“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she says incredulously. But she’s throwing her shirt off over her head and tossing her bra.
“We are.” I shimmy her jeans and panties down her curvy thighs and throw them on the ground. Then I get an idea. “Your chair.”
“What?”
“Come here.” In a flash, my pants are unbuttoned, pushed down, shirt off, and I’m sitting on her desk chair, my hard-on sticking straight up because I want her so badly. “Come here,” I repeat, and she looks at me, confused. “This way,” I say, and spin her around so her glorious glutes are facing me. As she turns, I catch the surprise in her eyes, but I know she’s as turned on as I am. Slowly, carefully, while I sit in the lawyer chair, she settles herself down on my cock, and we both groan. “Fuck, yes.”
I fill her.
She’s warm, wet, tightening around me.
“Josh,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“God,” she says, leaning back, her body molding to mine.
I grip her breasts as she moves against me and revel in the sound of her ragged breath. Fuck, she feels so good.
But then she sits up straighter and starts to move, and the black pleather desk chair rocks with us.
“Get yourself off,” I whisper, and I gently grab her hips, guiding her as she raises and lowers herself on my cock. With one hand, I reach around and touch between her legs, finding that sensitive nub that I know will set her off.
She speeds up.
Are we going to get caught? I don’t fucking care. We can’t get in any more trouble than we already are—and the only person who matters to me, now, is her.
The only thing that matters is that she feels good. That she knows how much I care for her. That I want her in my life every moment of every day.
“I. Can’t. Believe. We’re. Doing. This,” she pants, as she goes faster and faster, up and down, up and down.
I am in ecstasy. My focal point on Evie and our union. On making it as good for her as I can, on letting her feel the best positions for herself, guiding herself along me until she’s so slick it’s unreal.
She’s getting close.
I can tell.
I can feel the arousal between her legs, the way she’s moving almost maniacally, the way the chair is now tilting back and forth, pushing back across the room as she fucks every inch of me.
And I love it.
I love her.
It feels so right.
We’ve almost moved the desk chair to the door, the rocking moving us all over her almost-bare office. The chair is starting to squeak for real now, she’s going so fast, but with a muffled cry, she slams back against my chest as her whole body tightens, and she comes on my cock. She’s shaking and quivering, her noises muffled but no less satisfied.
That’s my girl.
Once she settles down, I lift her up carefully, walk her over to the desk, shove the papers on the floor, bend her over, and enter her. Her arms stretch overhead, her breasts pushed against the blotter. I watch the way I disappear between her thighs, and everything in me quakes harder.
“You are so gorgeous, baby.”
In just a few thrusts, I’m there, pushing into her so high… a pause… and my release pumps into her. After a moment, I collapse onto her back, wrapping her up in a hug under me.
She giggles and pushes her bangs back. “You did fuck the pink slippers off me.” Getting up, she gives me a hug and looks around at the papers and files that are everywhere, the chair tweaked, the desk askew. “I think we should leave this place as fucked as it’s always been for me. Besides, I heard Angela is getting this office.” Her mischievous grin makes me smile too, and I nod.
We get dressed, Evie sliding on her slippers as if they were Cinderella’s glass pair. Then we grab her few belongings and Chauncey’s leash, and step out of her office without a backwards glance.
When we get to my condo, we order Greek takeout and enjoy with a few glasses of red wine. Over the spanakopita, she asks me, “What were you doing in Waller’s office today, anyway?”
“I was offering to bring the firm more work if they gave you another chance.”
Smiling wistfully, she whispers, “That was really sweet of you. He’ll be heartbroken not to have you.” She starts giggling, giddy with releasing the stress of the day, and laughs so hard she drops the wine glass on the floor. It shatters, and she rushes to grab some paper towels.
For once, I don’t care about the mess, although I’m not going to leave it. I get up to get a broom and a dustpan. “Careful, love. I don’t want you getting shards in your slippers.” Because, yes, she’s still wearing those damn things.
I love them. I love her.
Once we get the wine glass cleaned up, she looks thoughtful. “What are you going to do about the blog? All two and a half million of your fans?”
“I’m thinking of signing off.”
“No! I love your posts!”
I give her a look. “Even my inbox?”
She glances down. “Josh, I’m sorry I overreacted.” Her gray eyes meet mine. “I know this comes down to trust, and I trust you. I shouldn’t have freaked out like that, after dinner with Drew or that day at the coffee shop. Honestly, I’ve never been a jealous person, so I don’t know what came over me. The thought of sharing you suddenly hit me in a different way, you know? But I’ll support your blog if you want to continue. I really do love the pics you post and all of the fun we have sending your dick around the world via Photoshop.”
Taking her in my arms, I gaze into her eyes. “I’ve never been a jealous person either, but when you asked me how I would feel if guys were inboxing you like that, I wanted to punch all those fuckers.” She laughs and nods. “I think the difference is I’ve never been in love, not like this. You… you mean everything to me, and I don’t want to do anything to ever jeopardize our relationship. Besides, some things should be reserved for the two of us.”
The smile on her face is my answer to what I need to do with my blog.
The loft is dimly lit now because it’s well after midnight. There’s one thing I think I’ll never get tired of seeing: the way Evie looks tangled in my sheets after we’ve made slow, steamy love.
Sleepy gray eyes stare back at me from where she’s curled up on my pillow. I study her pale skin against her dark hair and the way her chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, one that matches mine.
I grab my camera and take a picture of her, snapping her out of her drowsy state, and she squeals.
“No more pictures, Josh!”
“It’s just for me,” I say. “I promise.” Leaning over, I kiss her swollen lips and the freckles on her cheek.
As she curls up on my pillow, the white sheet covering her, I slip on a pair of gray sweatpants and sit at my laptop. And I start typing…
You saw my dick here because of a bet. A stupid bet. A dare. But I not only won the bet, I also won the love of my life. While she supports me and loves this blog, I’ve decided that this is my last post. I appreciate all of you and how you’ve made All About the D a success. But now, this D belongs to one woman.
Epilogue
One year later