I pull off of him, gasping for breath, his arms pulling me to my feet before I even speak, his arm pining me to his body as his other hand wraps around, slides underneath the edge of dress and squeezes my ass. Hard. So hard I gasp, his eyes tight on mine and he releases it, running his fingers down the crack of my ass and fingering the channel of my sex, covered in lace, his fingers running back and forth over the spot, a grin stretching across his face at the dampness there.
“Is that for me or him?”
I don’t answer, reaching between our bodies and fist his cock, wrapping my hands tightly around it, every vein in the organ outlined in the rigidity of his arousal.
“Answer me Madd. Answer me while I f**k you right here. While I make you scream so loud that people walking by will hear.”
“Make me,” I whisper, a challenge in the tones.
His hand tightens around my waist at the words, his eyes holding mine with a fierce look as he listens to my words.
“Make me scream your name while he conducts his business. Make me your slut, right here and now and send me back to him with your cum dripping out of me.”
He groans, pushing me back against the wall, spreading my legs with his knees. He reaches down with both hands, gripping my panties and pulling, ripping the sheer fabric with one strong jerk. Then his body is back against me, his chest hard to mine, his bare c**k rough and bobbing at my entrance, pushing for and then finding the wetness of my sex and pushing inside. “Jesus Christ Madd,” he groans, shoving upward, his hard thighs pinning me to the wall, his hands yanking at my straps, pulling my cashmere cardigan off my shoulders and jerking the top of my dress down. He thrusts again, his thighs relaxing and then flexing, every f**k bouncing me back against the wall, his hands clasping my br**sts, squeezing them into his palms.
“Make me scream,” I grit out, my eyes on his. They are tortured blue, cloudy with arousal, latent with need. “You know that he f**ked me? Before we came here. I straddled his c**k and rode him. His hands rough on my skin, his c**k taking my body. He was inside me Paul, right where you are now.” He roars, his voice raw and primal, pushing me against the wall, losing control as he slams against me, faster and faster, until my body becomes a shaking sea of desire, my core rattled, breath gasping, his thrusts urgent and dominant, his breath ragged, his hands finding my face and bringing my mouth to his.
“You are mine,” he guts out, pumping into me, the length and level of his arousal brutal. “Mine,” he swears, as he releases my mouth and turns me around, pushing me forward as he yanks my legs back, one hand hard on my back, the other gripping my ass. He doesn’t slow the movement, giving me full, hard thrusts, my br**sts bouncing from the top of my dress, the mirror above the sink giving me a full view of my slutdom.
Paul, in worn jeans, a white t-shirt, light hair mussed, mouth open, intensity over his face. His reflection pulls at my hair, tilting my head back, and I find his eyes on mine in the mirror.
“You like what you see?” His words are terse, thick. He is conflicted, but – from the level of his erection – fully aroused at the same time, his speed increasing, his breath loud in the small space. “You like being f**ked while he’s in the next room?”
I don’t answer, my climax too close, every muscle in my body tightening in anticipation of the act, throbbing and contracting around him, his eyes closing briefly at the sensation.
“God, Madd. You are so f**king good...” He pulls out abruptly, leaving me gasping, my chest aching as I turn to him, feeling his hands before I fully move; they shove me back, wrapping around my waist and lifting me, setting me on the low counter of the sink and pulling me to the edge. He jacks himself, looking at my pu**y, at the swollen pink lips of sex, then glances up to meet my eyes. He steps forward, pressing himself at my base, pushing my chin up when he sees me glance down. “Look at me. Look at me and tell me what he did to you. Tell me what he did and make me come all f**king up inside of you.”
I close my eyes at his first thrust, the angle different, better in its brush of my g-spot. “He sat me on his lap, in this same dress. Those panties? The ones you ripped to shreds? I wasn’t wearing those when I first saw him. Because I knew he’d take me as soon as he could.” He pulls out of me, my eyes catching sight and gluing to the image of my wet lips sliding around his cock. His hands tighten on my ass and he pushes deeper, dragging his c**k in and out of me in long, deep strokes. My voice catches at the look in his eyes, the intensity of his arousal. All playfulness is gone. This man before me – he is Stewart but with different features, their similarities never more present then right now, and I gasp when he fully buries himself inside.
“More,” he groans. “Tell me more.”
“I came from his fingers, my juices all over his hand, I came and I screamed his name when I did it. I told him how f**king perfect he was and how much he turned me on.” His strokes roughened with my words, increasing in speed, his competitiveness lighting a fire in my belly and I was suddenly there again. One the brink of orgasm, need running through my limbs and pumping loud in my heart. “God Paul, you have no idea how good his c**k feels in me. How deep he goes when I straddle his c**k and f**k him hard. How he whispers my name when I take every inch of him.”
He roars, pulling me to the far edge of the sink, thrusting deeper and harder than he ever has, his mouth roughly taking my own, his tongue marking, branding, and drinking from my mouth. I push against his chest, my own body breaking in his arms, the orgasm whirling through my body, my words tumbling out as I shudder with pleasure in his arms, his pace never slowly, his cries joining my own, the hot spread of liquid pumped deep with his cock, his name repeated over and over as he finally, with one final shuddering thrust, buries himself inside of me.
Five minutes later, I slip back into my seat, Stewart barely pausing in a lengthy explanation of market trends and their expected impact. But I feel his eyes on me, see the casual glance at his watch. “Impressive.” He murmurs, tugging my hand to his lips and placing a soft kiss on my knuckle. “I take it you are taken care of?”
I feel drugged, heady with the release and the knowledge of what I have just done. “Till tonight,” I whisper.
“Oh have no doubt,” he says, staring into my eyes. “You will need every bit of energy for it.”
I hide a grin behind a long sip of champagne, turning when I feel a soft hand on my arm.
“My wife tells me you sell books,” the man says, a polite smile on his face. “Tell me, what authors do you enjoy?”