You try

Sarah's breath warms my skin as she presses closer, her hand sliding up my thigh with that familiar, instinctive care, fingers tracing the seam of my pants. She murmurs something low and reassuring, her lips grazing my earlobe, the vanilla of her skin mingling with the faint bitterness of spilled coffee grounds clinging to her from the shift. I try to sink into it, to let her devotion wash over the knot in my chest, but my thoughts snag on Elena's face again. Those sharp green eyes, the way they'd softened during after-work walks, only to harden this evening when I hesitated too long.

I shift, pulling her onto my lap, her thick thighs straddling mine as she settles with a soft exhale. Her bra cups spill slightly as she arches into me, unclasping it with one hand while the other works at my belt, eager and precise. The lace falls away, revealing the full swell of her breasts, freckles dusting the pale curves like stars against milk. "Let me make it better," she whispers, her voice a husky plea, blue eyes searching mine for guidance. She's perfect in her submission, body pliant and ready, the wetness between her legs soaking through her jeans as she grinds lightly against my growing hardness.

I kiss her then, deep and claiming, tasting the day's exhaustion on her tongue. My hands roam her back, fingers dipping into the dimples above her ass, urging her closer. She responds with a quiet moan, unzipping me fully, her palm wrapping around my cock with a warmth that's both soothing and insistent. It's erect now, throbbing under her touch, but as she strokes slowly, deliberately, Elena's image flickers unbidden. The playful tilt of her head at the bar, the genuine laugh that pulled me in without any weave. The distraction creeps in, a cold thread weaving through the heat.

Sarah leans down, her red hair cascading like a curtain as her mouth takes me in, lips sealing soft and wet, tongue swirling with practiced devotion. Pleasure spikes, sharp and immediate, her cheeks hollowing as she bobs gently, humming to send vibrations up my length. I thread fingers through her hair, guiding her rhythm, but my mind wanders again, replaying the subway kiss, the note she'd left that morning promising more. Guilt tightens, dulled by the haze of arousal, until it sharpens enough to pull me back just as she takes me deeper.

It falters then. My cock softens slightly in the wet heat of her throat, the erection slipping despite her efforts. I curse under my breath, frustration building low in my gut, and she pauses, lifting her head with wide eyes, lips glistening. "Master?" she asks, voice trembling with that ingrained fear, hand still stroking but gentler now, trying to coax life back into me. The eternal **** in her reads it as her failing, not mine, and it twists something inside. Her absolute yielding makes my distraction feel crueler.

"It's not you," I mutter, cupping her face to lift her gaze to mine, my thumb brushing a stray curl from her cheek. But the lie hangs heavy; nothing from Sarah's willing surrender can bridge this gap, not when Elena's shadow lingers so stubbornly, demanding a truth I haven't chased without the app's safety net. Sarah nods, resilient in her bond, and resumes her attentions, slower, more teasing, but the erection wavers again, caught between sensation and the unresolved ache in my head.