Page 147 of Sexting His Assistant

“I know I need to be inside you.”

That shuts her up. For half a second.

Then she whispers, “Condom?”

I pull one from my wallet.

Her eyes narrow. “Do you always carry those?”

“Yes.”

“Of course you do.”

“For emergencies.”

“This is not an emergency.”

I look at her.

She looks down between us.

Then back up.

“Fine,” she whispers. “It’s an emergency.”

I almost laugh, but there is no time.

I roll the condom on, push her underwear aside, and line myself up. The space is awkward and tight. My injured shoulder limits how I can move, and the shelf is too low, but none of that matters when I press into her and feel her body take me.

She grips the back of my neck and bites down on a sound.

“Quiet,” I say against her mouth.

“I’m trying.”

I push in deeper.

Her forehead drops against mine.

For a moment, neither of us moves.

She’s hot around me, her thighs locked around my hips, her fingers digging into my shirt. I have to breathe through the first few seconds because the need to move hard is immediate.

Then I start.

Short, deep thrusts at first because the space does not allow anything else. Her back presses into the shelf. Bottled water rattles beside her. She slaps one hand over the plastic to keep it from making noise, and the panic on her face almost makes me smile.

“Not funny,” she whispers.

“It is a little funny.”

“You are inside me in an office closet.”

“Yes.”

I thrust harder.

Her mouth opens, but she catches the sound in time.