Page 308 of Lodestar

His fingers dipped here and there, gaze tripping from my breasts and down to my spread pussy lips. Hunger made his jaw clench, and when he ran his fingertips through my slit and I groaned, his feral expression had me arching back and shoving my tits in his face.

His lips found my nipple, and they tugged on it, sucking and licking and nipping it, all while his fingers continued to stroke my clit.

When the digits slipped down to circle my entrance, I focused on how the butt of his wrist put pressure on the nub. I concentrated on the soft groans he made, on the scent of oranges that permeated the space between us. I focused on him rather than on me because I was broken in some parts and Conor was my glue.

I shuddered when his slick fingers retreated and the slippery tips danced around my clit.

My hips started rocking of their own volition and I didn’t even care that the chair was starting to creak—shit like that normally took me out of my headspace. No, instead, I could feel the welter of pleasure beginning to form in my core.

It was there, making me wetter, starting to burn, turning my veins molten hot.

When I knew I was wet enough, I jerked away from him and stood in front of his chair. He blinked at me, scowling at my retreat, but the scowl soon disappeared as I reached down and grabbed his zipper. He angled his hips up to facilitate me, and within moments, his dick was in my hand and the mess he made was on my palm, the pre-cum lubing him up as I turned around, presenting him with my ass. He seemed to know what I was doing because he helped me as I leaned back, settling on his lap in reverse.

When his dick was sandwiched between my thighs, I pressed the head against my clit and started working myself on it.

“Go back to what you were doing,” I told him around a gasp.

“Are you freakin’ kidding me?” he retorted, groaning as his pre-cum lubed his path, making this doubly torturous.

“No, I’m not,” I breathed. “You work or I stop.”

He stilled. “You can’t be serious.”

Not a question.

I grunted. “I am.”

“Fuck’s sake,” he mumbled under his breath as he wheeled us closer to his desk and dragged his keyboard nearer to the edge so that he could work around me.

As Velato made an appearance in front of me, the abstract language that he’d learned and the many weird and wonderful ways he’d adapted it for his own use, I registered it was my version of porn.

The lines of code were the theme, the letters and digits were the stars, and the tap of his fingers were the moans of the entertainers.

I rocked my hips from side to side, feeling the hiccup in my breathing as the ride toward pleasure moved faster than usual.

For once, it didn’t feel so out of reach. I could sense it. So close. So fucking close.

My pussy leaked onto him, making the whole thing so messy I knew he’d have to change afterward, but I didn’t give a fuck.

This wasfun.

My mind was on my pleasure.

I was watching him work.

He surrounded me, his scent, his heat.

His cock provided me with the slippery lube that kept my clit reeling as it pushed me ever higher toward the peak.

When I thought I’d go mad from it, I wriggled so that his tip was against my slit. As he pierced me, the thick fullness accepted into my channel, his groan was the best sound I’d ever heard as my pussy swallowed him down inch by inch.

As I sat there, stuffed with him, his fingers moved faster on the keyboard, whereas mine clung to the armrests of his seat, nails digging into the soft leather as I breathed through the solid presence inside me.

He was thick—thicker than average, I thought. It meant when I stared down, my labia were spread apart, my clit peeping out of its hood.

For a few moments, I just studied us.

My eyes locked on our union.

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