Page 36 of Deeply Examined

Crap. I don’t want to explain about my mom and my shitty teenage years. Not to her.I shift my hand and slide it beneath the thin strap of her gown. Her skin is warm and soft. Her heartbeat thrums against my palm. Moving slowly, so she feels every caress, I stroke the tender skin along the underside of her breast, then shift higher, moving closer and closer to her nipple. When I finally reach it, she arches and moans, letting her head fall back on my shoulder.

I’m tuned into her response. Every shift of her hips, every little whimper that falls from her lips, make me harden even more until it’s too much. My restraint shatters. I stand, pulling her along with me, then shuffle us to my desk. Firm pressure applied to the back of her neck bends her forward over the desk’s surface. She throws her hands out, palms flat and fingers spread to stabilize herself. The hemline of her nightgown rises, showing the half-moons of her ass. I was right. It is a thong. I run my index finger along its embroidered edge, then hook it and pull it to the side so I have access to her core, which is already slick with arousal.

I rub my hand into that wetness, let it coat my fingers so I can tease her clit with no resistance. My fingers catch on that sensitive bundle of nerves and circle it slowly. Then, using two fingers, I penetrate her and pump in and out. Trembling, she moans and bucks against my hand, riding it. I adjust the pace to synchronize with the rolling of her hips, letting her guide how hard and fast she wants it. With one hand on her back and the other fingering her, I have her completely at my mercy. Once she’s so close to orgasm that her walls flutter around me, I pull away.

She makes a disgruntled sound in the back of her throat and breathes out a pleading, “West.”

I chuckle, delighted at the sight of her bowed over my desk with her hem shoved up to her waist, her ass on full display. I give it a light smack with the flat of my hand, enjoying the sting.

“Ow.” Jessica looks over her shoulder with a frown, uncertain why I did that. I can’t explain to her my frustration over the past few weeks. The torture of having her so close and not knowing every thought in her pretty head. I have questions, and I know exactly how to get the answers I want.

The desk drawer next to me slides out easily. I fetch a condom from it and quickly fit it over my swollen dick. I’m throbbing for her, my tip leaking with pre-cum. It would be so easy to satisfy us both with a couple of quick thrusts, but I’m good at denying my pleasure. I wait and bide my time.

Two tugs and her panties slide down her legs. I lean over to help her step out of them, bringing my face to the globe of her ass. I gave it a quick nip, which makes Jessica jump in surprise and half-rise to look at me. My hand on her lower back, I inch her back down until her cheek presses to the hard wood of the desk.

With my foot, I widen her legs so there’s plenty of room for me to step between them. My cock presses into her center with little resistance. I enter her, and she moans loudly. I pull out slowly and then slam into her as far as I can go. She cries out, and it’s the sweetest music I’ve ever heard. With a brutal pace, I take her from behind, seesawing my dick in and out of her wet pussy. She feels fucking amazing, tight and hot. She’s vocal, which I love, crying out as I move within her. My dick is so hard it feels like the skin might split. I push her harder against the table, lifting her slightly. At this angle, the table edge should be brushing against her clit with each thrust. It doesn’t take long for her to tighten around me.

That’s when I stop. Our combined harsh panting fills the air. Leaning forward, I wind my hand into her long hair and give it a light tug, asking, “Who’s M?”

“Wh—what?” Lust-dazed, she’s slow to understand.

“On your phone. Who’s M?” I repeat, anger and frustration buzzing under my skin. The thought of someone else touching her like this makes me want to set the world on fire. I’d rather burn it all down than share her. Deliberately, I loosen my grip on her hair and slow my breathing.

“What? How?” she mumbles, then catches her breath as I move in and out of her in tiny centimeter-long motions, just enough to remind her I’m there. To motivate her.

“M,” I prompt, with my mouth close to her ear, slowing down the pumping of my hips.

She groans, frustrated that she’s so close. A huff from her with a furrow in her brow as she thinks.

“Jessica…” I don’t hide the threat in my voice.

“Oh! Monica. My best friend. I didn’t remember her name the first time we met, just that it started with the letter M.”

Her best friend…or is she lying?

Without warning, I give her ass a hard spank. A surprised squeak flies out of her lips.

“Why is M set to private?”

Another smack, this time softer. Already guilt churns in my stomach. I like spanking women, but only when it’s consensual and out of passion not anger.

Get your shit together.

In my own pathetic way, I made amends by stroking her wet pussy until she’s moaning again, her fingers scrabbling against the desk.

More gently I repeat, “Why would your text messages to M be hidden, if it’s just your friend?”

Another thrust and Jessica gasps out, “She sends me thirst trap videos of masked men all the time. I don’t want the kids at school to accidentally see them.”

A wave of relief pours over me, shocking me with its intensity.

That actually makes sense.

Thank God.

I place my forehead on her back and rest for exactly ten seconds, counting in my head.

1, 2, 3, 4…

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