Page 129 of Their Arrangement
Still pulsing.
No relief.
The pressure behind my zipper was starting to throb.
I licked my bottom lip. Bit it.
Don’t.
Fucking don’t.
But my body didn’t listen.
I opened my browser.
Typed the first threeletters—P O R?—
Autofill: pornhub.
I tapped.
Scrolled.
Women in fishnets. Red lips. Open mouths.
Gasping. Whimpering. Getting fucked.
Nothing worked.
It all felt wrong.
Because I didn’t want to see someone get fucked.
I wanted her.
Cloe.
In garters.
On her knees.
With mascara streaking down her cheeks and my hand gripping her hair like a leash.
I wanted her sobbing against my thigh, her panties ruined, her mouth full ofWolfe.
And the worst part? I didn’t even want to fuck her. I wanted to own the need in her eyes. I closed the tab. Leaned back in my chair. Still hard. Still pulsing. Still fucking wrecked.
I looked up. And there she was. Still at her desk. Still pretending to work. Her lips parted. Just slightly. She was squirming. Not visibly. Not publicly. But underneath? She was falling apart.
And I knew—because I was doing the exact same thing.
The tension in her shoulders. The way her thighs shifted beneath the desk. The subtle tremble in her fingers every time she hovered above the keyboard like she’d forgotten how to type.
She didn’t need to touch herself. Because her body was already vibrating with the need. And I knew that need. Because I felt it too.
I saw her like this once before. Not in lace. Not in perfume. But in want.
Christ, I shouldn’t be doing this. She was just a kid, a kid we fucking knew. A kid I remembered. I closed my eyes reliving the memory.
