“There?” he said against my ear.
“Yes. Don't stop. Harder.”
He didn't stop. Built a rhythm that started deliberate and got steadily less controlled, hips snapping forward with real force now, and the soft wet sounds of it filling the small office should have embarrassed me but didn't. His breathing was ragged against my shoulder. He kept his mouth there, lips pressed to skin, and every exhale came out broken in a different way than the one before it.
“You feel so good,” he said. “So fucking good.”
“Then fuck me like you mean it.” My voice came out torn. Demanding. “Stop holding back.”
He groaned against my neck in a way that sounded like surrender, and drove into me harder. The angle shifted when he moved one hand from my hip to brace against the wall beside my head, getting leverage, and the new depth made me make a sound I didn't recognize as mine. A low, wrecked noise that bounced off the walls and dissolved into the hum of the ventilation system.
His other hand stayed on the lace. Kept pulling it aside with his thumb. Like he needed to feel it there. Like it mattered to him in a way he wasn't going to explain.
I pushed back into him. Met each thrust with my own momentum, chasing the pressure, the stretch, the particular fullness of being taken by someone who knew exactly what he was doing and cared enough to do it well. Dan wasn't selfish about it. Kept reading me, kept adjusting, slowed down when I got too close too fast and sped up again when I made the noise that told him I needed more.
“I want to feel you come,” he said. “Want to feel you fall apart on my cock.”
“Then work for it.”
I lost my footing slightly and he caught me with an arm around my waist, holding me up, holding me in place while he fucked me with real intent now. The desk behind us rattled against the floor. Neither of us cared.
“Touch me,” I said. It came out more like begging than demanding.
His hand found me immediately. Wrapped around my cock and stroked, thumb swiping the head, and the sound I made then was a cross between a moan and a curse that had no clean phonetic spelling.
“Dan, I'm?—”
“I know.” His voice was completely destroyed. “I know, I've got you, come for me.”
I came hard across his fist, onto the wall, probably onto the expensive carpet beneath us, and I didn't give a single fuck about any of it. Just rode it out while he kept stroking me, kept fucking me, drawing it out until I was shaking and oversensitive and barely standing.
He didn't pull out. Instead he drove in deeper, buried himself to the hilt and stayed there while I felt him pulse inside me, filling me with heat that made everything feel more real, more permanent. His groan was rough against my ear, his whole body going rigid against my back.
“Fucking hell,” he breathed. His free hand was braced on the wall beside mine. Both of us were shaking.
I reached back without turning around and pressed my hand against his hip, holding him there, keeping him inside me. Feeling the aftermath of what we'd just done settling warm and wet between us.
He made a sound at that. Low and appreciative. “You're going to kill me.”
“You'll live.” I turned my head to look at him over my shoulder. He looked wrecked in the best possible way, shirt untucked, hair a mess, lips swollen.
He grinned at me and slowly pulled out. I felt his come start to leak out immediately and didn't bother trying to stop it. “Better?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“Anytime.” He tucked himself back in and adjusted his clothes like nothing had happened. “So about that bike.”
Right. The bike. The actual reason I'd come here.
I tucked myself back in, got my belt fastened, and tried to look like I hadn't just gotten thoroughly fucked in a backlit office by a stranger whose last name I didn't know.
“The black one,” I said. “I'll take it.”
“Good choice.” He moved back to professional like we hadn't just had each other five minutes ago. Pulled up the specs on his tablet. Walked me through purchase details and paperwork like this was a completely normal transaction.
I paid cash. Bought the helmet, jacket, and gloves he recommended. Signed the forms and took the keys.
“You need anything else while you're in Chicago, let me know,” he said, handing me a card with his personal number scrawled on the back.
