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Digging my thumbs into my waistband, I shove my pants down fast, taking my boxers with them. He lets go of my cock and fumbles in his back pocket, and I hear the familiar crinkle of a condom wrapper. When I glance back, he has it pinched between his teeth along with a packet of lube.
Our eyes meet for a heated moment, but he quickly averts his gaze, looking down as he opens his coveralls. Desperate for a look at his body, my eyes follow the zipper, but they don’t get very far. His hand grasps hard at my face, turning me forward, so I can’t see him.
“Put your hands on the fucking desk.”
Obediently, I slide my palms along the cool surface, my body frozen in anticipation, and my mind lost in a fog of confusion and arousal. It can’t seem to keep up with this sudden whirlwind of events, and I don’t really care. I don’t need my mind to try and rationalize my decisions right now.
Suddenly, his hands are on my ass, spreading my cheeks, and he actually fuckinggrowlsin approval.
Am I dead? Did I fucking die and this is what my brain has conjured up as heaven? Fucking pinch me.
Something slick and warm slides along the cleft of my ass, and I shudder when his thick fingers, stretch me one by one. I’m moaning and writhing impatiently while he preps me, too eager to have him fuck me, but enjoying the process.
After slipping his fingers out, in a flash, the head of his cock prods my entrance. Pressing my hips back, I practically impale myself, and it occurs to me as he breaches the tight ring of muscle that I don’t even know his name. But I let him in anyway. My body opens for him like he commanded it to do.
He lets out a hearty groan as he slides in another inch, and I’d be groaning along with him if I could breathe—but the sensation is too intense. It burns, but the pain lies because all I feel is pleasure.
He holds onto my hips as he fucks me deeper another few inches. When he rubs against my prostate, my knees practically turn to jello. With torturous control, he retreats and leisurely slides in again. It’s a slow torment—I wish he’d just let himself go.
“Fuck me,” I say through gritted teeth.
His movements pick up speed, causing my hands to keep losing their grip on the desk as he pounds into my body. I’ve never loved the feeling of being used and so selfishly fucked before, but the idea of being this twenty-year old’s fuck toy has some strange appeal to it. With all those fucking scars and those bright eyes and wicked smile, I get off on the idea that my body could bring him pleasure, and I want him to take it.
His hand is back around my throat, and I’m pulled upright until I’m pressed against his chest. His mouth is next to my ear.
“You feel so good around my cock.”
I groan again, his filthy words sending shockwaves coursing through my body. He reaches around for my dick, moving in rhythm with his thrusts and squeezing the head on every upstroke. The fronts of my thighs are digging into the desk, but I don’t fucking care, because he’s right; I do feel good around his cock, and his tight grip on my dick is making it hard to think straight.
“I’m gonna come,” I moan.
“Paint my desk with it,” he replies, and with a couple harsh slams of his body in mine, I’m done. The climax nearly knocks me off my feet, stealing the air from my lungs as wave after wave of pleasure courses through my veins. I don’t just spill cum all over the surface of his desk—I’m pretty sure I saw some reach the floor on the other side. A moment later, his thrusting slows and I feel him shiver out his orgasm, a loud gasping groan echoing against the four walls. My neck is still locked in the vise grip of his large hand, my pulse pounding against his fingers. I’m almost afraid I won’t be able to stand on my own when he lets go.
“Jesus,” I gasp as my body recovers, my heart rate slowing and my lungs finally taking in a full breath of air.
He pulls out and quickly turns around, leaving me exposed. My muscles ache as I lean down to reach my pants around my ankles to pull them up. I hear him remove the condom, tossing it into the trash by the door. When I glance back again to see his face, he’s already zipped up his coveralls and is avoiding my gaze.
Neither of us say anything. I mean, this isn't my first stranger quickie, but I have a feeling it might be his.
“So did you need me to fill out some paperwork or…”
“No,” he grits out, “I have your number. I’ll call you when your car is ready.”
And just like that, he walks out of the office. I can barely move for a few moments, but when I finally regain the ability to think and breathe and function, I pull out my phone and order the Uber, hoping they’ll arrive quickly to avoid any further awkward interaction. Then, I take a minute to clean up my mess before I exit the office.
Just as I cross the garage, my ride pulls up, and I glance toward the mechanic one last time before disappearing into the car. Too bad he doesn’t even bother to look up at me as I leave.
While I’m in the car on the way to my house, I pull up my text conversation with Everly.
Well, I had an interesting morning…
2
PAX
My phone alarm blares from the floor, and I reach over to grab it and hit snooze. It’s too early, toofuckingearly. Why do I sign up for 8:00 a.m. classes? What the fuck is wrong with me?
Oh yeah, because I have to squeeze in school around work. And rugby.
