Page 5

He tests and teases, dips just inside and retreats. I’m writhing on him, pressing my ass back against his thick, insistent erection. I try to force myself down further on that teasing finger and he just clucks his tongue and pulls his hand away.

“So greedy,” he scolds me. “Be patient.”

“Can’t,” I whine. “Can’t wait. Please.”

I’m begging, needy, pathetic, and I don’t even care. I’ve just had one of the best orgasms of my life and I want another.

“Greedy, greedy girl. You left that meeting room so fast today. Were you embarrassed by how much you wanted these fingers inside you?”

As he asks the question, he plunges his finger deep, and my moan bounces off the walls around us.

It’s one finger, a single damn finger, and I’m already full.

He crooks it forward, hits that sweet spot so deep inside that my belly melts into pure liquid.

I can’t speak, can’t do anything but clench on him and grasp at his thick forearms, nails leaving crescents on his skin.

“Susie,” he says sternly, stilling the motion of his hand. “I’m waiting for an answer.”

Damn him. Damn him for making me say it.

Although, even while I’m mentally cursing his name, something deep and dark in my core flutters at the small humiliation.

“Yes. I was embarrassed.”

Satisfaction rumbles up the back of his throat, and he pushes his ring finger inside of me to join his middle finger. The stretch is obscene. I’m stuffed to the seams, so deliciously full. Desperate for more, I ride his hand, rolling my hips and trying to take him even deeper.

“Good girl,” he says against my neck, shifting his legs to let me have even more freedom to move. “You take everything you need from me, Susie.”

I fuck myself onto his fingers, soaking his entire hand with my wetness. Shifting slightly, he tilts the heel of his palm to massage against my clit. I’m still aching there, sensitive after he rubbed me over my panties and it’s almost too much. Almost.

“Look,” he says, voice still so stern. “Look at how pretty this pussy is with my fingers spreading you.”

Who am I to resist a command like that?

And god damn, the sight of his two thick fingers disappearing into me, stretching me, is enough to make me cry out again as the first waves of another climax start building.

Jonah makes a low, appreciative noise in the back of his throat. “You shouldn’t feel embarrassed about this. I’ve thought about it, too.”

“You have?” I pant, rocking my hips to increase the pressure on my clit. The heightened sensation makes me clench down on him, and we both groan.

“I could scent you,” he murmurs. “In the meeting room. I saw you staring at me and scented your arousal and knew you wanted this as much as I did.”

Fuck. Fuck, that’s hot.

“I just never thought I’d be so damn lucky.”

He thinks he’s the lucky one?

I can only latch onto the words for a moment before the heel of Jonah’s hand presses down hard on my clit again, and any coherent thoughts simply cease to exist. He’s relentless, working my body with single-minded determination, breathing almost as hard as I am.

He brushes my clit again, a fainter touch this time, almost teasing, but I’m too far gone.

My second orgasm washes over me with devastating totality. I might be moaning, or saying his name, or just speaking outright nonsense, and I’d never be able to tell.

Jonah’s lips skate along my neck, his two sharp tusks brushing against my skin in a tiny bite of pain that amplifies my pleasure. He’s murmuring just like I am, saying my name in a breathless, awed voice that sounds almost… reverent.

“Sweet Susie,” he whispers, dragging his tusks over the side of my neck again. “Look at you. Look at how beautiful you are when you come.”

Jonah holds me tight, still murmuring to me, soothing me, sturdy and warm and wonderful at my back while I float in my post-orgasm bliss.

When I’m finally able to see straight again, I reach up and back, tangling one hand into his hair and running my nails along his scalp. He hums in pleasure, body melting into mine, but tenses when my other hand dips down between us, tugging at his shirt where it’s tucked into his waistband.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Just rest.”

“You don’t want…” I say, gesturing at the truly impressive erection tenting his khaki pants and playing with the hem of his shirt where I’ve pulled it free.

Jonah shakes his head and draws his fingers slowly out of me. “It’s alright, I wanted this to be for you.”

Even as my whole body shudders with the sensation of him sliding out of me, I frown. “You’re sure? Because I really—”

“It’s alright,” he says again, gently pulling my hand away from his shirt.

There’s something tight and uncomfortable in his voice, and the sharp, unexpected sting of rejection settles in my gut. Why doesn’t he want me to touch him?

Before I can ask, the sound of a phone ringing comes from where Jonah left his jacket near the door. Brow furrowing, he looks toward the sound and then back at me, apologetically.

“I should answer that.”

“Oh,” I say, scrambling out of his lap. “Um, alright.”

He stands and crosses the room to fish it out of his pocket. Speaking too quietly for me to hear what he’s saying, he hangs up after a minute or so.

When he turns back around, he looks even more apologetic than before. “I have to go.”

Oof. If I felt rejected before, I’m entirely dejected now.

Still… this wasn’t a date. It was just casual, just a hookup.

Just me propositioning him, really, not asking for dinner and flowers or anything like that, so I hide whatever I’m feeling under a smile and grab the blanket off the couch next to me.

Standing, I wrap it around my shoulders, fully aware of how ridiculous I must look, and wait for him to say something else.

“I’m really sorry,” he tells me, and although he looks it, I can’t help but feel disappointed and self-conscious and stupid.

Was I that bad? Did I do something that turned him off so much he’s in such a hurry to get out of here?

Or maybe he pulled the classic move of getting a friend to call him after a certain amount of time had passed, so he had a viable excuse to leave his crazy coworker’s apartment.

“That was my boss,” he explains. “We’re at the end of the quarter, and apparently something I was working on today didn’t pull through right on the end-of-quarter reports. Can’t imagine why. Wasn’t like I was completely distracted and useless for the last hour of the day.”

He laughs a little self-deprecatingly, and I want to believe him, I really do, but doubt crawls up my throat in a chokehold.

Still smiling, though it feels horribly forced, I nod. “Alright. Um, sorry you have to go.”

A look crosses his face that I can’t quite decipher. Something tight and pained and maybe… regretful? Whether it’s regret that he has to go, or regret he ever came here at all, though, I don’t know.

“I am, too.” He stands there for a moment more, still looking conflicted, before he shakes his head and gives me a small smile that seems almost as fake as mine. “Well… I guess I better be going.”

“Sure, uh, have a good weekend. Hope they don’t keep you too late.”

“You, too. The weekend part.”

It’s like an out-of-body experience, how intensely awkward this moment is. I don’t know what else to say, how to process this or wrap my mind around what the hell just happened.

The moment passes, though, and Jonah turns and heads for the front door.

He opens it, half-turns back to face me, and offers one last regretful smile. “Bye, Susie.”

“Bye.”

The door closes after him, and I drop the damn smile. The blanket, too, suddenly too rough against my skin. I feel… wrong. Discordant. Like a broken bell chiming tones that set my teeth on edge.

The worst kind of whiplash makes my head spin, and I don’t know which way is up.

How the hell is it possible to feel that much pleasure and then that much discomfort in the span of five minutes?

What on earth just happened?

Not knowing what else to do, I head to my bathroom to clean up. In the mirror, my hair is a bird’s nest and my makeup is smudged under my eyes. Great. So in addition to being awkward as hell, I look like a lunatic, too. Perfect.

All cleaned up, I head into my bedroom and flop down backward on the bed, letting the waves of humiliation and shame and regret wash over me.

So much for my brief foray into promiscuity, and so much for taking a leap and seducing the orc I’ve been crushing on for two years.

The second part of that regret stings infinitely worse than the first. I roll over, pull a blanket over me and reach for the remote, ready to watch reruns of some comfort TV show until it stops stinging so much.

Or until I just die from shame. Whichever comes first.

Even as I do, my muscles still ache, my pussy still throbs, and if I inhale deeply enough, I imagine I can still smell Jonah’s woods and sunshine scent on my skin.