"But," his hand hooked into my panties, dragging them down, "you don't get to come until everyone is properly seated. Understood?"
"That's not fair. How am I supposed to focus?"
"Life's not fair." He slid two fingers through my folds, finding me already wet. "But you're going to do it anyway. Because you follow instructions and like when I’m inside you. Don't you?"
"Yes, sir," I whispered.
"That's better." He withdrew his fingers and I heard him shucking his jeans. "Now. Maya. Where does she go?"
"Table—" I gasped as he positioned himself at my entrance, the head of his cock pressing against me but not entering. "Table seven. With the Castellano team."
"Good." He pushed in an inch, just the tip, and I whimpered. "And her plus one?"
"Same table. Next to her."
Another inch. "Product developers?"
"Table twelve. With—oh god—with Gianna and her friends."
He pulled back slightly, then pushed in deeper. "You grip my dick just right, baby.” He sighed, and I looked over my shoulder to see him relaxing into the moment. “Keep going. My cousins, Alexei and Dmitri?"
I could barely think. He was filling me so slowly, deeply, giving me just enough to feel full but not enough to satisfy me completely.
"Table fifteen," I gasped. "Far corner. With Boris and Svetlana."
"Mm. Good thinking." He pulled back, almost all the way out, and I made a desperate sound. "But you're not done yet. You still have to write it down."
"What?"
"The seating chart." He reached around and pressed the paper and pen into my hands. "Write down where everyone goes. Legibly."
This was impossible. He was buried inside me, thick and hard and not moving, and he expected me to write?
"Dez, please?—"
"Write, Angelina." He pulled back an inch, and I felt the loss keenly. "Or I stop completely."
I grabbed the pen with shaking hands and tried to focus on the chart.
Maya. Table seven.
I scrawled it in the box, my handwriting a disaster.
"Legibly," Dez reminded me, and thrust forward suddenly, making me cry out.
I erased and rewrote. Better, but still shaky.
He set a slow, deep rhythm. Not fast enough to push me toward orgasm, but enough to make me feel every inch of him. Every drag of his erection against my inner walls. Every time he hit that spot that made stars burst behind my eyelids. I cooed, loving the feel of him.
I forced myself to focus. Product developers. Table twelve. The pen skittered across the paper as he thrust harder.
"Concentrate," he commanded, his hand gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. "Four more entries to go."
I was going to kill him. Then he began giving me this slow, deep, punishing stroke that made my knees weak. It was so good I could taste it, making my lick my lips and then bit the corner of them. It felt that damn delicious.
Quickly, I wrote down Alexei and Dmitri's placement, the letters barely recognizable. Then Maya's girlfriend's name. Then the specific seat numbers for the product developers.
"Done," I gasped, dropping the pen. "It's done, please?—"
