He can't

Greg’s restraint finally cracked.

The slow, relentless grind of Noelle’s hips had turned every nerve in his body into a live wire. Her voice—still calm, still lecturing about indemnity clauses and geographic limitations—only made the contrast more maddening: professional words pouring from a mouth that had just been wrapped around him minutes earlier, while her body treated him like furniture built specifically for her pleasure.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

His hands shot to her waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh just above her hips. Noelle let out a surprised little huff of laughter that quickly melted into a pleased hum as Greg pulled her harder against him, stopping her teasing rhythm and replacing it with something hungrier.

“Greg…” she purred, half-warning, half-invitation.

He didn’t answer with words.

Instead he surged upward, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was all teeth and need. Noelle moaned into it immediately, her composed facade fracturing as she opened for him, tongue sliding against his with greedy enthusiasm. The mint was still there, cool against the heat of her, but it was rapidly being overtaken by the raw taste of want.

Greg’s hands roamed upward, sliding under the hem of her white blouse, palms gliding over smooth, warm skin until he found the clasp of her bra. One quick flick and it came undone; he shoved the cups up, filling his hands with her breasts. They were heavier, softer than he’d expected, and when he brushed his thumbs over her nipples they were already tight little peaks begging for more.

Noelle broke the kiss long enough to gasp, head tipping back. “Fuck—yes—”

Greg latched onto the side of her throat, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, while one hand stayed kneading her breast and the other slid down, bunching her skirt higher until his fingers found damp lace. She was soaked through. He pressed the heel of his palm against her clit through the fabric and rubbed in slow, firm circles.

Noelle’s thighs clamped around his hips. Her nails dug into his shoulders.

“More,” she demanded, voice wrecked. “Now.”

Greg didn’t need to be told twice.

He hooked a finger under the edge of her panties and yanked them aside. Noelle lifted just enough for him to fumble his zipper down again—cock springing free, still sensitive from earlier but achingly hard. She didn’t wait for him to line up; she reached between them, gripped him firmly, and sank down in one long, slick slide.

Greg’s fingers dug into the flesh of her hips as Noelle sank down fully, taking every inch in one smooth, slick glide. Their groans collided in the small office—raw, unguarded, loud enough to carry past the thin walls if anyone had been listening.

For several long seconds neither moved. Only the harsh rasp of their breathing filled the space. Foreheads pressed together, sweat already beading along her hairline, her blonde strands sticking to flushed skin. His cock throbbed inside her once, twice; she answered with a tiny involuntary clench that pulled a hiss from his throat.

Then she rolled her hips.

The motion was slow, almost lazy at first. A deep, deliberate circle that dragged the thick ridge of him along every slick fold. Greg felt the flutter of her walls ripple down his length. His palms slid lower, cupping the firm curves of her ass, fingers spreading wide so he could lift her just enough—then guide her back down with more ****.

The pace built fast.

Each downward drop now landed harder. Skin met skin with wet slaps that echoed off the bookshelves. The executive chair squeaked in protest, metal joints groaning under the sudden **** of their rhythm. Noelle’s thighs flexed, muscles tightening as she rose and fell, controlling the depth, the speed, then surrendering it to him when his grip turned bruising.

A stack of manila folders tipped first. They slid across the polished desk surface in a slow, graceful arc before tumbling over the edge. Highlighters, pens, neon sticky notes followed—fluttering down like bright confetti, scattering across the carpet. A contract page caught the air current and spiraled lazily to the floor. Neither glanced at the mess.

Noelle’s blouse gaped wider with every bounce. The shoved-up bra framed her breasts; they swayed heavily, nipples dark and tight. Greg ducked his head, caught one between his lips, and sucked—hard enough to hollow his cheeks. She arched sharply, a broken sound tearing out of her. His free hand slipped between their bodies. Thumb found the swollen knot of her clit and circled fast, relentless pressure that made her hips stutter.

“Greg—fuck—harder—”

Greg’s feet braced flat against the carpet.

He drove upward in short, brutal snaps—each thrust landing with a wet smack of flesh on flesh. Noelle’s spine arched, head dropping back until blonde strands cascaded past her shoulders and brushed the desk edge. Her throat bobbed, swallowing around raw, fractured moans that rose and broke in uneven bursts.

Her fingernails dragged down the front of his shirt. Fabric stretched and tore in thin vertical lines; red welts bloomed beneath the cotton in their wake.

Her orgasm hit without warning.

Inner walls seized in a sudden, crushing grip. Greg’s sight smeared white at the edges for a heartbeat. She dropped her weight fully onto him, hips grinding in tight, frantic circles while shudders rolled through her frame. Broken syllables spilled against the shell of his ear—half his name, half wordless encouragement—voice cracking on every exhale.

Greg lasted only seconds more.

He slammed up one final time, burying himself to the root. Release tore through him in thick, erratic spurts; his hips kicked involuntarily against hers with each pulse. A low, scraped groan ripped from his chest. Noelle kept moving—slow, deliberate rolls that squeezed around him, drawing out every tremor until his thighs quaked and breath sawed in shallow gasps.

She stayed seated, inner muscles fluttering faintly around his softening length while sweat cooled on their skin and the wrecked chair gave one last protesting creak.

They stayed like that for long seconds—sweaty, panting, tangled together in the ruined office chair.

Eventually Noelle let out a low, satisfied laugh against his throat.

“Well,” she murmured, voice hoarse, “I think it’s safe to say your training… deviated slightly from the syllabus today.”

Greg managed a breathless laugh, hands still gripping her hips like he was afraid she’d vanish if he let go.

“Yeah,” he rasped. “I’m… definitely going to need a lot more one-on-one mentoring.”

Noelle leaned back just enough to meet his eyes. Her lipstick was smeared, hair wild, blouse hanging open—and she had never looked more beautiful.

“Fortunately for you,” she said, clenching around him once more just to watch him shudder, “I happen to have an opening in my schedule… indefinitely.”

She kissed him again—slow this time, filthy and possessive.