Santa’s Pucking Hat Trick (The Forbidden Reverse Harem Collection)

15. Rachel

15

RACHEL

I was more excited than I should have been to see Leonard the photographer’s name in my email inbox. The attached folder full of photo files especially thrilled me. These were the final results of the Santa photoshoot, and though I’d never admit it out loud, I had more than professional interest in seeing how the pictures turned out.

The first few pictures were adorable. They were the fully clothed festive promo pics of my dreams, all the guys smiling with friendly openness and posing with appropriate props—holding giant candy canes like wizard staffs or using them as a kickstand while they gave razzle-dazzle Broadway energy. I knew these would be amazing for my planned marketing campaign throughout the season. We’d sell tons of tickets. Hell, I could maybe even gather them into a Skatin’ Santas’ wall calendar, for the oldies who still used such things in our digital world.

But eventually, I clicked through to the real reason I was excited. The shirtless pictures. Sexy Santas on full display—at least from the waist up. And while I didn’t care in the slightest about the photos featuring all of the other players on the team, once I let myself take in the glory of Wes, Sawyer, and Roman’s shirtless chests and abs and toned stomachs, I couldn’t stop looking. Gawking, really, my body starting to sing to life just from the photos that were technically barely more than PG.

Well, that wasn’t fully true. Roman brought his signature sinful energy to the whole affair. The forward thrust of his hips, the sultry look on his face…and of course, the tattoos didn’t help. But even Sawyer and Wes, who were less comfortable in front of the camera, had my insides turning molten. Sawyer’s thick, long, curly hair fell so gracefully around his face, a romantic contrast to his hard, manly features. That same hair dusted his broad chest, covering the succulent, taught pectorals that I wanted to bite. And the trail of hair that went from his belly button down to the red waistband of the stupid Santa pants…I wanted to nuzzle my face in it before I took his cock into my mouth. My horny brain just knew it would be substantial—thick, long, and perfectly hard in my fantasy.

I could tell any part of sex with Sawyer would be good. The way he’d kissed me that day on the ice…it was enough to fill me with lust for weeks. And we’d still never spoken of it, never even been in the same room long enough to exchange a knowing look about it. The uncertainty was killing me. The need for more.

I could feel myself getting wet. I was thankful that my office door was closed, hoping I had locked it behind me, but far too engrossed in the photos to get up and check. Nothing could drag my eyes away from my computer screen long enough to do that. Besides, there was something thrilling about the idea of someone walking in, especially as I crossed my legs, squeezing my thighs together for the delicious pressure it gave me. Letting myself accept the pleasure in this private moment as I found a particularly delectable photo of Wes to study next.

His pants were slung low on his hips, and something about the extra spice in this photo—definitely not safe for public consumption—made the fit of said pants look borderline pornographic. He was turned in such a way that I could see every detail of his well-formed ass, and it may have been arousal mixed with wishful thinking, but I could swear the outline of his dick was pressing into the red fabric too. Wes was so tall, so elegantly sculpted, like a greek statue. The sinews of his arms were prominent as he posed, filling my mind with thoughts of those arms around me, those long-fingered hands exploring every inch of my body.

It was just unfair how hot he was, with that close-cropped hair, those striking eyes…he may have rubbed me the wrong way in most of our social interactions thus far, but I knew of the three of them, he was the gentlest too. That he’d take care of a woman in bed the same way he took care of people in his daily life.

I was squirming in my desk chair now, dying for friction on my aching clit. This was a regular occurrence for me lately—being turned on by the slightest thought of the three hockey players I didn’t want to want. Sleeping with Roman had barely even taken the edge off. In fact, it made me want him more. Made me want to have all three of them just for the experience. To see how each of the other two guys measured up.

Damn it, I knew it would be good. Great, even. Different with each of them, but satisfying in distinct ways, all of which I was dying to experience.

One photo with all three of the guys kept drawing my attention. The sight of them all together, with their different physiques and coloring contrasting one another like a variety pack of masculine sensuality, had my mind wandering toward truly wicked scenarios. Having one of them fill my pussy with his hard cock, while another filled my mouth—I wasn’t even quite sure what to do with three men at once, but fuck , I wanted it. So badly, in fact, that despite every alarm bell in my brain telling me it was a stupid idea, my hand moved from my laptop to my chest, sliding down between my breasts, past my achingly hard nipples, paving a path down to my swollen, pulsing clit.

But before I got there, before my hand finished its descent, I heard the knob turn in my office door. I jumped, instantly red in the face for a second reason, my breathing a little ragged when the door opened and Wes Robbins appeared.

My hand fell innocently into my lap under my desk. He wouldn’t have been able to see anything, not with my desk in the way, but embarrassment flooded through me, almost cold enough to douse my heated desire.

Almost.

Wes, to his credit, didn’t show any indication that he knew what he’d almost walked in on. His face was open and innocent, like he wanted to ask me for something. I was sure I looked guilty as sin. I was also still turned on enough that whatever he wanted, I’d have to fight like hell not to cave instantly and give it to him.

“You got a minute?” Wes asked, his hand still on the doorknob.

“Y-yeah,” I forced out. I cleared my throat to dispel the slight rasp. “Come on in. Close the door behind you.”

Wes did as I asked, taking a couple of long, loping steps until he reached the chair in front of me, the same one where he’d sat for his player interview. His posture remained straight, his distracting hands fidgeting, fisting themselves in his lap with apparent nervousness.

“I, uh, hope I’m not…interrupting anything,” Wes started carefully, and I could feel myself flush from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet. Yeah, you interrupted my attempt to get off on the idea of fucking you. No big deal.

“No, not at all,” I said, maintaining a professional tone through sheer determination. “I was just looking over the photos from the Santa shoot. They’ve turned out great.”

Understatement of the year.

“Oh,” Wes said, and was I imagining a faint blush covering his cheeks now? “Um, that’s…that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. I don’t think I can okay the pictures of me being shared online or elsewhere. The, uh…the shirtless ones, at least.”

I blinked at him. “What? Why not?”

He shifted in his chair for a long moment, discomfort apparent from his posture to his face, which was tense and still a little pink. He avoided my eyes. “I’m, uh, not comfortable. Sharing my body like that. Pretending…I don’t know. Like I’m some model, some sex symbol. I’m not like Roman. I’ll—I’ll look ridiculous.”

Another confused blink. Ridiculous? Sure, they all looked a little campy in their Santa suits, but anyone with eyes would be far too enraptured by their athletic bodies to care about potential cringe factors. “I’m confused. Why didn’t you say anything during the photoshoot?”

“I didn’t want to make a fuss when everyone was so excited about the idea,” he explained. His hand found its way to the back of his neck, massaging in that nervous way I’d noticed him do before. “And maybe I wanted to…I don’t know. Prove to myself I could do it. Get over myself. But I guess I can’t.”

The sadness in his tone was heavier than I expected. I wasn’t sure what to say, so Wes took the silence as a call to continue, further twisting the knife.

“I think the other photos will be fine if—if you don’t include me. There’s not much to miss.”

Wait. What the hell did that mean? And why was he so red, his face lowered with such…shame?

It started to click. The reason he didn’t want to be in the photos. Not that he’d look ridiculous, not like I’d assumed—no one would make fun of him for being dorky , especially not in the photos I’d just wanted to get myself off to. But he worried that he looked bad. Unattractive. Even ugly.

There was no fucking way.

“Wes,” I started, my voice soft and low, betraying the tenderness I felt for him in this moment no matter how hard I tried to sound professional. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Your photos…they’re great.”

He shook his head slowly, refusing to look up. I couldn’t stand the idea of him sitting there, his mind swirling with negative self-talk that made no sense for how stupidly gorgeous he was, how badly I wanted him even before I’d admitted to myself that he was a good guy. Not the arrogant jock I’d pegged him as at the start because my cynical brain couldn’t conceptualize someone that hot being a decent human being.

I felt myself standing from my desk chair, moving around to lean against the front of the desk so there wouldn’t be that barrier between us. “I mean it, Wes. I…you look amazing. In the pictures, and—” Oh, damn it. There was that heat in my face again. Was I really going to cross this line of professionalism a second time? With another hockey player? A compliment wasn’t as bad as coming around his cock, but it felt like a slippery slope at this point. Especially since I was still slick with need for him under my skirt. “And all the time, really. You’re…handsome.” I winced. “Honestly, not just handsome. You’re totally hot.”

That word was like a dog whistle—he jerked his head up, looking at me for the first time since he’d come in here. Disbelief seemed to make those sapphire irises even bluer somehow. “What?”

Christ, was he gonna make me repeat it? While I was perched on the edge of my desk with my wet pussy and my thighs dutifully shut and he was only a foot away, close enough to touch?

But I needed him to know it. To understand that his insecurities weren’t true even if he felt they were. Playing with fire, I edged closer to him, sliding against the desk until my leg lightly touched his knee.

“You heard me,” I told him. “You’re scorching, Wes. It’s part of why I didn’t recognize you right away, I guess. But if I’m honest…” He was watching me look at him, the way my eyes traced every smooth plane of his face, drinking him in. He looked like he was having trouble believing his own eyes. I had a hard time believing myself too—the fact that I was about to say this to him. “You don’t look that different from when we were kids. Beyond the obvious, I mean. Like, you’re so tall now, and you’ve got different clothes, and no more glasses.” It should be illegal for him to own those eyes without some protection to dull their effect.

“No more nerdy Wes Robbins,” he agreed, but I didn’t like the tone he used.

“You’re still you, though,” I asserted. “Your eyes. Your face…I won’t lie that I noticed back then, before I left Mistletoe. But you were always pretty. And now, you’ve filled out so…” I swallowed hard. “ So well.”

“Yeah?” he whispered, his eyes darting to my lips when I licked them, trying to solve the sudden dryness of my mouth. I nodded slowly.

“It’s painful,” I admitted. It was barely a whisper. An idea struck me, and I turned to grab my laptop, turning it around and clicking a couple of times to show him his own photo filling my screen. The one that had started my mind on its descent down the gutter, with his sculpted ass on display at the same time as his abs.

It was nothing compared to the real thing right here in my office, but it was still damn good to look at.

“Look at you, Wes,” I urged him quietly. “You’re gorgeous.”

He struggled to turn his face toward the screen. To pull his eyes away from mine. But then he was looking at himself, that sexy shot that made me almost touch myself at work. I squirmed even now, looking at it again, but I couldn’t stand it for very long. I had to move.

As Wes looked at his photo, his expression unreadable, I moved to stand at his side, leaning a little against the arm of the chair with my hip. My hand found its way to his shoulder blade, making him take a sharp breath the second I made contact. Fuck—I shouldn’t have touched him. I started to pull my hand away, but without a word, a turn of his head, he leaned into my touch to communicate that it was okay. I could feel his warmth through his shirt.

“Look at you, Wes,” I whispered again, looking at the screen alongside him. “Your body…you’re unfairly sexy.”

“I—no one has ever told me that,” I heard him ground out between his teeth. “No one’s ever said anything like that to me. Not once.”

If I’d disliked his ex-girlfriend on principle before, I hated her now.

“Your ex?” I questioned. The wry laugh that came out of his mouth had no humor in it. He shook his head and pressed his face into my hand when I couldn’t help but caress his cheek. Even that small touch held a spark. The potential to catch fire.

“I was never good enough for her, and she let me know it every chance she got. Questioning what I wore, how I cut my hair. How I ate, even.” He winced as if reliving a fresh trauma, and a new kind of fire roared into a raging inferno inside me. What kind of partner exhibited that kind of control over someone they were supposed to love?

“She’s cruel, and an idiot,” I bit out. Wes smiled, a little sad, and every word he spoke next only further proved to me that his ex was evil, undeserving of any love he may have shown her before.

“I’ve always kind of thought she was right. That I’m still just that nerdy kid who everyone overlooked,” he went on. “She used to tell me we were meant to be because only she could see my potential.”

Potential. Like he was a project. A fixer upper for her to mold to her will rather than a man who was damn-near perfect as he was. What a snake of a woman.

“I used to think that was nice,” he said, my heart breaking for him. “There was more underneath it, though. Like…I knew without her saying it that I wasn’t enough as I was. And that no one besides her could ever take an interest in me. Especially not anyone like…well, like you.”

“Like me?” I asked. My hand had moved to his other shoulder as if of its own accord, and now my spare hand was on the shoulder closest to me. I was practically wrapping myself around him, rubbing circles into his shoulders, a pseudo massage. I was brimming with needy heat, unable to keep myself away. Wes looked up at me, and our faces were so close that I could see the light dusting of hair on his jaw where he hadn’t shaved in a day or so, pale enough in color that it nearly blended with his skin. My thumb came up to run over that stubble. I was losing my mind.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Rachel,” Wes told me to answer my question, and my heart stumbled in its steady rhythm. “Every part of you…you’re just perfect. You were always my dream girl, you know that? I kind of can’t believe you’d…see me that way.” As attractive. Sexy. Desirable.

But this man really did look close to perfect, absolutely the stuff of dreams, to me too. And I was his dream girl.

“You have no idea, Wes. If you knew the effect you have on me…” I murmured, watching his mouth. Recklessly, I offered, “Let me show you.”

His breath was ragged, his nod frantic, shocking me entirely. For a second, I just sat there, stunned that I’d asked, that he’d answered. But my stillness didn’t last long. The power of lust and a beautiful man’s desire fueled me as I stood, walking slowly behind him.

“I couldn’t stop staring at your photos,” I told him truthfully, my voice shifting to a low, sensual tone I didn’t know I was capable of before. “All that lean muscle. Smooth skin. Just looking at you like that, getting hints of the rest of your body I couldn’t see…” My eyes found that enticing dick outline in the photo again as I placed each of my hands on his shoulders from behind, letting my flat palms slide slowly down. Feeling his chest through his shirt. His racing heartbeat. “It got me so wet, Wes.”

The breath he let out this time had more power to it. An almost groan. I felt it between my legs, and I pressed my hands more firmly into his torso. Lower, now, to those softly sculpted abs. I was leaning so far forward that my face was in his neck, my breasts pressing into his upper back. I breathed in the scent of him, natural and rich and so…cozy. I wanted to wrap myself in it.

“When you walked in, I was thinking about your body. Your sharp hip bones. Your firm ass. Getting so, so turned on I could hardly think straight. If you’d been a few seconds later…”

“What?” He breathed, panting now. “What would I have seen?”

“Nothing, on the surface,” I said, pressing a daring kiss to the side of his neck. Christ, I wanted to devour him, especially when he let out a sound that was almost a whimper. “But my hand would have been between my legs, and you might have heard me moan your name.”

“Fuck,” Wes gasped. Reveling in the power of this, the way I was building him back up after his ex had torn him down to the studs. I splayed my fingers across his lower abdomen, the tips barely brushing the base of his cock through his pants. I felt the muscles of his stomach twitch, saw with my own eyes how he was growing hard. Goddamn gray sweatpants. “Fuck,” he said again, but I pulled away.

“I’ve wanted you from the first second I saw you on the ice,” I admitted to him, to myself, as I prowled around to the other side of the chair. I was facing him now, and he was watching me with something like reverence. “And if you can’t see that every woman you meet wants you just as badly, you’re not looking hard enough.”

“I don’t want every woman,” he growled, the heat and aggression of it surprising me, shooting a twinge of satisfaction through my core. His eyes locked on mine. “I just want you.”

And damn it, I wanted it too. So I threw caution to the wind and perched myself in his lap. My arms came around him, one sliding around his neck to touch the soft peach fuzz at his nape, while the other went around his trim waist, pulling us as close together as possible.

“Take me, then.”

Wes covered my mouth with his in a passionate kiss.

He tasted good. Felt good underneath, around me as I returned his kiss enthusiastically. I scraped the back of his head with my nails, tasted his tongue, and relished his lips, his hard body, how easily we fell into a painfully hot rhythm. In seconds, Wes had one of his big hands on my ass, cupping it easily with his long fingers and squeezing hard enough that it hurt, but in a way I loved.

I felt my pencil skirt riding up, and then Wes was grasping at the fabric, pulling it up higher so he could feel my skin. I’d worn a strappy little thong today, and he groaned into my mouth when he found that, snapping the elastic once, a perfect little sting. He pulled me closer and closer to him, guiding my ass, my thighs, until I was straddling him. It was a little hard to achieve on the chair, my thighs wedged between his and the cushioned arms, but I liked that it was a little restrictive. I had nowhere to escape. I didn’t want to.

I started to grind myself against him, which made Wes release my mouth on a breathy sound that was almost a laugh. He moved in to kiss my throat, moving lower, one hand still on my bare ass.

My skirt had ridden up completely with his efforts. It was rolled into more of a belt around my waist, and if anyone came into my office right now, they’d see the hot pink triangle of my panties that were the only thing covering my pussy. They were soaked through at this point, plastered to my lips in a way that was almost good, almost what I wanted. But Wes, fully hard underneath me, so long and at attention, felt better.

I was riding him the way I wanted to, even though he was fully clothed, and I was too constricted by the chair to get as close as I really needed. Still, his cock’s rigidity was exquisite as I ground it into my swollen lips, leaving a patch of damp on the front of his pants. He was thrusting a little too, chasing his own pleasure. I wanted him to have it. To have me. I needed more.

I practically tore his shirt off his body. Seams popped as I pulled at it until he was throwing it to my office floor, and then I could explore the same chest I’d lusted after in that fucking photo, and he was perfect . Smooth and hot and responsive when I scraped my nails across his nipples just for the surge of power it gave me to have him at my mercy this way. While I explored, still rocking against his erection, he quickly undid the buttons of my blouse, then pulled down the cups of my bra so that my breasts bounced free.

“Shit,” Wes hissed, taking me in. “You’re so hot. Better than I imagined. I’ve gotta—” but he didn’t finish his sentence with words, leaning in to suck my nipple into his mouth, hard and eager.

I moaned. My nipples were so hard, so sensitive, and Wes had a sweet tongue for more than just words. He stoked my nerves into a frenzy of pleasure, incorporating a little delicious pain when he decided to use his teeth too. I moaned again, picking up the pace of my grinding.

And Wes was enjoying it just as much as I was. I knew because he was so expressive, humming his pleasure and allowing himself to moan with his mouth on me, unselfconscious in this way at least. It was fucking intoxicating.

So much so, in fact, that when Wes was on his second rotation between my breasts, ending up back at the one he’d started with initially, I could feel my pleasure starting to crest. I’d never come this way before. Didn’t think I could, even after Roman had almost achieved it too—but he’d touched my clit at the same time. This was just attention on my nipples, and I’d never thought they were quite sensitive enough to be more than a slight enhancement to a sexual experience.

Wes made them their own main event. Because with another sharp, delicious scrape of his teeth against my nipple, his skilled fingers rolling the other between them, I felt my muscles spasm, my head falling back in a wave of full-body pleasure.

It was so different from other orgasms I’d felt. No less intense, no less satisfying, but…somehow foreign. I felt my pussy clench around nothing, as if it was just as confused that I’d gotten here without so much as a finger on my clit. My nipples themselves felt like live wires.

“God, you’re incredible,” Wes told me, guiding my hips as I continued to buck against him, coming down from the orgasm he’d given me. “I can’t believe this.”

“Believe it,” I gasped out, partly to convince myself too. I snapped my head back up to meet his gaze—he needed this reassurance. Deserved it. “Without even touching my pussy, you just made me come, Wes Robbins. And now, I want to do the same for you.”

It took considerable effort to slide myself off his lap, breaking all contact of our bodies. I had the strength of mind to reach over and lock my office door, finally, not wanting any interruptions for what I planned next. Then I stood in front of Wes, looking him over. His legs were spread wide in the chair, his arms slung over the sides like a king on his throne, his still-covered cock jutting up in front of his stomach. I looked him in the eye as I peeled off my bra, then shimmied out of my thong, showing him the full picture of how badly I wanted him.

“See how wet I am?” I asked him, sliding my hand down to part my lips with my fingers. He inhaled sharply through his nose, nodding frantically, his eyes locked on that V of hair between my thighs. I swirled the wetness around my clit once, twice, pulling back before I could give myself more. “That’s all for you, Wes. Your eyes. Your mouth. Your cock.”

He panted, shaking his head, but only barely. His eyes stayed where they were, hypnotized by my pussy, my fingers. That is, until I sunk to my knees in front of him, reaching for his waistband.

Wes looked me dead in the face as I slowly pulled his cock free from his clothes. I wet my hand by running it through my folds, then gripped his shaft firmly. His lips parted like he wanted to taste the sweet juices I was using to lubricate him, but I decided now wasn’t the time for that, no matter how much I wanted him to eat me out. This was about him—and only partly because making him hot was getting me off too.

I spent a long moment taking in every long, beautiful inch of his erection. Longer than Roman’s, though it may not have had him beat in thickness—I didn’t mind. Wes would fill me up, any part of me, just as well. My mouth watered at the prospect, and without any further delay, I leaned in to kiss his engorged tip, wet and sloppy.

He really was gorgeous. Every part of him, every way, in every context. But there might have been no more beautiful sight than Wes Robbins sighing in pleasure, throwing his head back as I slowly took him into my waiting mouth. I watched him closely as I took his cock. He filled my lips perfectly, felt heavy and right on my tongue as I licked and sucked, slowly encouraging him further inside my throat. I gripped his shaft at the base, steadying him and squeezing just a little because I couldn’t help myself. I breathed through my nose as I encouraged him back further, fighting past a few gags. Wes groaned from the vibrations.

I became more eager the longer I sucked him. His salty precum coated my tongue, and I moaned around his girth, bobbing and slurping like I wanted to suck him down to his marrow. I kind of did. He tasted so good, heady and powerful and mine ; every part of me wanted him to spray his cum down my throat. To be filled with him.

But Wes pulled me off roughly by my hair when it became too much, panting out his next words. “Stop. I’m—I’m too close.”

“I want you to come,” I told him, a little hoarse from how far back he’d been in my throat, and he fisted his hand in my hair. Delicious. Blue eyes locked on mine with the intensity of a hurricane.

“Not like that. Not without you,” he said gruffly.

Oh. Yeah, I liked the sound of that. My pussy throbbed, clenching around nothing but air again, asking for him to please just fuck me senseless. “I’m on the pill,” I gasped out. “Please, Wes. I might die if you don’t come inside me.”

Somehow with our next crashing kiss, his strong hands and arms and need pulled me to my feet. He had to support me, as I still felt a little wobbly from how hard he’d made me come before, my knees aching from being on the floor in front of him. But then it wasn’t necessary anymore, because he had a brilliant idea. Wes slammed my laptop shut and pushed it to the side, knocking over a cup of pens with the sweep of his arm. They rolled across the floor, under the desk, and I didn’t give a fuck. Then he turned me around and bent me over my desk, my ass in the air.

I loved where this was going.

“Tell me no,” Wes gritted out from behind me. I felt the hard, hot head of his cock tracing the line of my ass, then lower. My pulse was racing. “Tell me you don’t want me to plunge myself into your sweet pussy, Rachel, and I won’t do it. Tell me to stop.”

Not a chance. The professionalism ship had sailed. There was nothing in my mind but Wes when I said again, “Please, Wes. I need you to fuck me.”

The swear he let out under his breath was so delightfully filthy compared to his usual boy-next-door energy that I almost laughed. But that instinct disappeared the second Wes positioned himself at my entrance, not hesitating as he thrust forward and plunged himself deep into my pussy for the first time.

I cried out when he was fully seated inside me. It was so good, such a perfect tight fit, so deep that my brain could have melted away entirely and I wouldn’t have cared. He held himself there, sheathed all the way to the hilt, my ass flush with his hips, for a long, painful moment. “Christ, you’re—you’re so tight, Rachel. I don’t know how I’ll hold on.”

“You said you would,” I reminded him breathlessly. I gripped the edge of my desk with white knuckles, arching my back to get him even deeper. Maybe start up a little friction even though I knew that would only make things harder for him. “You said you wouldn’t come without me.”

“Fuck,” he hissed out, and just that challenge seemed to be enough to fortify his resolve. His big hands anchored themselves on my waist, holding tight as he pulled back, preparing to thrust.

It took him a minute to find a good rhythm, but every movement inside me was exquisite. He really was longer than Roman had been, reaching my G-spot more easily with the slight upward curve of his cock. And as he fucked me, I felt that no matter how carnal this was, how heated and full of raw lust, there was something sweeter about it too. The care with which he handled me, combing a hand through my hair and skating it gently down my back. The perfect amount of pressure he applied as he thrust, not riding me so hard that I’d bruise, but giving me everything I wanted.

I felt absolutely worshipped, even though I’d intended to worship him .

“You feel so good,” I gasped out, reminding Wes that I was here with him in mind, in heart, in body. “So, so right inside me. I could stay like this forever.” At that exact moment, his stroke struck my G-spot in such a way that I had to gasp, the sound turning into a moan when he did it again, and again, and again.

“God, Rachel,” he moaned, and that sure sounded heavenly to me. “I wish you could see—it’s such a pretty sight. Your perfect ass. The way you’re so wet, you’re practically dripping. And the way my cock slides in”—he thrust forward slowly, teasingly, but deep enough to make me whimper—“and out of you,” he went on, pulling back so that only his tip was inside and I was desperate to be full again, pushing my ass back toward him and making him laugh. “Yeah, that looks good. You look good. Perfect.”

“I want to see it,” I half sobbed, even as the idea of not being bent over this desk right now sounded like torture. He could get so deep this way, and there was something sexy about the inherent submission in the position. Still, I couldn’t get past the idea. “I wanna see how you stretch me, fill me. I want the world to see it.”

And with that thought, so brazenly unlike me and my usual need to linger on the sidelines, another thought occurred to me.

Wes thrust forward again, his next couple of thrusts picking up speed, and the sweetness of it only fueled my desire. A desire to claim him as mine. To show everyone what they were missing when they overlooked him.

To show Sharon that she couldn’t fucking touch him anymore.

“Get your phone,” I begged Wes, even as he was fucking me. It was so hard to speak with him plunging into me so well, but I needed this. “R-record it. The way you’re filling me. We need it.”

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Wes said, and one of his hands left my body, delving into his pocket for his phone. He stopped, holding himself still in my wetness for a moment as he got the camera ready. “Fuck. Fuck. Look at us, Rach.”

We didn’t want to separate, but I did want to see. With his help, I pulled myself up so I was propped on my hands, arms extended. Wes reached a long arm around to show me the photo he’d taken—my ass, full and round, parted enough that there was just a glimpse of my soaked, pink pussy. And then there was a glimpse of his cock buried in me, the golden hair at the base, those hip bones I should have bitten while I was going down on him. Next time.

“You fit perfectly,” I told Wes. “Now, video. Please—we need the proof that I wanted you, still want you this bad. Prove Sharon wrong.”

Wes gasped. “Shit, Rachel. You…you mean?”

“She needs to know you’re not hers to control anymore,” I bit out. I turned over my shoulder just enough that he could see my expression, deadly serious and full of protective determination. “That you’re sexy and confident, and you can get better pussy than her any day. That women come apart when you touch them, and she’ll never, ever have that perfect cock of yours—any part of you—again.”

Wes bit his lip, but he nodded hard, and he positioned the camera at that same delicious angle. Our faces wouldn’t be visible, nor would any identifying features. But Sharon would know whose cock that was, whose cum would drip down my inner thighs when we were finished, and she’d get some small fraction of what she fucking deserved for breaking Wes down.

Just knowing that we were going to be watched, that this act was one of Wes taking back his power at the same time as it was a manifestation of our mutual lust and trust, made the sex all the sweeter. Wes found a perfect, satisfying rhythm of thrusts again in no time, and my moans filled the room, along with the wet, pounding sounds of his fucking me. Wes told me more sweetly praising things, leaving out my name for the video’s sake, but we both knew whose pussy he was inside.

“I’m so close,” he gasped out soon, though he used his athletic discipline to keep up his steady pace. “You’ve gotta come for me, love. Play with your clit if you need to. I want you to come again.”

The second I did slide my hand underneath me to press into my clit, I was practically there. He was filling me up so well, I probably could have come without touching myself at all with a little more time. But Wes needed to finish, and we both wanted me to find the highest possible pleasure, so in seconds, with my fingers stroking my clit in time with Wes’s thrusts, I was crying out in ecstasy.

“Fuck, Wes!” I let out as my inner muscles clenched hard around his cock, my entire body jerking as I milked him for every last drop. He thrust again, twice, three times, and then he was finishing inside me, groaning as his cock twitched and I felt his hot cum deep within.

It took us a while to recover enough for Wes to pull out of me, and even then, I wished we could stay connected. But we found our way back into the same chair as before, me snuggling naked into his lap even as his cum leaked out, down my inner thighs. While he held me to his chest, I whispered into his ear.

“Do you believe me now? Do you believe that you’re sexy as hell, and that I just came that hard all over your perfect cock? That I was thinking only of you as you were deep inside me?”

Wes nodded slowly, his eyes closed. I took his phone from his hand. And with his permission and the passcode he told me, I sent the video to the contact labeled Sharon Farley. The red X next to her name made me smile.