Chapter 256: After the Last Truck

When she looked at him her eyes were still dark and her mouth had lost its boardroom line."Thursday was a one-time slot," she said.

"No," Liam said. "It wasn’t."She turned for the door.He caught her wrist.

Sandra froze, not in fear in calculation and then he pulled her back against him, hard enough that her ass met his hips and her breath left in a short, angry sound.

The tablet knocked the desk edge. The radio clattered against the wood and spun once before lying still.

He had her turned before she could finish the protest, mouth on hers again, hand already back under the blouse she had just buttoned to the throat. The fabric gave.

Her skin was hot underneath. When his palm filled with her breast she made a noise into his mouth that was half curse, half surrender, and her free hand fisted in his shirt instead of pushing him away.

"Liam"

"You said don’t be gentle."

"I said next time put it in the"He kissed the rest off her mouth and walked her backward until her thighs hit the desk again. The edge caught her hard enough to make her gasp.

This time he did not take her from behind. He lifted her onto the wood, shoved the tablet aside, and dragged her trousers and underwear off in one run down her legs.

The trousers caught on her shoe; he yanked them free and let them drop. Sandra’s curse broke into a gasp when he spread her knees and looked at what he had already had and was not done with slick, swollen, his cum still wet on her thighs, her cunt flushed and open from the first round.

"Cameras are still off," he said.

"That’s not the point."

"It is for now."He dropped to one knee and put his mouth on her.

Sandra’s hand slammed the desk. Her head fell back. A long, broken sound tore out of her throat before she could bite it down.

He licked through the mess of them his release, her wetness, the salt and heat of her and sucked her clit with steady, filthy pressure while she tried to stay quiet and failed in broken, furious sounds.

Her thighs trembled against his shoulders. When he pushed two fingers into her she clenched hard enough that he felt it in his knuckles; he curled them, rubbed, and kept his tongue working until her hips jerked and her other hand found his hair.

"Fuck Liam"

When she came on his tongue it was sharper than the first thighs clamping his ears, hips jerking, a raw noise punched out of her chest that the empty yard would never hear.

He worked her through it, licking and stroking until she shoved at his shoulder,oversensitive, breath ragged, legs shaking on either side of his head.

He stood, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and freed himself again already hard, slick with what he had left in her minutes before, the head of his cock shiny in the office light.

Sandra looked down at him, then up at his face. The professional woman was still in there, somewhere behind the flush and the wrecked breathing. So was the woman who had pushed back onto his cock and asked for harder.

"If you walk out now," he said, "I’ll put it in the calendar. If you stay, I’m not stopping at one."

She held his eyes. Calculation flickered policy, pride, the long habit of being the one who locked up and went home alone.

Then she reached down, wrapped her hand around him, and stroked once from base to tip, smearing the wetness there.

She guided him back to her entrance and held him there, the head of his cock notched against her, both of them breathing.

"Lock the door again," she said. "For real."He did. The click was soft. Final.When he pushed into her the second time she was looser, wetter, still tight enough at the core that both of them groaned.

The slide was filthy and deep. He fucked her on the desk face to face deep strokes, her legs around his waist, her blouse open, her breasts moving with every thrust. Sandra’s nails bit his shoulders.

Her mouth found his throat, then his jaw, then his mouth again. The yard outside stayed empty. The fan turned. The desk complained in small wooden protests each time his hips met hers.

He did not finish in her again. Not yet.

He pulled out. She made a sound of protest that she would deny later.

He turned her over, bent her across the wood so her ass that heavy, perfect argument was lifted and open, and took a second to look at what he had: the curve of her, the shine of his cum on her skin, her cunt still twitching.

He slid back in to the hilt while she cursed into her forearm, the sound muffled and raw. One hand gripped her hip hard enough to dent the flesh. The other reached under and rubbed her clit in firm, relentless circles.

"Take it," he said.

Sandra came a third time with a broken, muffled cry, clenching hard around him, her whole body shaking against the desk.

He fucked her through it, grinding deep, until the pulses weakened and she was gasping into the wood.

Only then did he bury himself to the root and empty into her again longer, heavier, holding her still while he pulsed, forehead against her spine, the office filled with the wet sound of him finishing inside her for the second time.

They stayed locked like that until the shaking left her legs.Sandra’s voice, when it came, was wrecked and steady at once.

"If this is becoming a thing," she said into the desk, "we’re going to need rules. And a better surface than my inventory desk."

Liam eased out of her slowly. Cum slicked her thighs and the edge of the wood. He turned her enough to see her face flushed, eyes dark, mouth soft and brushed a smear of sweat from her temple with his thumb.

"Then we take the next round off the desk," he said. "I’m not done."Outside, the yard stayed dark. A dog barked once beyond the fence and went quiet.

Inside, the office had stopped being about freight the tablet dark, the radio silent, the professional woman bent and claimed over her own inventory furniture and the night had only started.