My brain can’t compute whatever it is he’s asking. The only thing it can come up with is the word ‘full’. I feel so incredibly and gloriously full. It’s unlike anything else I’ve felt and has emotions I don’t even have names for flickering to life.
Nolan reaches around me, pulling his keyboard closer and it finally registers he’s not lying. He’s going to start working again but I don't want that. There’s no possible way I can sit still with him inside me. Not when every nerve ending throughout my body flares to life, demanding something happen.
Anything at this point would do and it hasn’t even been a full minute. I know, I’ve been watching the clock. Slowly, I roll my hips backward, searching for anything to ease the tension that is slowly circling my insides.
“Harper,” he warns, “no moving.”
A whimper pushes past my lips. “You can’t seriously expect me to sit here with you inside of me.”
“I can, and I do.” He begins plucking away at his keyboard.
“But—”
“No buts. Sit still, or we’ll be here all night.”
He must have an extreme amount of confidence in his stamina.
“I just,” I start with a whine. I’m not going to make it to whatever time limit he’s set in his head. The urge to fuck myself on him fells like I’m being dragged under relentless ocean waves. “I can do all the work, please, Sir.”
His fingers still, even his breath stalls. An eerie silence falls over us. Only my rapid pants of wantonness fill his office before he starts typing again but it’s short lived.
Nolan leans back in his chair. A deep moan reverberates in my chest.
“How was your day?” he asks nonchalantly. As if we’re friends catching up over coffee.
“You’re not seriously trying to make small talk with me right now, are you?”
“What, are you busy?” The smile in his voice is deafening. I don’t even have to look at him to know it’s there.
His hands drift from the keyboard, work already forgotten. Or perhaps this was the plan all along - sit me on his lap and watch me descend into a thick fog, straddling the fine line between pain and pleasure. I’m so unbelievably full that my ability to string a sentence together is quickly fading.
“Harper,” he says, cutting through the haze. “Is this okay?” There’s a tenderness in his voice I’ve grown to crave. I want to answer him, tell him yes, that in fact I’m perfectly content as I ascend to a plane of existence most people never reach.
Deep in the pit of my stomach, pressure brews, threatening an explosion that would level this building. Each time I think I have an answer for him, the words dissolve like sugar in water, leaving only the feel of hands on my thighs and the ever large presence of him inside of me the only things worth focusing on.
I manage a weak response. “It’s good. I’m good.”
Nothing eloquent floats through my mind, only soft nothingness, but the shudder in his chest makes me think he understands.
Soft hands run up the length of my arms, smoothing the goosebumps pricking my skin. “I didn’t see you much today.” He sounds remorseful, hesitant even. Almost as if those few words hold more meaning than he’s letting on.
But the small talk might actually kill me.
I swallow. “I had a school tour come through, took up most of my day.”
Nolan hums, his hand still roaming across my body.
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Oh my God, you are trying to kill me. Didn’t you say you had work to do?”
“I do, but this is a lot more fun.”
I peek over my shoulder. “What? Torturing me?”
“You know what to do if you want to stop”
I don’t answer.
