Page 49 of Sterling Clay

I glance around him once more, staring at the surface because I’m not certain I can look him in the eye when I speak.

“To be clear, I want you to lay back on the desk and let me fuck you.”

“Hot damn, Mavis,” he groans, swiping his hand around his mouth and choking. Then he steps back, and back again, until he hits the edge of his desk.

“Do I undress myself or do you take over?”

Goading me once more, I stiffen my spine and close the distance between us, popping the button on his jeans before lowering the zipper. Clay leans back, letting me take control in lowering his jeans over his hips. Then I tug at his shirt, pushing the flannel down his arms. He’s got too many articles of clothing on him, and I decide to skip ahead. I push at his shoulders and Clay hops up on the desk, leaning back to his elbows and watching me as I tug at his denims and his boxer briefs, removing them only enough to free him from the confines.

I stare at the heavy length, erect and protruding from his lower belly.

“Butterfly,” he chokes again, and I wrap my hand around the stiff shaft, tug once and then lower for a lick.

“Jesus,” Clay hisses as I take him to the back of my throat before pulling up the length and circling the tip with my tongue. He falls to his back, slings an arm over his face. His exhale is shaky. “You do that again and we aren’t going to get to you riding me.”

I release him and Clay moves his arm, lifting only his head to watch me tug down my underwear and step out of it. I leave my boots on, my dress open.

“Whatcha doin’ to me, beautiful?” He groans, not suggesting I stop, not concerned for himself, just questioning the Universe.

Then, as if sensing I’m not certain how to climb up and over him, he holds out his hand. With his assistance, I set my knee on one side of him and then swing my other knee over his other hip. Straddling him, I stare down at where he’s big, and thick, and I’m suddenly nervous.

“I don’t have a condom on me,” he warns, his tone suddenly anxious. “Don’t keep them in my office.” The admission suggests he’s never done this here before. “But I’m clean.”

“Me too.” Pregnancy won’t be an issue either. I should tell him the truth about me, but I don’t. Now isn’t the time.

I hitch his lengthy dick upright and tease the tip through my sensitive folds. Clay watches every motion, enraptured by the torment until I still, and my body opens for him.

“Mavis.” His deep voice cracks as he glides easily into me, filling me until he can’t go any further.

Sitting on top of him, I lean forward, hands on his desk on either side of his biceps and take a deep breath.

“I’ve never been so full,” I admit, wheezing out the words.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Clay grunts, dropping back his head and staring up at the ceiling.

Then, I move, drawing up his thick dick and watching Clay’s abs flinch. His upper body moves the slightest bit, like a jolt of electricity shocked him. When he falls back, his hands cup my hips, squeezing at my flesh, but letting me lead.

And I begin the slow ride up and down, and circling round and round, until my clit hits him in such a way, I’m losing control once again.

“Clay,” I whimper.

“Take it, baby. Take everything.”

I’m slipping up and down his length, and riding back and forth, the friction building, teasing, taunting me.

“I never . . .” I gasp, surprised at how quickly another orgasm is going to shatter me.

“Yes,” Clay demands, his fingertips tightening into my skin.

“Clay.” I groan. “Honey.” The word contains my shock. The sheer incredulity that this could happen to me. That I could come a second time. That I am riding this man. That he let me take what I wanted from him.

I’m in control. The thought has me crashing once again. I slam down on his dick, my channel clenching around him, milking him, as wave after wave crests and falls. I tip my head back then drop it forward, spellbound by the release.

Instantly, Clay takes over, moving me up and down his length, once, twice, . . . “I’m going to come,” he warns.

“Yes,” I cry out before he abruptly tugs me off him. I whimper with disappointment, immediately missing the connection with him.

He pulls me down so tender folds cover his thick balls and slicked length, still wet from entering me. He pulses beneath me, and I clench in response, glancing down at where he spills on his lower abdomen, washing himself in ropey, white substance. His head tips back. A vein stands along his neck. His fingers grind into my hips, and he holds still.