Her vision distorts for a split second as he coaxes her fingers deeper than she’s ever managed on her own before. An involuntary moan escapes her. “Jesus, Aleksan—”
“Finish what you started.” His hand presses further, so far her knuckles almost ache. She gasps, leaning back to try and accommodate the depth he’s seeking, this too-deep bliss.
Leaning over her, he starts guiding her hand. “There you go,” he murmurs. “I like watching you fuck yourself, Lili. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
On a small anticipatory crest of pleasure, her eyes flutter closed. She tries to keep her shallow panting from rising into a moan as her shouldersjostle with the motion of him making her take her own fingers, pressure tightening.
Fabric rustles as Aleksandr adjusts his grip. His hand slides into her underwear, still controlling her wrist and directing her, but now—
“Fuck,” Lili breathes.
The ring he wears is cold, adding silver friction, and she grinds her hips against him harder, as he forces a third finger inside of her. Lili shivers, relishing the sharp pain of her body resisting, then giving into, him; the melt of earned pleasure that suffuses through her, right after.
He notices. He gives a low laugh, nose brushing the contour of her cheekbone.
“You’re always too tight,” he remarks, before he pulls her to the edge of the desk.
The motion pushes her fingers that much further. The whimper wrenched out of her is pained, helpless, and her toes curl. She’s never felt pressure this visceral except during sex—sex with him.
“Come on, Lili,” he breathes. “Let’s go.”
He shouldn’t know how to touch her better than she touches herself. He shouldn’t be able to coax pleasure, dark, like this; he shouldn’t be able to make her feel exposed. They’re barely touching, but she feels smothered in him, overwhelmed by his scent, his fingers, his stare.
But while she has him—while they’re doing this—she’s going to use it.
She’s going to usehim.
Moving with each forceful shift of his hand, she begins fucking herself against the weight of him. Each roll of her hips makes her breath snag, close to spilling into a moan. Distant, outside the insulation of their breath—his steady, hers ragged—she hears the sounds of the office, footsteps and keyboards. Her hips ache, thighs straining with how far he’s making her spread her legs. She feels lightheaded, grasping for something luminous in her own body. He’s still not touching her except for his hands.
“There’s this sound you make, when you’re close,” he murmurs against her ear. “Caught in your throat, a little desperate—like you’ve forgotten how to breathe.”
There’s nothing quiet about the moan she lets out then, biting her lip a moment too late. His gaze falls to her mouth, and Lili wants, she wants—
Fuck it.Throwing her free arm around his shoulder, she falls againsthim and kisses him. Intense, needy, she loses her balance with it, this kiss caught on her unsteady breath so close to climax. Between them, his hand moves faster, harder, and his ring grinds against her.
“There,” she gasps out against his mouth. “God, right there—so close, I’m—”
That edge of release, hot and blinding, keeps rushing up to her, then receding. She lets out a sound of frustration, tight teeth.
“Come on, sweetheart.” Exertion in his voice, warm against her lips. “Come for me, show me what you can do.”
It’s desperate, her climax. This restless thing torn out of her, incoherent and inchoate within the known language of her body, because how can she feel this much without him inside her? Through it, her hips keep rolling against their tangled hands, his firm grip keeps pushing her even as pleasure shifts into something deeper, past where she’d thought it’d finish, new collapses and restarts, further, until sheer physical overwhelm overtakes the brightness,stop, please, I can’t—
When he finally relents, it’s like breaking the surface of water, gasping for air. His hand stills. Allows her a moment to reassemble the pieces of herself—lungs, legs, collarbones—pressed so tight against him. The starch of his shirt is crisp against her near-naked chest.
Aleksandr’s grip shifts, tightening around her wrist. Lili watches as he lifts her hand and brings it to his lips, taking her fingers into his mouth.
Lili’s mouth parts as she watches him.
A thirst sharpens inside of her, even through the erratic, settling haze of her orgasm.
“Aleksandr,” she breathes. She starts reaching under his jacket for his shirt, its buttons.
Instead, he pulls her off the desk. Suddenly, she’s facing the wall of windows, and her hands slam against the glass to keep her from falling forward, gleaming city spread out below.
The drag of her underwear—near ruined, sticky, catching on her skin—down her thighs, as he strips it off her. Tension releases around her chest, bra clasp undone. Fast, Aleksandr sweeps her hair aside, exposing her bare skin, and pressing his lips along the back of her neck, the open slope of her shoulder: these hot, searing kisses that make her breath kick up.
Her hands flatten further against the glass as he kisses the hollow under her ear, hard. She’s soaking, thighs slick. The window is black and full of skyscraper light. Behind her, she hears the metallic clink of his belt. Her heart thuds.
