“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 fuck 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 cock 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 fuck bouncing me back against the wall, his hands clasping my breasts, 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 fucked me? Before we came here. I straddled his cock and rode him. His hands rough on my skin, his cock 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 breasts 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 fucked 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 fucking 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 pussy, 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 fucking 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 cock 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 fucking 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 cock feels in me. How deep he goes when I straddle his cock and fuck 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?”
I smile politely, responding to the man, and feel the rough heat of Stewart’s hand, sliding up my dress, and hear his intake of breath when he finds my lack of panties.
We leave the event early, Stewart declining invitations for cigars, blaming my lightheadedness for our early departure. He pulls me by the hand, his steps clipped, my heels skittering to keep up. We push through the lobby doors and into the cool night air, the valet ready with his car, the intense look on his face as he shuts my door sending shivers through my body.
The engine roars as he accelerates, out of the garage, his hand fumbling for and unbuckling my seatbelt as he turns onto the road, the traffic light. “I need your fucking mouth on me. Now.” He loosely grips my hair and pulls as I climb my torso over the center console, my hands quickly undoing his belt, his erection strong against the expensive fabric.
He grunts when I have it out, my hand gripping it, my mouth on it before he can speak, precum salty and sweet on my tongue, proof of his arousal. His hand pushes my head, pushing me down on it, and exhales as I take him. “Jesus, Madison.” His voice breaks, almost as if on a cry, the need so strong, his hand shaking as he cups the back of my head. “I couldn’t fucking think in there. Knowing what you were doing, knowing what you had done. My sweet fucking girl, full of another man.” He thrusts upward on the final word, his sentence ending harshly, thick with competition.
I suck, hard and fast, my hand aiding me, the push and pull of his hand setting the tone, my mouth doing the rest. And it doesn’t take long. He is so ready, so primed for me, three hours of buildup turning my steel man into a mess of want and desire. It is gorgeous when he comes.