His free hand slides between my thighs. "You're so fucking wet. I don't think we should let that go to waste."
And he thrusts two fingers into me, making me gasp.
I reach out for the wall with one hand, but I can't reach it. Even though I know we're in darkness, it's like a spotlight is on me, and there's a whole audience in front.
The hiss of his zip smashes through the music and the hubbub in the room, and then?—
Oh.
Fuck.
He thrusts into me, his fingers barely leaving my pussy before his cock slams home.
But he then slows it right down. Long, slow rocking strokes, agonizing in the way they fill me, inch by inch.
And every inch he fills is like he's licking my insides, like he's touching me everywhere.
His cock is steel and heat. And I long for each complete entry when his balls touch me.
With each long, slow thrust, I lose my grip on reality.
I don't care who sees. Bring on the spotlight. The audience.
I want to howl at the moon with how good it is.
And every time he enters and withdraws, I whimper, the spiking adrenaline flies higher.
He's sending the pleasure rushing in, and the pressure of pleasure presses down on me.
Then I'm gone, convulsing, biting my lip to stop screaming as I clench down, everything shaking.
It's like I'm trying to deny the orgasm, and it only makes it bigger, better, the most overwhelming thing I've experienced.
And he doesn't stop fucking me.
Those long, slow strokes through the contractions drive me crazy.
Then he shoves in, and his cock seems to grow, and he floods me with cum.
"Fuck me." He bites my nape.
The hand around my waist pushes me down as his other one digs into my thigh.
When he's done, he pulls out slowly, turns me, and kisses me. And then he says, "You need to keep that cum in you."
"Asshole."
"That's Sir." He kisses me again. "We should join the others."
"Can I go to the bathroom?"
He smirks. "And where's the fun in that?"
"I want to clean up."
"Before you go," he murmurs, kissing my ear.
I let out a breath. I didn't really think he'd say yes. "Fine."
