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“Yes, what?”
I swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
“I’m going to fuck you. Hard.”
I bit back a moan. We were supposed to be quiet. I could be quiet. I could be—oh, God, how I wanted to moan. How I wanted to lean my head back into the crook of Conor’s neck and bite my lip as I growled his name. How I wanted to bang my fists against those metal racks till Mason and Rian came running down at the noise.
“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Conor said, his cock at the dripping lips of my pussy. “You want to be fucked hard, dirty girl.”
I whimpered and tightened my grip on the icy rods. Conor’s hands were like brands on my hips. As he thrust deep and hard into me, I released one of my hands to cover my mouth. I would have screamed otherwise. I would have screamed, “More, more, fucking more.”
Conor stopped.
“You gotta hold on, baby,” he said, his voice like a whip, a whip I wanted harder.
I sank my teeth into my bottom lip before grabbing once more, this time with a trembling hand to the cold, hard metal.
Conor slapped my ass and bit my shoulder as I tried not to gasp.
“Good girl.”
Conor fucked me. Just like he said he would: harder than he’d ever fucked me before. His cock reached places I didn’t even know existed inside of me. I was being split apart, torn in two, ravaged, and I couldn’t utter even a single peep. The cold of the rack was like ice cubes run along my hard and aching nipples, and I wanted to groan as I arched my back and savoured the sensation. All I could do was clamp down on my bottom lip till it hurt. Everything would be fine if I could just cover my mouth to muffle my groans of pleasure and need, but if I let go Conor would stop. That was the one thing I didn’t want: for him to fucking stop.
So it was torture. Blissful, perfect, mind-blowing torture. With his hands on my hips, Conor thrust into me so hard and so fast that if I weren’t so goddamn preoccupied with being quiet, I would have come right then and there.
As if sensing how close I was, Conor suddenly turned on another gear. I thought he was giving me all he had, but it was like the revving of his motorcycle engine when it was already whining and protesting on the highway. As I struggled to hold on, something fell from the rack, landing noisily on the floor beside us.
I expected Conor to stop, but he just fucked me harder. My toes nearly left the ground. My breasts were swinging wildly. I couldn’t fucking think. More things fell and still Conor kept going, thrusting into me like it was the last time he would ever fuck a woman. No, like it was the last time he would ever fuck me.
It was noisy. Noisier even more so because I was without my sense of sight.
“I thought we were supposed to be quiet,” I gasped. If I had more control of my body, I might have tried to stop him, to slow him. But I was completely at Conor’s mercy.
Conor’s response came with a smile against my ear, “I never said I was to be quiet.”
His mouth swallowed mine as I craned my neck around. I groaned madly into him as he groped at my sweat-slick tits. He bit my lip and I hissed in pain before grinding my ass harder against his groin. Soon we were nothing more than animals crashing about the in the dark. Conor’s arm caught me under the knee and hoisted my leg to plunge deeper inside of me. My toes knocked over bottles of ink, stacks of paper, God knows what else.
I came with my teeth clamping down on Conor’s arm. Was the sticky heat sweat or blood? I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I was consumed by waves of pleasure that left me sagging weakly against Conor. He held me, softly, sweetly, carding his fingers through my damp hair.
“What about you?” I asked, reaching around for his still erect cock.
Conor gently tugged my hand away in the dark.
“I can’t come without screaming your name,” he said between kisses against my temples. “And I want nothing more than to scream your name.”
We left the storage room with excuses about reorganizing gone wrong, but Rian was still absorbed in his sketching and the ceiling was still very much shaking from upstairs.
Later that night, in a cracked garage, I rode Conor with the handlebars of his motorcycle digging into my back and he hid the roar of his scream, the roar of my name behind the revving engine.
And so I didn’t ask why we had to be a secret. Why Conor sometimes felt distant after we had sex. Why he looked away almost guiltily if I wandered unannounced into the kitchen with nothing on but his boxers. Why promises of the future only came in the dark, in the dead of the night, in the hidden intimacy of his bed.
Because I had Conor screaming my name. I had him reaching for me, loving me. I had him at last.
Or maybe I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to know the answer. Ignorance is bliss, they say. Well, if I had anything it was fucking bliss. The best fucking bliss of my life.
I guess I should have known better.
