She Fought Harder Against His Pinning Grip
The scream tore out of Ruby’s throat the exact second I drove into her, the head of my cock splitting her open, her spine catching hard against the desk edge with a crack of wood. She wasn’t wet enough to take me easy—I felt every inch fighting through, her cunt gripping so tight I had to grit my teeth against the drag of it. Her hands flew up toward my face and I caught her by the shoulders instead, hauling her the rest of the way onto the desk, dragging her fully onto the surface until her whole back was flat against the wood and her head wasn’t hanging off into nothing. Only then did I catch both wrists in one fist and drive them down above her head.
“Fuck—Jax—” Her voice cracked on my name. I didn’t slow down. I ground in deep, felt the head of my cock scrape somewhere that made her hips buck up off the wood, and she thrashed so hard she nearly wrenched her wrists sideways out of my grip. My fingers were slick already, sweat and her own frantic squirming working against me, and I had to clamp down harder, feeling the small bones of her wrist shift under my palm.
“Keep fighting,” I growled, hips snapping forward again, burying myself to the root. “Every time you twist that cunt gets tighter.”
She twisted anyway—toward the desk edge, trying to get leverage to roll, one knee coming up like she meant to hook it around my ribs and flip us both. I felt her shoulder blade grind against the wood as she arched, and my grip slipped—two fingers lost their hold first, the pinky and ring finger sliding off the curve of her wrist bone—and for a second I only had her pinned by three fingers and pure downward weight. I lunged forward, chest crushing flat against her tits, and recrossed her wrists, stacking one on top of the other so I could clamp them both under a single splayed hand while my other arm shoved under the small of her back to keep her from bucking sideways off the desk entirely.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I said, voice rough, and slammed back into her to prove it.
She didn’t stop. She twisted the other direction now, trying to drag her stacked wrists toward the edge where the desk lamp sat, like she thought she could knock it into me or use the surface to lever herself free. I felt the tendons in my own forearm lock as I forced her back, my knuckles white against her skin, and the lamp went over anyway, clattering to the floor in the dark, throwing weird shadows up the wall. Neither of us looked at it. My cock kept punching into her through all of it, the slap of skin gone louder, wetter, her cunt so soaked now that every drag out made an obscene sucking sound before I drove back home.
“Fuck—stop—I can’t—” She wasn’t saying stop like she meant it; she said it with her hips grinding up into me even as her wrists fought. I felt sweat drip off my chin and land right between her collarbones, sliding down toward her throat, and she arched her neck like she wanted to lick it off her own skin. My arms were shaking now, actually shaking, from the strain of holding her down while driving into her at the same time—two different kinds of muscle failure happening at once, and I welcomed both.
Her wrists slipped again when she twisted her whole upper body sideways, trying to roll her captured hands out from under my palm by attacking the angle instead of the grip. I felt her radius bone shift under my fingers, felt her almost—almost—get an inch of freedom before I threw my weight forward, crossed her wrists the opposite way, and slammed them down so hard the desk groaned under the impact. Red was already blooming across both wrists in mottled streaks, deepening with every renewed struggle, and I found myself watching it happen in real time instead of just remembering it after.
“He fired us both,” I ground out, voice broken up by my own thrusts, each word getting punched out of me on the downstroke. “That bastard—Leonardo—” I slammed in again, felt her fingers claw uselessly against the wood beside her own hip, “—took the pitch. Both our—fuck—our names off the deck. Cut us loose the second—the second the client signed.”
“I saw,” she gasped, hips grinding up despite the order in my voice, cunt clenching so hard around me I lost the thread of my own sentence for a second. “The emails—I saw the—ah—fuck, Jax, right there—”
I adjusted, chasing the angle she’d just told me with her body instead of her words, and her back arched so hard off the desk that her shoulder threatened to slip free of my hold entirely. I re-gripped, this time forcing both wrists higher, stretching her whole torso longer, tighter, so there was less slack for her to work with. My forearm ached with the effort of keeping her stretched that way while my hips kept working, and I felt the exact moment her struggle changed from trying to escape to something closer to just needing somewhere to put the feeling—her thighs locked around my waist even while her hands kept twisting weakly against my grip, like her body couldn’t decide whether to fight or pull me deeper.
“He set us up,” she managed, voice fraying at the edges, breaking apart mid-word the way her hips were breaking rhythm under me. “Used us—both of us—left us with—” She didn’t finish. Her whole body clenched instead, cunt gripping down on me in a wave that made my own hips stutter, and I finished it for her, teeth against her ear.
“Left us with shit. Yeah. I know.” I drove in harder to punctuate it, felt her fingers curl and scrabble against my knuckles where her wrists were still pinned, and pressed my mouth to her jaw. “I’ve wanted—” My hips slammed forward, stealing the breath out of my own sentence, “—wanted this cunt for months.” Her whole body clenched around that confession like she’d been waiting for it, and I had to stop talking entirely for a second, just fucking her through the sudden greedy squeeze of her, before I could finish. “Secret—fuck—secret admirer. The whole time he was playing us both.”
She thrashed at that, a fresh wave of fight in her, shoulders rolling as she tried once more to lever an arm free, twisting her whole ribcage to throw me off balance. My grip slipped for the fourth time—this time it was my thumb that lost purchase first, sliding off the slick curve of her wrist—and I had to slam my palm flat again, crossing her wrists one final time and grinding them down with the full weight of my forearm, bone against bone, until she stopped trying to angle out of it. I bottomed out inside her and held there, grinding in slow tight circles, feeling her inner walls flutter and grip and release around the thick vein running the underside of my shaft.
“And now I’ve got my cock balls-deep in the only good thing he didn’t manage to ruin,” I said against her mouth, and pulled almost all the way out to watch her cunt lips cling to me, glistening, before slamming back in hard enough that her whole body jolted up the desk and her skull nearly hit the wall behind it. She cried out, wrists straining one more time under my hand, and I squeezed down until I felt her pulse hammering against my palm.
Her wrists were fully red now, the marks deep and continuous instead of patchy, and every time she tested my grip I felt the fight draining out of the motion, replaced by something more like desperate rhythm than actual escape. The desk was slick with sweat under her back. A stapler had gotten knocked to the floor somewhere in the last few minutes; neither of us cared. I could feel her getting close—her cunt gripping tighter, hotter, wetter, that same greedy squeeze starting low and building until it dragged up the underside of my cock every time I drove home.
“I’m gonna cum,” she whimpered, hips trying to grind up into the next thrust, thighs shaking around my waist. “Jax—fuck—let me—”
“Freeze.” I said it right against her mouth, low and hard. “Right now. Don’t buck. Don’t arch. Don’t grind on me. You take it perfectly still.”
Her whole body locked—I watched it happen, watched the fight go somewhere else entirely, redirected into holding herself motionless instead of thrashing. Her thighs, still wrapped around me, trembled with the effort of not clenching tighter. Her jaw dropped open but no sound came out for a second, just breath, ragged and caught somewhere in her throat. Her toes curled against the air instead of her hips bucking. I felt her wrists go rigid under my hand, not fighting now but straining against her own instinct to move, tendons standing out along her forearms as she fought her own body to obey.
I kept driving into her, slow and deep, watching her face contort with the effort of staying still while her cunt betrayed her completely—clenching down around my cock in helpless, rhythmic pulses she had no control over, milking me even as the rest of her stayed locked rigid like I’d frozen her in place. Her eyes rolled, fixed on nothing, and a strangled sound came out of her that wasn’t quite a moan and wasn’t quite a sob, the sound of someone caught between two different kinds of pressure and unable to release either one.
“That’s it,” I said, watching her fight it, watching the muscle in her thigh jump and twitch with the strain of suppression. “Don’t move. Just take it.”
Her cunt clenched again, harder, a wet clear-slick pulse against my shaft that I felt all the way up into my spine, and I knew she was cumming exactly then—paralyzed, forced to feel every single ripple of it without being allowed to grind through it, without any friction to release the pressure building behind her own clenched jaw. I stayed deep, grinding just enough to keep the head of my cock pressed against whatever spot was making her whole body seize, and felt her get impossibly tighter, wetter, the pressure dragging up my own shaft until my balls drew up hard.
I came right after, buried to the hilt, my hips jerking in short hard pulses as I unloaded into her, her frozen cunt gripping every twitch of it out of me. I stayed there through the whole thing, cock throbbing, hips barely moving, keeping her wrists pinned even though the fight had gone out of them entirely.
Neither of us moved for a long moment after. My cock was still twitching inside her, small aftershocks that made her breath hitch every time. Her chest heaved under mine, both of us trying to get air back into lungs that hadn’t worked properly in what felt like minutes. I could feel her pulse hammering under my palm where I still had her wrists crossed and pinned, and I didn’t let go yet—some part of me wasn’t ready to find out what her hands would do once they were free.
When I finally eased my grip, her arms dropped to the desk on either side of her head, limp, red welts standing out stark against her pale skin in the lamplight spilling sideways from the floor. I pulled my other arm out from under the small of her back where it had been wedged the entire time, my shoulder aching from the angle of it, and braced both elbows flat against the desk on either side of her skull instead, caging her in fully. Her legs had gone slack around my waist somewhere in the last minute without either of us marking the moment, and now they slid loose, dropping to the wood, and I pressed my knee between them to keep them spread, my hips still grinding shallow against hers, still buried inside her, cum leaking slow and warm around where I was still stuffed there.
She looked up at me, breathing hard, wrists throbbing visibly where she flexed her fingers for the first time in what felt like an hour. Neither of us said anything. I watched her face for some sign of what came next—regret, anger, that same hunger from before—and found something unreadable instead, something that made my spent cock twitch again where it was still buried in her, both of us too wrecked to move and too aware of each other to look away.