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“Ah—” The sound cut off from my gasp as he readjusted, hitting a spot inside of me that made my bones turn to mush. “Please don’t leave.Fuck, please.”
“Don’t leave?” he parroted.
I shook my head, words fully lost on my tongue as I tried to figure out a way to articulate the phraseI don’t ever want to be empty againwithout sounding like a mad woman. “Just fuck me, Adrian,” I breathed instead.
His answering, breathy chuckle was all the confirmation that I needed.
Slowly, achingly, he slid himself so far out that I thought hemightactually leave—but then he was slamming in, punishingly, demandingly, leaving me gasping for air that didn’t feel like it was quite enough inside of my lungs. Over and over and over.
“God,yes,” he groaned, his nails digging into the flesh of my thigh so hard that I could feel the little half-moon indents forming. He gave me a little more pressure on my clit to compensate, and the pain morphed into pleasure, setting fire to my veins. “You’re too fucking perfect.”
His mouth met my neck, teeth sinking into the soft, sensitive flesh there, and I couldn’t bite back the sounds I made, couldn’t cover them with my hand. They’d be drowned out by the honking of cars, and the boom of the bass from music pouring out of a club nearby anyway, but something about it felt exposing in a way I wasn’t quite used to.
But Goddammit, it wasexhilarating.
Every shift in his hips came with an echoing grunt from the crook of my neck, and every gentle caress of his fingers between my thighs pulled mirroring sounds from me. I wanted more from him, wanted my dress off and his chest bare, but every time I tried to push his suit jacket further than his elbows, he resisted. I couldn’t quite tell if it was a reluctance to take this further than it already was out in the city air, or if he just truly didn’t want to remove his hands from me long enough to shrug it off.
But he let me pull at his tie, let me undo a handful of buttons on his crisp white shirt, let me open his vest. It was enough to slip my hand in through a gap in the fabric, and I could feel the rigidity of his muscles, could feel them flex with every movement he made.
We’d done this already, but somehow, it still felt like a fantasy, still felt like I was out cold in bed dreaming of him like I’d done almost every night for the past week and a half and intermittently for years before that. He’d wormed his way inside of my mind, and although I’d gotten him out before, it seemed almost like he’d lodged himself deeper, somewhere I didn’t know how to get to.
Somewhere real.
As the post-orgasmic sensitivity faded and I craved more of his touch, I gripped what little skin of his chest that I could and pulled at the hair on the back of his head. “More,” I said, my voice barely more than a choked whisper. “More, Adrian.”
His chuckle as he gave me more pressure on the place I needed it most, sending a shiver up my spine. “I shouldn’t like it when you say my name like that,” he said. He lifted his head, his chin tipping up and meeting mine almost in defiance. “And yet…say it again.”
I swallowed down the little hint of anxiety that flared in my throat, and just as I opened my mouth to say his name, he moved his fingers faster, pressed down harder—and the name came out contorted, half-moaned, and half-sobbed.
The rising pleasure in my gut built rapidly at his answering smirk.
“You’re the worst,” I laughed, and his hips shifted as he readjusted me, lifting me just an inch higher. There wasn’t a single part of me that understood what the fuck was happening inside, but he was driving himself into a spot that made my breath catch, and my fingers twitch. My head tipped back onto the cold concrete wall, my vision unfocused, and ohGod, yes, that was perfect?—
“Am I?” he challenged, but his words were strained, spat out through clenched teeth and stiffening muscles. The way he gripped me, the way he moved, it told me he was close, and I was right beside him, seconds from falling off the cliff. “I could be far meaner, Ava. I could…”
His fingers abandoned my clit entirely.
“…do that.”
I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think straight, not when he’d left me teetering on the fucking edge like that. “No, no, no,please,” I begged, my shaking hand slipping from his shirt and searching for his.Where the fuck was it?“Adrian, I swear to God?—”
The fabric of my dress shifted, and just above where my legs met my hips, a warm pressure bloomed. A strained cry left my throat as the pressure made me feel even fuller, as it intensifiedthe already gluttonous sensation of him hitting that spot inside of me. I’d never felt anything like that.
My orgasm tore through me, unannounced and unexpected, from somewhere far deeper than I’d normally feel it.
I gripped onto him for dear life as he fucked me, my body seizing and relaxing over and over, that pressure remaining in place as he shook. Just when I’d thought he’d lost all control and fully broken, a brush of sensation against my clit ignited me again, just enough to have me digging my fingers into bare skin and cloth as he buried his final moan against the underside of my jaw.
And despite how long he held me like that with our combined warmth dripping down between his polished shoes, despite how much our breaths synced as we tried desperately to regain our oxygen levels, despite how still we were as the breeze off the Hudson whipped through the buildings and blew against our bodies, I couldn’t cool off. I couldn’t come down from the high.
He’d lit me on fire with that last little touch, and I couldn’t seem to put it out.
With shaking hands, he lowered me back to the floor and refastened his slacks, fixed the little flyaways that were sticking up from my hair, cleaned up the smeared lipstick below my lip. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, removing any hint of evidence there, before raking his fingers through the black and speckled gray of his hair.
My feet struggled to find their balance in my heels, and I leaned against the wall for support, my chest heaving with every breath.
I had never, not once in my life, had an orgasm like that. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I wasn’t lucky enough to be blessed with the ability to have a release without external stimulation, butthat… that was the only way I could classify it.
I didn’t want to admit that he might know my own body better than I did. I didn’t want to admit that I’d never had someone do that to me and likely never would again. I wasn’t even entirely surehowhe did it.
