His upper lip pulls up into a scowl, and a low grumble emits from his throat, staring at me with a primal sort of hunger.
“Ooooh, Ke—fuu?—”
The sad attempt ends in a squealed scream, my eyes pinching shut as ecstasy tightens my core.
“That’s it, that's it,” he encourages, his rough voice hushed but urgent. “You can take it, baby.”
His thumb moves faster until I'm panting out cries, the pleasure coming to a sharp point. His brow furrows and his jaw falls open, sonorous moans painting my lips. His pace quickens, grinding into me with a passion, as if he's creating a masterpiece inside me with every stroke of his cock.
The last thing I hear before the pressure bursts is a tortured groan, and him saying, “Fuuucck, Reverie.”
Every muscle in my body seizes, and my inner walls contract around him with a ferocity that reflects the carnage inside me.
I think I scream his name, but I also think I'm shattering into tiny pieces, and it could just be the sound of them hitting the floor.
Our bodies tremble viciously against one another as he lifts me further onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me and burrowing his face into my neck as we come undone.
By the time I come down, I'm dizzy, breathless, shaking hard enough to rattle my bones. My entire body buzzes, and there’s a low ringing in my ears. I’ve never been in the vicinity of an explosion, but I imagine this is what it’d feel like to stand too close.
We eventually slump, and he carefully sets me back to lean against the door. My head thumps back against it again with a heavy exhale.
I’m covered in sweat, and it feels like all my bones have melted. I’m delirious and truthfully, deranged.
Because what the fuck.
This… Whatever the fuck that was… I don’t even fucking know.
He lifts his head and straightens, and I take thatas a fantastic opportunity to cross my arms over my face with a groan.
He cheated.
He pushed me away from the desk, and that was definitely fucking cheating.
Who cares if I was two seconds from coming? I didn’t yet, so it shouldn’t count.
“You cheated.”
I feel rather than see him plant his hands against the door on either side of my head. His breath fans across my neck, and it takes effort to suppress the shiver from racking my body.
His voice is deep and throaty as he asks, “How far did you get into the paperwork before you begged me not to stop so you could come?”
My face burns, and it takes several seconds to muster up a response. “Doesn’t matter. You pushed me away from the desk prematurely.”
He lets out a breathless chuckle. Probably because I sound like a pouting child.
“Do you want a redo?”
“No,” I snip.
“I think it’s very fair to say you were going to lose, even if I let you shower me with your cum at that moment.”
My cheeks burn hotter, and I press my arms deeper against my face so I don't have to see his soaked hoodie. Instead, I clench my jaw, refusing to answer. Mainly because I know he’s right, and I’m torn between being devastated, pissed, and embarrassed.
I should’ve fucking known to bargain with something else. It was easy to forget just how intense his mouth feels when I’ve refused to think about it as much as humanely possible. I also should’ve known purely by his confidence. He never would’ve sent that damn voice clip if he knew he wouldn’t win.
And the fucker was right.
This time, I can’t even hate him. I just hate myself.
