The snacks are gone

Rachel spots the empty trays. Her eyes flick over to me for half a second—quick, sharp, full of heat—before she scoops up two of the platters and heads for the kitchen without a word. I count to ten, then raise my hand and mutter something about needing the bathroom. No one looks twice. I slip down the hallway, cut left through the laundry room, and push through the swinging door that leads straight into the back of the kitchen.

She’s already at the counter, setting the trays down, when the door clicks shut behind me. The moment she hears it she spins around, chest rising fast under that blue dress. Her heels click once on the tile as she takes a step forward, then stops, fingers gripping the edge of the counter.

“Ethan,” she whispers, voice tight. “We can’t. Not here. John’s right in the other room.”

I cross the space between us in two strides and back her up against the counter. My hands slide down her hips, bunching the fabric of her dress until I feel bare skin underneath. No panties. She came prepared.

“You can’t tell me that, you’re already wet. And where are your panties? You wanted this to happen,” I say, fingers sliding between her thighs, finding her slick and hot. She bites her lip hard to keep from moaning. I push two fingers inside her, pumping slow and deep while her knees shake. “You’ve been thinking about this the whole study, haven’t you?”

She nods, eyes glassy, hips rocking against my hand. I pull my fingers out, unzip, and free my cock. She glances at the door once, terrified and turned on at the same time, then drops to her knees without another word. Her mouth opens and she takes me straight to the back of her throat, gagging quietly as she works me deeper. Spit runs down her chin and drips onto her dress.

I grab a fistful of her hair and fuck her face in short, controlled thrusts. Every time she gags I feel her throat flutter around the head. She reaches between her legs and rubs her clit while she sucks, desperate little whimpers vibrating around my shaft.

You both think you hear someone pass in the hallway. We both freeze for a second, then she doubles down, sucking harder, cheeks hollowing. I pull her up, spin her around, and bend her over the counter. Her dress is already shoved up to her waist. I line up and sink into her pussy in one smooth thrust. She slaps a hand over her mouth to muffle the moan that tries to escape.

I fuck her hard and fast, the wet slap of skin on skin loud in the quiet kitchen. Every time I bottom out she pushes back, greedy for more. I reach around and rub her clit in tight circles until her legs start to tremble.

“Cum for me,” I growl in her ear. “Right here where anyone could walk in.”

Her pussy clamps down hard as she cums, whole body shaking, a broken whine leaking past her fingers. I keep pounding through it, chasing my own release. At the last second I pull out, stroke twice, and paint thick ropes across her ass and the small of her back. She stays bent over the counter, breathing hard, cum sliding down the backs of her thighs.

We hear John’s voice calling for her from the living room. She straightens up fast, grabs a paper towel, and wipes herself clean with shaky hands. Her face is flushed, hair slightly messy, but she manages to look composed again by the time she picks up the refilled trays.

She glances back at me once, lips parted, eyes still dark with need, then slips out of the kitchen like nothing happened. I wait another minute, fix my clothes, and head back to the group, heart still pounding.