He moves before I can finish the lie, fisting his hand in the front of my shirt, hauling me up until I’m pinned against the door. My body answers him instantly, the slickness between my legs turning into a flood.
"Don't lie to me," he growls, his face inches from mine. "I haven't slept. I've been sitting in that containment cell feeling you unravel across three miles of city. You’re dripping for me, Asa. I can hear your pulse from here."
A small whine pulls from my lips as I reach out and grab his wrists, my fingers digging into the leather of his jacket. "Then do something about it," I whisper, my pride collapsing into the void. "Because I can’t... I can’t think. I can’t breathe. Just fix it."
His eyes darken, the pupils expanding until the irises are just thin rings of gray. He doesn't waste time with words. He crashes his mouth against mine, the kiss more of a collision than an invitation. It tastes of desperation and salt, a messy, frantic exchange that leaves my lips bruised and my head spinning.
He drags me away from the door, and shoves me toward the desk. I go willingly, my hands fumbling with his belt as he starts to strip my jacket away. There’s no grace in it.
My shirt buttons pop as he pulls the fabric open, the plastic beads skittering across the floor. He puts his hands on my waist,his palms hot and calloused, the contact the first moment of peace I’ve known since I woke up before tugging down my pants and underwear. I let out a low, broken sound as he lifts me onto the edge of the desk, the wood cold against my thighs, providing a sharp contrast to the heat of his body.
"Please," I gasp, my legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him into the cradle of my hips. "Jorak, please."
"I've got you, baby," he mutters against the skin of my throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive cord of my neck. "I’ve got you, Asa. Stay still."
I can feel the hard, thick line of him straining against his pants, a physical manifestation of the need that’s been tearing at both of us. He fumbles with his zipper, his breath coming in harsh, ragged bursts. I reach down to help him, my fingers brushing against the hot, heavy length of his cock as it springs free.
It’s thick, the head already glistening with pre-cum that I catch on my thumb. I wrap my hand around him, my skin darker against his heat-flushed flesh, and stroke him once from base to tip. He lets out a deep, guttural sound that vibrates through my entire chest.
"You're so fucking wet," he says, his voice a jagged edge as he reaches between my legs. He shoves two fingers inside me, roughly stretching me open using my slick. I cry out, my head falling forward to his shoulder. The sensation is overwhelming, the sudden fullness, the way he finds the spot that makes my toes curl with a single, brutal press.
I’m soaked, my ass clenching rhythmically around his fingers, begging for more as he gently grips my chin so that I’m looking up at him. He watches me, his eyes never leaving mine as he pumps his hand in and out of me. I can feel my own scent filling the small space, a heavy, sweet cloud of pear and vanilla that mingles with his darker musk.
"Now," I demand, my fingers digging into his shoulders, my nails likely leaving marks through his shirt. "Jorak, now. I need you inside me. Fuck me."
He doesn't need to be told twice. He pulls his fingers out, the absence of them a cold shock, and positions himself at my entrance. He’s thick, a blunt pressure that stretches me to the limit before he’s even begun to push. He pauses, his hands gripping my hips so hard I know there will be bruises by morning.
"Look at me," he commands.
I open my eyes, my vision blurred with tears of pure, unadulterated need. He’s there, a solid, terrifyingly real presence in a world that’s become a series of failing systems. He thrusts, a single, deep movement that buries him in me to the hilt. I scream, the sound muffled by his mouth as he kisses me again, swallowing my gasp.
He’s just as huge as that first night, stretching me until I feel like I might break, but it’s exactly what I asked for. I’m anchored, finally, to something that can hold me. He starts to move, his rhythm fast and relentless, slamming his hips against mine with a force that makes the desk creak under us.
"You feel... fucking incredible," he groans, his forehead dropping to mine. "So tight. Like you were made for this."
"I was," I gasp, my breath hitching as the pleasure starts to build, a tightening coil in my gut. "I was made for you, Eni. Don't stop.Harder."
He obliges, his movements becoming rougher, more feral. He pulls my legs higher, draping them over his shoulders and laying me back flat against the desk so he can sink even deeper into me.
I watch as he disappears inside me, inch by thick, glistening inch, and then pulls back nearly all the way before slamming home again. The friction is a white-hot brand, a sensation so intense it borders on pain, but it’s a pain that I crave. I grind myass against him, trying to take every bit of him, my body working in perfect, desperate sync with his.
He reaches down between our joined bodies, his hand wrapping around my cock with pressure that nearly sends me over the edge.
"I’m going to come," I cry out, my body beginning to shake. "Jorak, I'm going to—"
"Not yet," he growls, his voice a command that I have no choice but to follow. He slows his pace, the long, deep strokes stretching out the pleasure until it’s a form of torture. He watches me unravel, his expression one of dark, possessive triumph. "Not until I say. Look at me, baby. See what you're doing to me."
He’s sweating, his hair damp and clinging to his forehead, his jaw locked with the effort of his own restraint. He looks vulnerable, even in his dominance, and the sight of it is what finally breaks me. I slide my legs down to wrap around his waist again before reaching up and pulling his head down, whispering his name like a prayer against his lips.
"Now," I beg. "Please. I can’t... I can't hold it anymore."
He lets out a sound that’s almost a roar and begins to pound into me with a final, desperate intensity. I meet him thrust for thrust, my ass clenching down on his cock as the first waves of my orgasm tear through me.
I scream his name, my body arching off the desk, my fingers fisting in his hair. Everything goes white, the world dissolving into a series of pulsing, golden sparks. I can feel him coming with me, his own body rigid as he thrusts one last time, burying himself as deep as possible as my release coats his fist and my stomach.
He sinks farther into my ass, his knot swelling inside me, stretching my ass even further, filling me until there’s no room left for anything else.
Jorak collapses against me, his breath hot against my shoulder. We stay like that, joined, as his knot continues to pulse and swell. The fever has broken. The static is gone. There’s only the warmth of him and the slow, steady drip of his release as it begins to fill me. I wrap my arms around him, holding him as if he might disappear if I let go. I don't care about the desk. I don't care about the papers on the floor. I don't even care that someone outside this office most definitely just heard what happened.
