I guide us forward until she is close to the built-in shelves storing linens and spare towels. My hand glides from her lower abdomen to settle on her hip while I continue to let the other rest against her throat. She swallows, and I apply the slightest of pressure. She still doesn't run. I'm impressed.
I adjust my hold, not breaking the connection to her skin as my thumb and trailing forefinger chase around her collarbone to the back of her neck. Gliding down her spine, her muscles vibrate under my touch as a low purr echoes through the room.
Squeezing both her hips, I say, "Hold on to the shelf."
The sound cuts off, and her head turns ever so slightly. I expect her to tell me to go fuck off, but she surprises me when she lifts her arms in compliance.
"So, you do know who's in charge," I attempt to mock her, but the lust in my tone betrays me. I don't want to want her, but I can't deny that I do. She remains mute, and it somehow tells me that she is aware of the bull I just spewed. She could call me out, but she doesn't.
On autopilot, my palm first glides across the small of her back and north until it settles between her shoulder blades. Her body submits to my intention as she arches into the shelving, positioning her ass perfectly for me to admire her curves.
The agonizing restraint of my jeans becomes unbearable, and I let go of her other hip. Unfastening the button, I thrust my hand inside, reaching around my raging cock to cup my balls screaming for release. The coolness of my palm, combined with freeing my dick, causes the endorphins in my brain to spike. My mouth goes dry at the sudden release of pressure.
What am I doing here?
Uncertainty throws a shadow on my need to take her like this. "Den." Her rasped name feels right on my tongue. I don't want it to.
She doesn't move.
"Look at me," I command. I need to see her eyes. Her eyes always have betrayed her. They're the reason I knew something was wrong downstairs. That I had to intervene.
Her head slowly tilts in my direction. She only turns enough to peer up at me through her lashes. She holds my stare before biting her lower lip. Neither of us speaks, yet we both think the same. She faces away again and widens her stance.
Jesus fuck.
My chest squeezes, and I trail her from head to toe. I didn't pay attention to her heels until now. She's porn come to life, her blouse slightly untucked. Her already short skirt has ridden up, the rounds of her ass cheeks peeking out beneath.
My palm digs into her flesh as it glides back south to the slope of her butt, tracing the outline of her thong with my finger through the material of her skirt. My other hand fists my shaft, stroking up and down. The grasp of my hand confirms there is no doubt at this moment. Reaching the top again, I run my thumb over the swollen head, swiping the first milky drop of precum off my tip. It's like the final warning of what's to come.
Clasping the hem, I push her skirt up until it bunches around her waist. She's wearing a bright-red lace thong, and my length jerks at the sight. Saliva pools in my mouth, and I can't decide if I want to taste her or pound my cock in her. I rarely eat pussy. There is something too personal to it that I generally don't allow myself. And this is Keller. I'm sure her cunt tastes phenomenal, but she is the last woman on earth I'd give that pleasure to—or myself.
I hook my finger around the fabric nestled between her cheeks and pull it to the side. I don't give her a chance to react before plunging two fingers between her warm folds. So wet.
"Oh, god," she moans as I pump in and out.
Not stopping my assault, I murmur in a tone that doesn't leave any room for negotiation. "Do not make a sound. Understood?"
Her head bobs up and down as she pushes against my hand pleasuring her. She takes what she needs. I want her to have it as much as I crave for her to submit to me being in charge.
Her legs begin to shake. I withdraw from her heat, settling my palm on her ass lightly before slapping it once. Denielle whimpers, and I wonder how far I can take this.
I fist my dick harder, moving up and down. "I want you to beg for my cock." I wrap my hand that just left an imprint on her ass around her long, dark hair. Angling her head until she has to look at me, I say, "Beg."
Denielle holds my gaze steadily. Then, it dips to where I am touching myself. Her tongue darts out, and she peers back up at me. I struggle not to roll my eyes back inside my head. She's dirtier than I ever imagined. A smirk pulls on the corners of my mouth. "I'm waiting."
Is this the moment she puts a stop to it?
She removes one hand from the shelf and reaches back until her small fingers are wrapped around mine. She squeezes once before guiding me to her entrance. Her heat radiates against my tip. I shiver as the flutter in my core increases.
"Give me your worst, Baxter." With those five words, she almost puts me on my knees. She turns forward and repositions herself.
Fuck.
I'm lined up with her, and before I rethink the colossal mistake I'm about to make, I push my cock inside her tight cunt. And tight it is.
"Fuuuuck." This time, my eyes do roll back, and I pause, not to let her adjust to my size but to not immediately explode from the rush of sensation. Her heat grips around me, and I clench my jaw. I inhale slowly through my nose, calming my senses. When I regain control over my sixteen-year-old self that has suddenly resurfaced, acting like this is the first pussy we've stuck our dick in, I start moving. I don't hold back, either. I can't go slow. Slow is for sex. Slow is for someone you want to please. This is fucking. Nothing more, nothing less.
I thrust into Denielle, and she arches her back to give me an even better angle. With my hand still around her hair, I pull. A suppressed moan reverberates between us. She follows my order of not making a sound—or at least tries to.