Page 15 of Already His

Inside Elliot’s office was just as severe as the rest of the building, painfully chic and modern.

“Wow, it feels like a spaceship in here,” I remarked, as I laid the suit bag down, and unzipped it. Elliot approached me from behind and spun me around, walking backward against the leather mid-century modern couch along one wall.

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

“It isn’t. I prefer your house,” I said, laughing as he started to press kisses onto my neck.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said seriously. The suit bag fell to the floor, and I reached for it, but Elliot stopped me.

“It’ll get wrinkled!”

“I’ll buy a new one. Anyway, you have been here a whole five minutes and not kissed me hello…” he said, touching my forehead with his. I pressed a soft, chaste kiss to his lips.

“There, satisfied?”

“Not even remotely, but there’s time for that. It’s good to see you,” Elliot said conversationally.

“I thought this would be more awkward. You know… the morning after,” I murmured.

“The morning after is for one-night stands,” Elliot said, working my jacket off. He untangled my arms, and then put his hands to the hem of my shirt and tugged it upwards.

“What are you doing?” I protested. He tutted as I leaned away, and hauled me into his arms.

“Having you, what does it look like?” he asked, intent on the task of moving me to the edge of his desk. He undid my jeans and slipped his fingers between my legs.

“No panties?” he inquired.

“I didn’t exactly get the chance to go home and change last night,” I said. His fingers stroked up and down my slit. He pushed my jeans down impatiently, and then sat me back on the glass desk.

“I’m going to leave ass prints on your desk,” I laughed.

“Sounds good, let’s christen every inch of it,” he said, undoing his own fly and pulling his dick out. I put my hands down to touch him, lazily moving up and down the long, hard length. He pushed himself down to slip inside, and his sudden, frenzied movements slowed. He fucked in and out of me shallowly, teasing me with the tip. I felt my wetness coating him, ready for him immediately. I was always madly turned on around Elliot. Just the thought of coming here had made me wet.

“Jesus, Mia, sweetheart, I missed you,” he whispered throatily as he sank deep inside.

“I just saw you this morning,” I reminded him, as I leaned back on my hands, and jolted with each deep thrust of Elliot inside me.

“Irrelevant,” he murmured, and then, pulled me against him, lifting me up and down on him with powerful hands. I felt my orgasm approaching. It seemed to be coming quicker and quicker as Elliot learned my body, and me too. I had no idea this was what everyone was so obsessed with. Now that I’d done it too, I got it. Sex was great, and sex with Elliot Winter…Fucking phenomenal. I kissed him back and reached around to grip his firm ass. I hardly recognized myself in his arms. One thing I knew was that every touch of Elliot’s fingers would stay with me forever, and I was going to need it.

* * *

“I have to go,” I said later when we’d completed our impromptu quickie on the desk, and my thighs were aching deliciously. I’d also checked the suit on him, and sadly, there were no adjustments to be made.

“Why do I get the impression that you’re always running away from me?” Elliot asked, settling his hands behind his head, and making his button-up stretch tightly across his broad shoulders.

“Well, I’ve got things to do and people to see,” I said glibly, ignoring the clanging of my heart in my chest. Was this the last time I’d see Elliot? I took a deep breath and tried to pry my shoulders from next to my ears.

Casting about for a light topic, I spied something strange on his desk.

“Do you know this photo frame is empty?” I teased him, turning the silver frame toward him.

“Yes, it was my mother’s gift, to remind me that she expects a wedding photo to be in that frame as soon as possible,” he said dryly. My safe topic had turned out to be the worst one of all.

“Oh, that’s nice that she’s excited about it,” I murmured non-committedly.

“She’s excited about getting a carbon copy of herself to groom and mold into the perfect Winter Stepford bride. My mother only values pedigree… parent’s lineage, family connections. That’s the reason she married my father, and she expects the same of me,” Elliot said. His tone was hard, and I hurried to divert the conversation.

“My dad’s the same, though their preferred pedigrees are a little different…” I trailed off, unsure what to say next. Elliot watched me a long moment with an unreadable look, before changing the subject so abruptly I struggled to keep up.

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