A story from his perspective. The danger of submitting to the same conference right before a breakup is finding that you can't resist claiming her, even if you shouldn't.
Includes fingering, claiming, domination, orgasms in public, choking, dubious consent, and just enough roughness.
I shouldn't have come. I knew I shouldn't be here, watching her present, having to speak on the same panel. I knew it would rip my heart out. But like a magnet, I was drawn against my will - I had to be here. I had to fulfill the dream we both had. Present on this topic together, share the things we'd so thoroughly discussed over so many years.
And here she is, speaking with a confidence that astounds me. I know she's terrified, that her hands shake behind the podium, but no one else seems to notice. Thank god I went first. I didn't have to look at her to feel her eyes burning into me, but I pretended to be unphased, unaffected. I secretly hope it bothered her.
It's adorable how little she can hide from me. Trying to covertly glance at me when she finished, seeing if I approve. God I want her to know I do, that I think she's brilliant. But I can't show my cards. I can't expose my feelings to her like that.
Wait. That look. I know that look. That's not the same as a moment ago. Fuck. It's written all over her face - she wants me and doesn't want to show it. That subconscious lick of her lips as she looked me over.. I know what wearing a suit does to her, but I thought she'd moved on. I can't stop myself from fiddling with my already straight cufflinks, just to watch her squirm as her eyes narrow in on my hands.
Maybe... yep, there it is. The flaming cheeks in response to my narrowed eyes. She wants me, but she's ashamed. Does she think I don't want her? Surely it's obvious... but then again, I have worked very hard to keep my cards close to my vest where she's concerned.
Fuck. She's crossing her legs over and over. She's adjusting her sleeves. She's hot and has no idea how much I'm catching.
I sit, stoic, as the panel ends and she begins to walk out. There's no way that tight black dress and my favorite heels were an accident. Maybe a subconscious choice, sure, but it's becoming clear what was on her mind when she chose it. And the pearls, long enough to wear low, yet wrapped like a choker around her neck. I groan inwardly as I realize - everything about her outfit was for my benefit. Was she trying to make me jealous?
I survey the men in the room and the fact that I'm not the only one appreciating her ass in that dress. Fuck. That.
Before I have time to talk myself out of it, I'm out of my chair, following that ass like the goddamn holy grail.
She steps into the hallway, and it doesn't even register that I've taken her elbow to lead her around the corner until we're there and she looks at me with big round eyes. I can see a thousand questions bubbling in them while I try to get a handle on myself.
But then she bites her lip, looks down, and pushes her hair behind her ear and the next thing I know, my lips are on hers and she's against the wall. I'm like a man drowning, and her mouth is the only thing keeping me alive. God the taste of her. I can't seem to get enough.
Her hands go to my chest as if to push me away. I give her that moment to decide, lingering a breath away from her mouth while her eyes flicker with conflict. When she quietly whimpers and her hands close around the fabric of my lapels, I know: she's still mine.
The realization burns inside me, violent and protective. Mine. Mine to see, mine to taste, mine to conquer.
I pull back enough to see the question in her eyes. Before she has enough time to voice it, one hand is on her throat and the other is reaching up her skirt. I need to feel her. I need to see the power I have over her. I need to confirm that I can still make her fall apart with a touch.
I feel her tense slightly as my fingers graze her panties. As they slide beneath to the bundle of nerves I know will undo her, I watch the emotions play across her face. Confusion. Longing. Uncertainty. Desire. I can't help but wonder if I have seen these panties before, or if, like the curve-hugging dress she'd have been too self-conscious to wear a year ago, they are new to me.
If she speaks, she'll talk herself out of it. My hand presses slightly harder on her throat as my fingers begin their ministrations. The movement is so familiar, I can feel my insides sigh in contentment. Fuck. I know I'm whipped when I start thinking that a pussy feels like home.
I go a little faster, watching her pupils dilate as she stares at me. When her breathing starts to falter, I know. I release the pressure on her throat and dig my fingers into her hair.
"Tell me you want this."
Everything about her body's reaction says she wants it as much as I do, but I need to hear it. But I can see the battle in her eyes, feel the control she's trying to maintain over her reactions.
I slide a finger inside her and watch her silent moan, revel in the way her body curves into me. I tilt her head back by her hair, forcing her eyes back up to me.
"Tell me, little girl. Tell me you want this."
It doesn't take long before the thrust of my fingers breaks her will.
"Y.. Yes I want this."
She stutters her response, staring at me like she's never seen me before. Every muscle is tense and my dick is so hard it's threatening to break my zipper... how can she still look so uncertain? Maybe... maybe I'll push her just a little. Just to see what I can get away with.
