“Good,” I breathe, relieved.
I’ve lost half my hard-on with this moment of truth, so I decide to work her up so that it’ll work me up again.
I grab the vibrator from the counter and examine it.
Little minx. In there pleasuring herself when I’m across the hall? Fuck.
I flick it on and then I’ve got it between her legs.
Her knees buckle briefly and then I’m holding her up with my free hand banded across her ribcage, directly under her breasts.
She’s against me and my cock is immediately going from half-mast to fully reaching for the sky, so I grab it clumsily with my left hand while my right holds that vibrator against her clit. I position my cock at her entrance and slam up into her.
She whimpers. I press the pink silicone harder against her clit and push the button again to see if this thing will go any higher. It does.
I feel Jada jerk in reaction, so I do it again and then twice more until it sounds like we’re in a machine shop.
She whimpers and this has the effect of making her pussy clench around my shaft. No way has she used this at this level with me across the hall or I’d have heard it.
It feels too good, feeling her tremble around me while I’m inside her, and I take advantage of the access I’ve got and pull back a little so I can get my free hand to her breast, which was squished into the fridge. I scoot us over a few feet so that she’s leaned over the open counter instead, giving me more ability to grind into her, giving her room to bend forward and even brace on the counter ledge.
She does just that and I twist her nipple between my thumb, index, and middle finger, making her cry out a string of vowels. The mop bucket is in my way, directly against my ankle, so I shove it. Water sloshes over the edge, getting my pantleg wet.
“Shit.”
Jada lifts a foot out of the way, obviously now covered in sudsy water too, but we don’t stop. I continue pistoning into her, playing with her nipple, and holding that hot pink thing between her legs. My knuckles are mashed into the counter because I’m pushing into her so hard from behind, but the pleasure receptors are stronger than the pain ones, so I keep going.
She starts coming on my cock and I have a brief moment of wishing I wasn’t wearing a condom, because if this feels this good gloved, I can’t imagine what sort of heaven it’d be to feel her spasms around me without the millimeter of Latex between us.
She whimpers my name and I blow inside her, wishing my come was filling her body instead of this condom with a vivid ferocity that threatens to rip a hole in me.
The volume of want has just blown the speakers. It struck that hard.
I spin her and devour her mouth. She melts for me, opens for me, and I’m filled with the scent and taste of her.
Abruptly, she pulls back.
She pulls back and looks at me with horror in her eyes.
I flinch at the intensity of it and it immediately clears from her eyes.
She suddenly looks almost detached.
I take a step back and put the vibrator on the counter before I pull the condom off and drop it in the garbage can.
She squats, picks up her clothes from the floor, grabs the pink thing and then turns and goes. I hear a door close.
I look down at the half-mopped floor, at the puddle, and I drop a couple kitchen towels on it.
I sop up the water, then take the mop and bucket to the utility room and leave them there.
Jada’s in the bathroom.
She’s crying.
Fuck.
I put my forehead against the door, lift my fist to knock, but then the shower turns on and I no longer hear her.
I stand there a minute before I go to my bedroom, change my clothes, and then leave the apartment.
***
It’s now Thursday and I’ve successfully avoided her, except briefly Wednesday when she was going into the bathroom while I was leaving for work, late, because I’d been in a late-night conference call the night before. Our eyes met and she looked surprised to see me, then nothing else happened because I slid out the door without saying a word.
Today’s lunch is an egg salad sandwich on a croissant.
It makes my office stink and I’ve heard comments from someone nearby asking who the fuck brought egg salad for lunch.
Yep, egg salad at work is a crime, but I give no fucks. Someone else, I think it was Blake who used to work at our office in San Diego muttered it was ‘the boss’ and the noise hushed. I laughed as I ate it and loved every single bite of it. She’s put salt, pepper, and paprika on it and it tastes so good I wish she’d made me two.