demanding, each thrust hitting deep. The pressure builds with each stroke, coiling tighter in my core. One hand grips my hip, holding me steady, while the other braces against the workstation behind me. The metal creaks beneath us, servers humming their constant song, emergency lights casting everything in shades of crimson.
I can feel every inch of him, the drag and pull as he moves inside me. His breath is hot against my neck. His grip on my hip is tight enough to bruise, and I love it. Love the proof that he’s as lost in this as I am.
He shifts the angle slightly, and the world narrows to that single point of contact. Everything else—the room, the servers, reality—ceases to exist. There is only pressure and heat, and the way my body is rewiring itself around this sensation.
His hand slides between us, fingers finding where we’re joined. His fingers on my clit while he’s buried inside me forces a sound past my lips that is pure desperation.
“I can feel every time your pussy tightens around me.” His thumb circles with deliberate pressure. “You're going to soak my cock when you come. I want to feel it.”
I never knew I had a thing for dirty talk until this moment. Until Breck.
My hips rock to meet his rhythm, chasing more friction, more everything. The workstation creaks with each thrust, and I don’t care about anything other than what is happening right here, right now.
“Breck!” I can barely form his name. My thighs tremble. My nails dig into his shoulders.
The orgasm hits harder than the first, stealing my breath and my vision. I clench around him, wave after wave of pleasure rolling through me, and the feel of it pulls him over with me. He buries himself deep, his whole body shuddering as he finds his release, my name stuttered and breathless on his lips.
We stay like that for several heartbeats, breathing hard, holding each other as the aftershocks fade. His hand strokes my back in soothing circles.
Reality creeps back in slowly, and I take notice once again of our surroundings.
The cold metal beneath me. The hum of servers. The red emergency lighting that makes everything feel surreal.
And then regret hits. What did we do? We can’t come back from this.
Breck pulls back, his features soft in the strange light. “Remy?—”
The alarm cuts him off. A single, sustained note signals the end of the lockdown. The steel door clicks open, and fluorescent hallway lights spill into the server room.
