Page 30 of Sexting His Assistant

Her body slides toward me over the polished wood, and her hands fly back for balance. Her dress gathers around her hips. Her head tips slightly, breath catching, eyes bright with the last fragile thread of control she has left.

I break it with my mouth.

The first taste of her pussy hits me hard enough that I have to close my eyes.

She’s wet. Hot. Already soft and slick against my tongue, the intimate truth of her body laid bare beneath all that pride and sarcasm. I drag my tongue through her slowly, from the wet heat of her entrance up to her clit, and her entire body jerks like she has been struck.

Her thighs try to close around my head.

I hold them open. Firm and unforgiving.

She makes a sound then, low and shocked, and it goes straight through me. I look up once, just enough to see her head tipped back, her mouth open, one hand gripping the edge of the table so hard her knuckles have gone pale.

I lick her again. Slower this time.

I find her clit with the flat of my tongue and circle it deliberately, learning the first helpless rhythm of her body. Her hips lift toward my mouth before she can stop them. There’s nothing polished about it. Nothing clever. Just need. Pure, trembling need, and I feel it in the way she rolls against my tongue, in the way her breath breaks apart above me.

I don’t speak. I don’t have to. My hands tell her enough.

One grips her thigh. The other presses low across her stomach, holding her down when she starts to squirm. She’s too sensitive already, too close to losing the composure she’s trying so desperately to keep, and the knowledge makes something dark and satisfied move through me.

I close my lips around her clit and suck gently.

Her body bows off the table.

A broken sound tears out of her, and she slaps one hand over her mouth.

I catch her wrist without lifting my head and pin it beside her hip.

I go back to her clit, licking it with steady pressure, then softer, then harder again, forcing her body to chase the rhythm. She trembles beneath me, thighs shaking against my hands. Her heels scrape against the table’s edge. Her fingers twist in my hair, tentative at first, then desperate, pulling me closer like she has forgotten she ever meant to resist.

I slide two fingers into her.

Her wetness takes them easily, but the tight heat of her clenches around me the second I push inside. I have to pause for half a breath, jaw locked, because the feel of her around my fingers while my mouth is on her clit is almost enough to make me lose the one boundary I have left.

I curl my fingers inside her, searching by feel, by the way her breathing stutters, by the way her hips twitch when I find the spot that makes her grip my hair harder.

There. I stroke it again.

Her whole body tightens.

I keep my mouth on her clit while my fingers move inside her, slow and deep at first, then more deliberate. Her thighs are shaking now, no dignity left in the way she opens for me, in the way she presses closer, in the way she tries to take more without asking for it.

She’s soaked against my mouth.

I taste all of it. Every slick, needy part of her.

The thought this was supposed to be for another man burns through me again, hot enough to sharpen my focus into cruelty. I suck her clit harder, then ease back to flick it with my tongue, keeping my fingers moving in that exact rhythm that makes her breath come apart.

Her back arches. Her head turns against the table.

The room is full of the sounds she’s trying and failing to swallow: breath, soft gasps, the wet movement of my fingers inside her, the helpless little whimper she makes every time my tongue returns to her clit.

She’s close. And I feel it before she does.

Her body goes tense under my hands. Her thighs press against my shoulders. Her pussy clenches around my fingers, tight and pulsing, trying to pull me deeper. I keep her pinned in place and don’t let up. My mouth stays on her clit, relentless now, tongue working her through the last fragile thread of control.

Her hand tightens in my hair hard enough to hurt. I welcome it.