Urgent Desire With Minutes to Spare
The door clicked shut behind us and that sound was the only warning either of us got before I had her skirt shoved up around her waist and her underwear yanked aside, my belt already open, jeans and boxers shoved down just far enough to free myself. No warm-up, no easing in—I drove into Nimue, dropping her flat onto the carpet with my cock spearing balls-deep into her dripping cunt. Just raw, brute penetration, and the shock of it punched a sound out of her that wasn’t quite a scream and wasn’t quite a moan, something caught in between that vibrated straight through my molars.
Her walls clamped down around me instantly, wet and greedy, a slick fist that pulsed once, twice, adjusting to the intrusion, and I froze there for half a second just to feel it—the impossible heat of her, tight and soaked and clenching like her body hadn’t decided yet whether to fight me or pull me deeper. Then she rolled her hips up, answering that question herself, and I lost whatever thread of control I’d been holding onto.
The carpet burned against my forearms as I braced myself over her, rough fibers dragging against my skin every time I drove forward, and I could feel the friction of it against her shoulder blades too, the way her whole body shifted an inch with each thrust, sliding on the fibers, her hair catching static against the weave. I didn’t care. Neither did she. Her nails found my back and dug in hard enough to leave half-moons, and she gasped my name like it was the only word left in her vocabulary.
“Four minutes,” she panted, voice already fraying into something ragged. “Sully’s gonna be back in four fucking minutes—oh god, don’t stop, don’t you dare stop—”
I didn’t. Couldn’t. My hands found her wrists and pinned them to the carpet above her head, and the new angle changed everything—deeper, tighter, her back arching off the floor to meet me. Every stroke made a wet, obscene sound, her arousal soaking my shaft, coating my balls, a slick mess smearing onto the carpet beneath her. My brain kept trying to form a coherent thought—time, clock, Sully, door—and every single one dissolved the second her cunt fluttered around me again.
She was so wet it bordered on filthy, every drag of my cock through her folds slick and easy despite how hard I was pounding into her, and the sound of it—that squelching, soaked rhythm—was almost as loud as her voice. “Fuck, yes—harder, pound that pussy,” she shouted, no filter left, no shame, just raw demand. Her tits bounced with the force of it under the bunched-up fabric of her top, and I watched them, watched her throat work around another moan, watched her eyes roll back when I shifted my hips just enough to grind against her on the next thrust.
The clock in my head ticked louder, a physical pressure behind my sternum, and I knew the floor wasn’t going to be enough—too exposed, too slow, and some feral part of my brain wanted her somewhere I could really move. I pulled out of her—the loss of that heat hit me like plunging into cold air, my cock instantly aching for the emptiness—and hauled her up by the wrist. She stumbled against me, disoriented, wet and open and cursing at the sudden absence, and I spun us both toward the couch, walking her backward until the edge of the cushion hit the back of her knees.
I bent her over it, one hand flat between her shoulder blades, and she caught herself on the armrest, skirt still hiked around her hips, ass tilted up, spine curved in offering. For one raw second I just looked—the mess I’d already made of her, slick and swollen and trembling—before I lined up and drove back in, no hesitation, burying myself to the base in a single brutal stroke that punched a scream out of her throat.
This angle was deeper, tighter, her cunt gripping me from underneath now, and I felt every ridge of her inner walls dragging against my shaft on the pull-out, that maddening full-body suction right before I slammed back home. She clawed at the cushions, knuckles white, back arching hard enough that her spine curved like a bowstring. “Shit—your dick feels so fucking good—don’t you dare slow down!”
I didn’t slow down. I couldn’t have if I tried—every noise she made short-circuited whatever was left of my restraint, and I chased the sound of her, chasing the exact rhythm that made her keen high and broken. Sweat dripped off my nose onto her back. My jeans had slid lower with every thrust, bunching somewhere around my knees now, and the denim scraped rough against the back of her bare thighs each time I drove forward, loud, wet, relentless, and somewhere in the haze I registered that the couch was scraping an inch across the floor with every thrust.
Her moans were climbing, stacking on top of each other without pause for breath—”oh fuck, oh god, right there, right—fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop”—and I felt her walls start that telltale flutter, the one that meant she was close, but I wasn’t done, not yet, not with four minutes bleeding away and my whole body screaming for more contact, more of her.
I pulled out again—she made a wrecked, wounded sound at the sudden emptiness, hips chasing air—and I hauled her upright by the shoulder, spinning her to face away from me. I dragged the neckline of her top down in the same motion, freeing her breast, and for a half-second neither of us moved, just her back pressed to my chest, my cock rock hard and slick against the bare curve of her ass, both of us breathing like we’d sprinted a mile. Then I bent her forward slightly, hitched her hips back, and drove into her from behind in one long, filthy slide that bottomed out with a wet, obscene sound.
Standing doggystyle. My arm locked across her chest, palm cupping her bare breast, thumb finding her nipple and rolling it as I anchored her in place. My other hand gripped her hip hard enough to bruise, fingers digging into flesh still damp with sweat, and I used that grip to pull her back onto me every time I snapped my hips forward. The new angle changed the friction entirely—tighter, more direct, her body’s whole weight settling onto my cock with gravity doing half the work.
“Fuck, Nimue—take it, take every inch,” I growled against her ear, and she answered with a wail so raw and uninhibited it probably carried straight down the hallway, no attempt at quiet, no thought of anyone hearing.
“Yes—yes, fuck, right there, don’t—don’t you fucking stop—” Her words kept breaking apart mid-sentence, dissolving into half-formed sounds, my name mangled into two syllables and then just a vowel, just breath. Her cunt fluttered and clenched around me, so slick it sounded like I was fucking a puddle, wet noise underscoring every single thrust, and I felt sweat sliding down my back, felt her spine slick against my chest, both of us slippery and overheated and past caring.
Somewhere in the wreckage of my brain the clock ticked again—footsteps, maybe, a door somewhere down the hall, Sully’s timeline collapsing toward zero—and it should have scared me into finishing fast, except it did the opposite, lit something feral under my skin that made me drive harder, deeper, chasing the edge like the danger of getting caught was fuel instead of brakes.
“Goddamn it—I’m gonna come—fuck me harder, harder, right there, right—” Her voice cracked on the last word, climbing into something wordless, a broken cry that had no shape left to it, just pure sound. I felt her inner walls seize around me, gripping tight, milking, and the sensation dragged a hoarse curse out of my own throat, guttural and unplanned.
I gripped her hip harder, angled her body just slightly forward, and drove one final, brutal thrust all the way to the hilt—buried so deep I felt the give of her body accepting every inch, felt her back arch and lock, felt her whole frame go rigid against my chest. That single thrust pinned her in place, my hips flush against her ass, and my brain went white, blank, a total whiteout of sensation as my cock jerked and unloaded inside her, heat flooding, pulse after pulse punching through me until my knees nearly buckled.
Her cunt spasmed around me in answer, milking every last twitch out of my release, her body shuddering in three long waves that I felt against my own chest, her breath coming out in short, wrecked gasps that had no words left in them at all—just broken vowels, just my name reduced to a single syllable torn loose on an exhale.
We stayed like that, locked together, both of us shaking, sweat-soaked and trembling, her moans tapering into soft, involuntary whimpers every time her body twitched around the last of my pulses. My arm was still locked across her chest, feeling her heartbeat slam against my forearm, feeling her ribs heave with each ragged breath.
Then the footsteps got louder. Closer. A door somewhere down the hall, a voice calling something indistinct—and both of us froze at the same instant, wrecked, undone. I pulled out of her fast, the loss of contact leaving us both gasping, and in the scramble that followed she yanked her top back into place with one shaking hand while I hauled my jeans up over my hips with the other, neither of us fully steady, caught in the half-second of pure animal panic before either of us could figure out how the hell we were supposed to look normal in the next sixty seconds.