Page 31 of Last Line of Defense

“I’ve been wanting to do this to you all damn night,” I murmur without taking my mouth off her pussy, deliberately letting the deep vibrations of my voice course through her. “Watching you suffer at the table while you pretended Irina’s presence didn’t matter a damn to you.”

“You’re so mean…” she gasps, her breathing ragged and her voice thick with pure pleasure that fascinates me.

I pick up the pace without hesitation, fucking her with my fingers faster and deeper, sucking her clit with relentless force. Her thighs tremble uncontrollably around my head, losing all strength. I can feel perfectly how she tenses more with every second, how her inner walls contract spasmodically around my fingers, pulling them inward in a clear invitation.

“Alicia… fuck, I’m going to come right now… don’t stop, please, keep going…”

“Come in my mouth, Clara,” I command in my hoarsest, most authoritative voice, applying even more intense suction to her most sensitive spot.

Clara finally comes, letting out a muffled cry into her own hand, her whole body convulsing violently in a series of delicious spasms. I don’t stop at all. I keep licking her gently, savoring her and prolonging her orgasm for as long as possible until she’s writhing all over, completely oversensitive and trembling, pulling my hair to make me stop once and for all.

I slowly get up from the floor, wiping the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand, and kiss her hard, forcing her to taste herself on my tongue. Clara returns my kiss with renewed ferocity, biting my lower lip. Her eager hands quickly find the zipper of my dress, and she pulls it off me with feverish impatience and clumsy movements, leaving me in my underwear—just a thong and bra—standing before her.

“Now it’s your turn to suffer,” she whispers in my ear, her breath hot against my skin, sliding her right hand down my body until she bluntly slips it inside my underwear. “My God, you’re completely soaked, Alicia.”

“I’ve been like this since yesterday… just look at me—I’m such a masochist,” I confess in a burst of honesty, biting her neck with just enough force to leave a clearly visible mark for the next few days.

Her fingers instantly find me completely swollen, slippery, and throbbing with desire. She thrusts two fingers inside me at once, and I let out a long moan, having to lean my back against the edge of the sink to keep my balance. Clara fucks me with that physical strength and anatomical precision so characteristic of her work and, at the same time, with an almost romantic desperation that blows my mind: she goes deep and fast, masterfully curving her fingers into the spot where I need it most. Her thumb rubs my clitoris in perfect, relentless, rhythmic circles that make me lose my mind.

“Harder, Clara… harder,” I beg, shedding all my pride, moving my hips frantically against her hand, chasing the orgasm I can already feel coming.

She suddenly adds a third finger inside me, and I let out a long, gut-wrenching, throaty moan. I immediately reach for her to kiss her and silence myself, swallowing my own sinful sounds as she fucks me without the slightest mercy against the marble. The wet, obscene echo of her fingers sliding in and out at full speed fills the four walls of the bathroom.

“I want you to come while staring straight into my eyes, Alicia,” Clara demands in that sexy drill-sergeant tone, her gaze fixed on mine—dark, possessive, and gleaming. “I want to see with my own eyes how you melt for me.”

To be honest, I can’t hold out much longer. The orgasm hits me full force and without warning like a violent, massive wave—so intense and brutal that it’s almost painful because the spasm comes from so deep inside. I come in waves around her fingers, trembling like a leaf, having to bite her shoulder hard to keep from screaming her name at the top of my lungs. Clara keeps moving her hand slowly inside me, prolonging my free fall into the absolute void of pleasure.

But let’s be honest: it doesn’t end there—not by a long shot. Frustration and adrenaline are still burning fiercely in both of us.

I yank her off the sink, turn her with her back to me, and lean her forward over the cold marble. Her perfect, pert ass is completely exposed and at my mercy. I kneel on the floor behind her again and spread her legs as wide as possible, licking her from behind, tracing a wet line from her clitoris to her entrance, even daring to go higher. Clara tenses the moment she feels the tip of my tongue brush against her ass.

“Alicia… oh my God…” she gasps, clutching the faucets tightly, caught between utter surprise and unbridled excitement.

I devour her, alternating leisurely between her soaking-wet pussy and her ass, while the fingers of my free hand play tirelessly, working her clit hard. Clara starts moaning without any control or shame, pushing her hips back against my face desperately, seeking deeper licks. When I have her completely on the brink, I get up off the floor, press my bare chest against her back, and slip my hand between her legs from behind. I penetrate her with three fingers at once, fucking her hard, deep, and rhythmically, while my other free hand eagerly pinches one of her nipples.

“More… fuck, give me more, Alicia…” she begs me, her voice broken with pleasure.

I pull my fingers out of her for a second and take her right hand, guiding it straight to her wet pussy.

“Touch yourself while I fuck you from behind,” I order in her ear in an authoritative tone.

Clara obeys instantly without a word, rubbing herself at full speed with quick, expert movements while I penetrate her again without the slightest pause. The bathroom fills with her broken moans and the wet, obscene sound of our hands. I change positions at the last moment, dropping to my knees again on the tiles to go down on her from behind while she touches herself frantically. Her second orgasm of the night is, if possible, a thousand times more intense than the first. She screams my name in a choked voice, her legs trembling so violently that I have to hold her tight so she doesn’t collapse onto the bathroom floor.

I finally stand up, gently turn her to face me, and kiss her with unprecedented tenderness this time—more deliberately and slowly, savoring the moment of peace. Our sweat-soaked bodies press against each other from head to toe. Clara stares intently into my eyes, still panting from the physical exertion.

“This… what we just did doesn’t solve any of our problems at all… you know that, right?” she murmurs after a long, heavy silence, her voice tired but incredibly soft.

“I know that perfectly well, Doctor,” I reply, placing a tender kiss on her sweat-damp forehead. “But look, just for tonight… let me pretend it solves everything.”

Clara, for the first time all this blessed night, lets a genuine smile cross her face. A small, pure, vulnerable smile, meant solely and exclusively for me.

“You’re a disaster…”

“I know, but I’m the mess that drives you crazy,” I reply, winking at her, and I kiss her gently on the lips, savoring the wonderful calm after the storm.

We stay there embracing each other for quite a while longer, catching our breath little by little, knowing full well that sooner or later we’ll have to get dressed, fix our hair, and return to the real world. But inside this bathroom, during those magical minutes we’ve stolen from the clock, it’s just the two of us and no one else. The pent-up frustration and rage of jealousy have transformed into raw, completely satisfying pleasure. At least for the rest of the night.

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