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Chapter Seven
He smelled like sunscreen and tropical lotion, with a hint of sweat. It was delicious, and I'd never inhaled a better-smelling man or had my face lie across softer chest hair.
I threw out my arms to try to get up, but when I did, that meant that my breasts were pressed against his chest again and with the heavy up-down of his now belabored breathing, they were jiggling and felt swollen. They were struggling to fall out of the cups of my bra.
To his credit, he was not touching me with his hands, which meant that I still had a chance. I pulled up my skirt to give my legs room to stand up, but when I scrabbled to my knees like a frantic lizard, I lost my balance on the slippery floor (we had also knocked down my coffee mug, of course, so we were rolling around in warm, good-smelling coffee). Now I was straddling his cock.
I could tell that's what was happening even through my underwear and his. I was sitting directly on top of the pulsing hardness of his member, straddling him, and facing his look of utter surprise. Whatever he had expected to happen, it certainly wasn't this mess.
I was lost. It was so warm and hard, and my pussy was gaping wide. If it was an animal it would have been foaming at the mouth.
I started to rub, just a little at first, as if I could pretend I wasn't doing it. But then my clit begged to be rubbed harder, and I obliged, pushing it against his penis.
He was watching me, his arms still on the ground, gently splashing in the coffee. He was watching my hips gyrate on top of him. He didn't touch me, or even move, although I was squeezing his cock hard with the pressure of my hips.
All he did was say, very softly, was “Move your panties over. So your clit rubs against my underwear. So you make them wet. I want to be wet with you.”
I hiked up the skirt so it was around my waist blocking nothing. I reached down and moved my underwear out of the way, wondering if I should've shaved this morning, realizing it would be weirder to look like I had prepared for this, and then losing all ability to think as my clit rubbed directly against him.
He started to moan. Then he couldn't take it. His hands shot up to unbutton my blouse, and he crunched his marvelous abs to sit up and pull of my shirt. My bra was off in a second, a quick flick from his well-practiced hands, and then both of his hands held fistfuls of my breasts.
He gently massaged them as I rubbed my clit and pussy against his girth.
“We need to stop,” I said falsely, ineffectually, all the while grinding against him harder. I dimly thought that maybe if I pushed hard enough, it would hurt him and he'd put a stop to this madness, but all he did was moan louder.
Then his thumbs brushed my bare nipples. The jolt of bliss that ran through me almost made me come. His hands were so soft, yet firm, and that brush pushed me over the edge.
I hopped off him, tore off my barely-on skirt, and ripped down his underwear. If I was going to be fired, anyway, I sure as hell was going to fuck that body of his beforehand.
I tried to straddle him again, to grab his cock and shove it inside me. I wanted it badly and I wanted to come on it. It was huge, perfect-looking, and I wanted the head of it to pound inside me.
But he covered my pussy with his large hand, and thrust a finger inside it. He explored, waiting for the moment when my screams of pleasure got loudest, then attacked that spot with vigorous, almost mechanical fingers. It was like an AI dildo that adapted to your shape.
I writhed and screamed on his hand and didn't notice that he'd been moving me up his body until I was straddling his face.
He took his fingers out and licked them, sending them all the way down his throat, showing off his lack of a gag reflex like a sorority girl. Then, with a strength not to be argued with, and then he pulled me down so I was riding his face.
His tongue was like a heat-seeking missile. It could detect exactly where my clit was screaming with pleasure and hit that spot aggressively.
It was a good thing nobody else was left on the top floor—I hoped. Because not screaming wasn't an option.
His tongue expertly flickered and licked while I pressed my pussy against his chin, like I wanted his chin, anything at all of his, to fuck me. I ground on his face until we were both soaking, the scent of me even overruling the scent of the spilled coffee.
Even with his tongue working overtime (literally, it was way past work hours), he decided to do more. He reached up and grabbed my breasts.
He kneaded them with firm, powerful hands—a baker softening dough. But I didn't feel soft. I was shaking, all of me trembling with each touch, the pressure and pleasure of his tongue almost painfully acute.
With a sudden ferocity he squeezed my nipples, playing with them. The shock shuddered through me, from my nipples to my pussy and then out to all of my extremities.
I came. Hard. Each ripple of pleasure emanating from my clenching vagina felt like an earthquake.
Each shook me with more heightened pleasure than the last, until finally instead of pleasure my pulsing radiated calm joy. I shuddered with finality, still perched over his face, where his tongue had continued its work all through my orgasm, heightening it further.
I breathed again and scooted backward to look at him.
He breathed. He stared up at my quivering, naked form, a huge smile glistening on his face.
“I think I love you,” he smiled.
I hiccupped. He laughed, and then we both laughed, and I fell to the side of him, and we both lay in the coffee, talking about nothing, talking about everything, until we fell asleep.
