His Forbidden Touch

He didn't walk out of the library. Neither did I.

For a long moment we just stood there, his hand was still resting against my jaw, and we were both breathing like we'd run miles instead of standing perfectly still. Then something in him broke loose all at once, and his mouth was on mine before either of us decided it should be, one hand sliding into my hair while the other gripped my waist like he needed something to hold onto.

I kissed him back without a single thought toward stopping.

He walked me backward until my spine hit the edge of the heavy oak desk, lifting me onto it without breaking the kiss, settling himself between my knees like he belonged there.

His mouth moved from my lips to my jaw to the sensitive skin below my ear, teeth scraping just hard enough to make me gasp, and I heard him mutter something low and rough against my throat that might have been my name, might have been a curse, might have been both.

"Tell me to stop," he said, even as his hands were already working the buttons of my shirt loose, and his knuckles were brushing bare skin with every one he freed. "Tell me now, because in about ten seconds I'm not going to be able to."

"Don't stop," I said, and I meant it with every cell in my body.

He made a sound like something in him had finally surrendered, and then my shirt was gone, and my bra followed it to the floor, and his mouth closed hot and wet around my left nipple while his thumb rolled the other between his fingers until I was arching off the desk, fisting my hands in his hair. He pulled me flush against him, and I could feel exactly how much he wanted this, and his dick pressed hard and thick against my thigh through the fabric of his slacks.

"You have no idea," he growled against my skin, dragging his mouth lower, over my ribs, my stomach, "how long I've had to pretend I didn't notice you walking around this house. Pretend I wasn't half out of my mind every single time you were in the same room as me, imagining exactly what your skin would taste like."

He dragged my jeans and panties down my legs in one motion, dropped to his knees in front of the desk, and hooked my thighs over his shoulders before I fully understood what was happening.

"Fuck," he breathed, staring up at me, eyes dark and wild. "Look at this pretty pussy. Already soaked and I haven't even touched you."

His mouth found me a second later, with his tongue dragging flat and slow through my folds before circling hard against my clit, and I cried out loud enough that he had to reach up and press two fingers against my lips to muffle the sound.

"Quiet," he murmured against my thigh, dark amusement in his voice even through the haze of what he was doing to me. "Unless you want the whole house to hear exactly how good my tongue makes this pussy feel."

I bit down on my own hand instead, my hips buckled against his mouth, and when he slid two thick fingers inside my pussy to match the rhythm of his tongue, curling them deep, finding some spot that made my whole body seize, I shattered completely, gripping the edge of the desk hard enough to leave marks in the old wood. He didn't stop until I'd ridden it out fully against his mouth, groaning against my slick skin like he was the one being pleasured.

He stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes had gone completely wild, and he shoved his slacks down. His cock sprang free, thick and hard and flushed dark, curving up toward his stomach with a bead of pre-cum already sliding down the shaft, and my whole body clenched just looking at him.

"Kade, wait—" A flicker of nerves cut through everything else. "I've never done this before."

He went utterly still; his hand wrapped around his dick, and his thumb dragged slowly through the wetness beading at the tip, with his jaw locking tight. "Never?"

I shook my head, with my cheeks burning even through everything else I was feeling.

Something moved across his face. He felt softer, but with more hunger, hunger and something gentler. "Then I'm going to take my time with you," he said, dragging the head of his cock through my wet folds, and my hips jerked as whimpering sounds escaped my lips.

He guided himself to my entrance, and pushed just the head in slowly, watching every flicker of my expression. "But I promise you, by the time I'm done, this body is only ever going to know how to want me."

Then he pushed the rest of dick into my pussy inch by inch, watching me moan very filthy every time I clenched around him, stopping anytime I let out a loud gasp, and pushing deeper only when I nodded, until I felt impossibly stretched around him, full in a way I'd never imagined. By the time he was fully seated, and buried to the hilt, we were both shaking. His forehead pressed to mine, and we were both breathing the same ragged air.

"Fuck—" he rasped, flexing his hips in one slow, testing roll that—

"Ffuucckkkkkk—" we both moaned loudly, and went quiet and the same time, then we were just looking at ourselves.

"Fuck, you're tight," he rasped, fully seated inside me now, with his forehead dropping to mine. "Urghhh— Wet and mine. This pussy belongs to me. Say it. Only me.”

"Yours," I breathed.

"Say the whole thing. Say this pussy is mine."

"This pussy is yours, Kade— Only you."

"Fuck—“ He screamed.

He started moving, slow and deep at first, dragging almost all the way out before sinking back into the hilt. Hos hand braced on the desk beside my hip and the other gripping my thigh very hard, murmuring crazy things against my throat with every stroke.

"Mine, you're mine, nobody else ever gets this, nobody else ever gets to hear you make that sound"

His pace was building faster, harder, and the wet slap of skin and the creak of the old desk the only sounds in the room besides our breathing. He angled his hips just slightly and the next stroke dragged straight over a spot inside me that made my vision go completely, and—

"Fuck—" I came apart around him, with his hand clamped over my mouth to muffle the scream. My pusy walls was clenching so hard around his cock that he cursed out loud. He followed seconds later, cumming and spilling deep inside me in long, shuddering pulses, groaning my name against my throat with something that sounded almost like grief.

Afterward he pulled me into his lap. We were both catching our breath, and for a long, fragile minute neither of us said anything at all. His hand traced slow, absent circles against my bare back.

"You weren't lying," he said quietly. "You've never done this before."

I didn't answer. I didn't have to. The proof was right there on the sheets between us.

He didn't pull away. He didn't reach for his clothes or throw anything at me or call it a mistake out loud. Or anything I thought in my mind about how this could go wrong.

He just sat there, holding me, and I could see the muscle jumping, staring at nothing over my shoulder like he was having an argument with himself he was already losing.

"This can't happen again," he finally said, so quietly I barely picked the words. "Not because of what we just did. Because of everything it means if we let it keep happening."

"What does this mean?"

He didn't answer. He just held on tighter, like letting go was the actual problem, and by morning, when I woke up alone in my own bed with no memory of him carrying me there, I understood that whatever answer he'd been avoiding, he'd already decided it wasn't one he was willing to give me.