Page 124 of Make You Mine

Being fucked in the copy machine room.

Of all my fantasies, he picked this one for my first time.

Of course, my own idea differed—and I might have added a ‘while being sent to make copies, with others working in the room next door.’ And adding an alternative of ‘after being accidentally locked in the room with a hot stranger…or a not-so-stranger, but still hot.’

Devon makes sure to play with my fantasies and make them his own. Twisting them.

My body turns hypersensitive with thoughts of it. I’m curious, willing to let this moment reach its natural course.

Maybe, if I catch Devon off guard, if he’s so deep in it, I can find out the real him. Who’s the man behind the mask.

I can unmask him.

He places his palms on my legs, moving to my thighs as he spreads them open.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he says. “And it’s all mine.”

He takes out his phone and clicks on the screen again. The swirling sound of the machine coming to life underneath me startles me. Did he turn the electricity back on?

His other hand cements my open legs to the machine, and he slides the cushion out from under me.

“Just for a moment,” he whispers, pressing something on the machine.

A moment later, a printed sheet slips out from the side of it. He picks up the paper and spins it toward me.

He made a copy of my pussy.

“It’s a piece of art, really. It begged to be captured,” he says, folding the piece of paper in four and pushing it into one of his pockets. “It’s going into my personal collection.”

My cheeks blush with warmth as he pushes the cushion back under me.

He clicks away at his phone screen again, a soft melody revealing itself. A familiar tune about a guy who wants to stay awake to hear his lover’s breathing. He rests the phone behind me on the machine, letting the melody transform the room.

“You’re really going all the way with this,” I say.

I can’t believe he’s even playing music.

“I’m trying. I want you to remember this.” He keeps my legs apart and puts himself between them, rubbing circles on my inner thighs with his thumbs. “Are you ready, baby?”

I gnaw at my bottom lip and stare at this neon mask, a slow nod.

I let myself be overpowered by my emotions. Feeling every single stroke as he moves one of his hands to my center, pressing his thumb against my clit, and circling it.

It doesn’t take long for me to get in the mood, my body relaxing against his touch.

I hold onto the sides of the machine as he slams a finger into my pussy, pumping it in and out while still massaging my clit. Mumbles form at my mouth, making me incoherent, which I soon replace with moans, unable to keep quiet.

“Yes. More.”

He adds another finger, stretching me roughly.

I close my eyes and do something atrocious. I imagine the one who’s touching me is the one I can’t have. The one who plagues every single page of my diary—the one who ruined me and started the diary.

Imagining him makes me hypersensitive, heightening every single touch of Devon’s fingers. I arch myself toward him. He keeps fucking me with his fingers. I thrust back and forth, asking for more, deeper, faster.

“Fuck, you’re so good.” My orgasm curls at my belly. I’m almost there. I can feel it. “Please, don’t stop.”

He does, he listens to me for once, a fucking good boy, and he lets his fingers ravish my pussy. Giving me exactly what I need. What I’ve been needing all along.