“God you’re so fucking wet,” he says, and I can hear the satisfaction clear in his voice. “All for me?”
Heat floods my face even as pleasure floods everywhere else. Part of me wants to hide from how obvious my need is, how desperately my body is responding to him. “Yes,” I manage to gasp out. “All for you.”
He slides one finger inside me, then two, and I gasp at the stretch and the fullness. The music pounds through the walls relentlessly, people talking and laughing on the other side, but I don’t even care. Maybe I even like the thrill of it.
“More,” I beg, my hands gripping his shoulders. “Jack, please.”
He adds a third finger and I groan at the stretch, at how full I feel.
“Oh God, right there, don’t stop, please don’t stop—” I moan.
His mouth works me with dedication, alternating between fast and slow, building me up. I can barely hold on. He devours me like he’s starving. My vision goes blurry and part of me feels boneless, untethered. No man has ever done this to me like this before. Not with this intensity, this dedication to my pleasure.
I call out loudly and embarrassment washes over me automatically, a trained response I can’t quite shake. Instinctively I clap my hand over my mouth to muffle the sound, to contain myself, to be quieter, to be less.
Jack stops immediately. His fingers still inside me, and he pulls back to look at me, concern replacing the hunger in his eyes. “Hey,” he says, his free hand catching my wrist and pulling my hand away from my mouth with gentle firmness. “Don’t you dare.”
“It’s just…” I gasp, shame flooding hot through me despite the pleasure still humming through my body. “I’m being so loud, it’s too much and?—”
“So fucking what?” He stares at me, and then something almost feral takes over his expression. “I want them to hear you. I want everyone in this entire building to know exactly how good I’m making you feel.”
My throat feels tight. “Jack…”
He strokes my cheekbone tenderly with one hand, his thumb brushing my skin like I’m something precious, while his other hand thrusts hard inside me, curling upward, fingers working me relentlessly.
“You’re not too much,” he says, and his voice is so certain, so absolutely sure, it makes my chest ache. Like he can see straight through me to all the places Brandon carved out, all the spaces where I learned to make myself smaller. “You’renevertoo much. Not for me.”
His hand moves to cup my jaw, holding me in place, forcing me to keep eye contact as he moves inside me. I’m panting, struggling to catch my breath, and his eyes are locked on mine, watching every reaction, every gasp. The gentleness of his grip on my face while he’s so rough with the rest of me—it’s too much. I whimper, trembling. I arch off the desk with a broken moan, my whole body trembling.
I bite my lip hard, trying to hold back, and then his fingers hit that spot and my eyes roll back at the immediate rush of pleasure, more intense than anything I’ve ever felt. I cry out, the sound loud and unrestrained and uninhibited, and thesatisfaction that flashes across his face is almost as intoxicating as what his fingers are doing.
“That’s it,” he growls, and there’s approval in his voice, pride even. “Don’t you dare hold back. I want every sound, every moan. I want to know exactly what I’m doing to you.” His eyes hold mine, dark and hungry and focused on me.
The intensity in his eyes, the raw desire, the way he’s looking at me like my pleasure is the most important thing in the entire world, like making me feel good is his only goal—it breaks something open in my chest that’s been locked down tight for years. Breaks through every wall I built, every lesson I learned about making myself smaller, quieter, less.
“Tell me you won’t hide from me,” he commands, his fingers moving faster now, more deliberately, and I can feel myself getting closer, tension coiling tighter. “Tell me you’ll give me everything.”
“I won’t hide from you,” I gasp out, meaning it more than I’ve ever meant anything. “I’ll give you everything. I promise.”
“That’s it, Lark.” There’s approval in his voice, pride even. “Just like that. You’re perfect. Every sound you make. Every moan. Every gasp.” His eyes hold mine, dark and hungry and completely focused on me. “So you’re not going to hold back anymore. You understand me?”
“Yes, Jack, yes,” I manage.
“Say it,” he commands, his fingers moving faster now, more deliberately, and I can feel myself getting closer, tension coiling tighter. “Say you won’t hide from me. Say you’ll let me hear everything.”
“I won’t hide from you,” I gasp out, meaning it more than I’ve meant anything. “I’ll let you hear everything. I promise.”
“Good girl,” he says with deep satisfaction, and something about that praise, about being told I’m good for being myself, forbeing loud, for taking up space—it does something to me that I don’t have words for.
He puts his mouth back on me and this time when I cry out, I don’t try to muffle it. I let the sound escape freely, let it fill the small room, let it probably drift down the hallway to where people are getting drinks and dancing and living their normal lives. The music pounds through the walls, the bass matching my racing heart, and I don’t care. I don’t care who hears. I don’t care if someone walks in.
“That’s my girl,” he says, his breath hot against me. My body reacts instantly, tightening around his fingers, my hips lifting toward his mouth without thinking.
He lifts his eyes just enough to find mine, to check in, to make sure I’m okay. “You like when I call you that.”
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. I swallow hard, face flushing deeper. “Yes.”
“Fuck yes, you do,” he says, voice rough. “My girl.”
