Chapter 11

The rest of that Friday dragged in the best possible way. My ass still hummed faintly from Molly’s office visit, and every time I shifted in my chair, I remembered the way she’d gripped my hips and fucked me like she was trying to leave a permanent imprint. I caught myself smiling at nothing while filing expense reports. Dangerous territory.

Around 4:30, Molly appeared in my doorway—knocking once, then leaning against the frame like she owned the place.

“Still floating?” she asked, voice low enough that only I could hear.

I leaned back, smirking. “You left a handprint. I’m gonna have to explain that to the boss if he sees it.”

She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. No lock this time; we weren’t stupid. “He already knows. He’s the one who sent me.”

“Yeah, about that…” I tilted my head. “Since when does he care if I get off after I suck him dry?”

Molly crossed her arms, the motion pulling her blouse tight across her chest. “Since you finally took every inch down your throat and he got so distracted he forgot to fuck you himself. He felt guilty. Told me to ‘make it right.’ His exact words.”

I laughed under my breath. “Guilty? The man who pays me to be his personal cum-dump felt guilty?”

“Don’t act like you hate it.” She stepped closer, hips swaying just enough to remind me what she looked like naked. “You were practically purring when I walked in here with the strap-on.”

“Guilty as charged.” I stood, closing the distance between us until I could smell her perfume—something expensive and faintly citrusy. “So tonight… you bringing the big one again?”

Her eyes flicked down to my crotch, then back up. “Nope. Tonight I want your cock. No silicone. No games. Just you railing me until I can’t walk straight.”

My dick twitched at the bluntness. “Bold of you to assume I still have anything left after today.”

She reached down and palmed me through my slacks, squeezing just hard enough to make me hiss. “You’re already half-hard. Don’t bullshit me.”

“Fine.” I caught her wrist, not pulling her away—just holding. “My place. Eight. And lose the attitude on the way over. I’m not in the mood to chase you tonight.”

Molly’s lips curved, slow and dangerous. “Oh, honey. You won’t have to chase me. I’ll be the one begging by the time you’re done.”

She leaned in, brushed her mouth against mine—barely a kiss, more a promise—then turned and walked out, leaving the door open behind her like nothing had happened.

I exhaled hard once she was gone. Jesus. This woman was going to kill me.

By 7:55 I was pacing my living room in nothing but boxer briefs (the purple ones the boss liked), freshly showered, cock already thick and heavy against my thigh just thinking about her. When the knock came at exactly eight, I opened the door without checking the peephole.

Molly stood there in black leggings and an oversized hoodie, hair loose, carrying that same bottle of cabernet from last time. No bag. No harness bulge. Just her.

“You’re early,” I said.

“You’re naked,” she countered, stepping inside and kicking the door shut. “Almost.”

“Almost is the best part.” I took the wine from her, set it on the counter, then turned and pinned her gently against the wall with my body. “You said no games tonight.”

Her breath hitched. “I did.”

“So tell me what you want.” My hand slid under the hoodie, finding bare skin, then the underside of one breast. No bra. Of course.

Molly’s eyes fluttered half-closed. “I want you to fuck me like I’m yours. No holding back. No asking permission. Just… take.”

I kissed her then—hard, claiming, tongue sliding against hers while my hand found her nipple and pinched. She moaned into my mouth, arching.

“Bedroom,” I growled against her lips.

We barely made it. Clothes came off in the hallway—her hoodie, my briefs, her leggings yanked down with her panties in one motion. By the time we hit the mattress she was already wet, thighs slick. I didn’t bother with foreplay; she didn’t want it. I spread her legs wide, notched myself at her entrance, and thrust in to the hilt in one long stroke.

“Fuck—yes—” she gasped, nails digging into my shoulders.

I didn’t give her time to adjust. I fucked her deep and steady, hips snapping, bed creaking under us. Every time I bottomed out she made this broken little sound that drove me insane.

“Harder,” she demanded, voice hoarse. “Make it hurt a little.”

I hooked her legs over my elbows, folding her in half, and gave her what she asked for—long, punishing strokes that slapped skin on skin. Her tits bounced with every thrust; I leaned down and sucked a nipple into my mouth, biting just enough to make her cry out.

“God—yes—like that—don’t stop—”

I switched to shallow, grinding thrusts, pubic bone rubbing her clit on every stroke. Her hands flew to my ass, pulling me deeper, urging me faster.

“I’m gonna come,” she panted. “Fuck—don’t pull out—fill me—”

That did it. I slammed home one last time and unloaded, groaning against her neck as I pumped rope after rope inside her. Molly shattered a second later, pussy clamping down so hard I saw stars, her whole body shaking under me.

We stayed locked together for a long minute, breathing ragged. When I finally rolled off, she immediately curled into my side, head on my chest.

“That was…” she started, then laughed breathlessly. “Okay. You win tonight.”

I kissed the top of her head. “Round two in ten minutes?”

She groaned, but her hand was already sliding down my stomach. “You’re insatiable.”

“Pot. Kettle.”

She stayed the whole night. No sneaking out at dawn. When I woke up around 7, she was still there—sprawled across me, one leg thrown over mine, soft snores against my shoulder. I didn’t move. Just lay there feeling something dangerously close to content.