Warehouse Concrete, Door Still Open

Kiefer was still flat on the concrete, chest heaving, when Vera knelt at his hip, planted a hand on his sternum, and got her mouth on him.

He hadn’t finished shaking. Sweat ran into his eyes. His thighs burned. The warehouse stank of gun oil, dust, and the two of them. Her lips were already wet around the head of his cock, and his hips jerked like the rest of him hadn’t gotten the message that round one was over.

“Fuck—” His voice cracked. “You don’t quit.”

She pulled off just long enough to laugh, breathless and mean. “You went soft for three seconds. Embarrassing.”

“I didn’t go soft.”

“Then shut up and prove it.”

She took him deep again. No tease. Her mouth was hot and slick, tongue flat under the shaft, throat working as she pushed down until her nose hit the sweat at the base of him. The sound was obscene—wet, choked, greedy. Her hand slid from his chest to his hip and braced there, nails biting. He felt the scrape of concrete under his shoulder blades and the drag of her hair across his stomach, damp and heavy.

Kiefer’s hand found the back of her head. Not gentle. She pushed into his grip, hard, like she’d been waiting for it. She moaned around him when he held her there and he felt the hum of it in the root of his cock, in the tight pull of his balls. She took it, throat flexing against the head, spit spilling down the length of him and pooling warm where her hand wasn’t. Her eyes flicked up, bright and cocky even with her mouth full, like she was daring him to last.

He didn’t. His stomach clenched. “Christ, Vera—easy—”

She came off with a filthy pop, lips shining, chin wet. “Easy’s for men who didn’t just try to sell me out.” She licked a stripe up the underside, slow enough to be insulting, then sucked the head hard enough that his heel kicked the floor. “You taste like you almost died. I like it.”

“You double-crossed me first.”

“And you still got hard for me.” Another deep stroke of her mouth, faster now, hand twisting at the base where her lips couldn’t reach, spit slicking her fist. She worked him like she had something to prove—jaw tight, cheeks hollow, breathing hard through her nose. Every time he thrust up she met him, taking him to the back of her throat and holding, gagging once, refusing to pull away until he swore.

He swore. She didn’t pull away. She swallowed around him instead and the squeeze of it nearly ended things right there.

His heels scraped concrete. Sweat pooled under his spine. His stomach muscles jumped every time her teeth grazed the ridge of the head on the way back down. He could feel himself thickening, pulse hammering against her tongue, the heavy ache building at the base. If she kept that up he was going to finish in her mouth and she knew it. Her eyes stayed on his face, watching for it, tracking every twitch of his jaw like she was counting down.

He didn’t give it to her.

Kiefer sat up, turned his grip into a fist in her hair, and dragged her off. She came up gasping, mouth open, a string of spit breaking between her lip and his cock. Her grin was proud, chin wet, hair plastered to one cheek.

“Coward,” she said.

“Get on it.”

“Make me.”

He didn’t have to. She rose off her knees, swung a leg over his lap, and turned her back on him, facing the loading door. Her ass hit his thighs, hot and slick with sweat, and he felt her before she sank—the inside of her thighs already wet against his skin, the slide of her cunt dragging over the length of him once, twice, as she rocked to line him up. Then she reached down, gripped him, and dropped.

The first inch punched the air out of both of them. The full weight of her landing drove him backward—his shoulder blades hit the concrete and he let them stay there, because the view was worth it. She was soaked, round one not even dried on her thighs, and her cunt took him in a tight, burning slide that didn’t stop. She didn’t pause to adjust. She dropped her weight and took him to the root in one rough motion, and the sound she made was low and broken and loud in the empty space.

“Fuck,” she hissed. “Still—thick—”

Kiefer’s hands clamped her hips. “You started it. Ride.”

She did. Fast. No build. Her knees planted on the concrete, thighs spread wide over his, and she bounced—short, hard strokes that slapped skin to skin and rang off the steel walls. Every drop drove him deep. He watched her back work, the line of her spine shining with sweat, the muscles in her ass clenching each time she rose and slammed back down. Her hair stuck to her neck. Her breath came in ragged bursts, timed to the impact.

From flat on his back he had the whole view. Her ass lifting, spreading, his cock sliding out of her slick and dark and shining with her, then vanishing again as she dropped. He could see the stretch of her around him on every rise—the way her cunt clung to the shaft and dragged, reluctant to let go, before she took him back to the hilt. Her weight hit his pelvis like a fist. Again. Again. The bone of her hips ground against him and he felt it in his teeth.

“Door’s right there,” he said, voice shredded. “Anybody walks in, they see you using me.”

“Let them.” She ground down, circled her hips, and the friction dragged a groan out of him he couldn’t swallow. “They’ll see you losing.”

“I’m not losing.”

“Your cock says otherwise.” She laughed, breathless, and picked up speed. The wet sound of her taking him filled the space between their voices—slick, rhythmic, filthy. Sweat ran down her spine and into the crack of her ass. More of it stung his eyes and he didn’t wipe it, didn’t take his hands off her. His thumbs dug into the soft give of her hips hard enough to bruise. She pushed back into the bite, chasing the angle, and when she found it her whole body jolted.

“There,” she snapped. “Don’t you move.”

“Bossy for a woman who can’t keep her mouth shut.”

“Shut yours and hold still.”

He held. Barely. His abs locked with the effort of it, every muscle in his stomach cramping to keep his hips flat when all they wanted was to drive up into her. She leaned forward and rode him facing the door, hands braced on his shins, fingers digging in, ass rising and falling in a punishing rhythm. Each bounce dragged her tight around him, the head of his cock catching deep against something that made her cunt flutter when she bottomed out. The heat of her was unreal. The grip of her on the way up and the slam of her on the way down, over and over, until he couldn’t tell the pounding in his cock from the pounding in his chest.

His thighs shook under her. His jaw ached from clenching. The concrete bit into the back of his skull and he didn’t care, couldn’t look away from the place where she took him, the wet of her smeared across his pelvis and down into the hair at the base of him, her thighs trembling where they gripped his.

Her moans turned sharper, less controlled. The cocky edge frayed. He heard it in the way her retorts stopped coming, saw it in the way her head dropped forward and her shoulders hunched over his legs. She stopped talking and just breathed—harsh, open-mouthed, the rhythm of her hips going uneven, chasing it.

“Getting close already?” he taunted. His voice barely held. “Thought you had me.”

“I do.” It came out thin. She slammed down and stayed, grinding, hips rolling so her clit dragged against the base of him with every circle. “Fuck—Kiefer—”

He curled up off the concrete, got an arm around her waist, and hauled her back off his shins. Her hands tore free of his legs. Her spine hit his chest. Sweat sealed them. He kept the arm banded tight across her stomach while the other hand slid down her belly, fingers finding her clit where she was spread open over him, swollen and slick. He rubbed, rough and direct, and she bucked against his chest.

“Cheating,” she gasped.

“Winning.”

She came like that—facing the door, stuffed full, held upright against his chest with his fingers working her while she clenched around him in hard, rolling pulses. The sound she made was high and cracked and ugly with it, nothing like her usual voice. Then she went boneless and pitched forward out of his arm, catching herself on his shins, forehead dropping almost to his knees, his hand sliding off her as she folded. He felt every spasm pull along the length of his cock. It nearly dragged him over with her.

He didn’t let it.

While she was still clenching, still gasping his name like an insult, he shoved her up and forward off his lap. She went slack for half a second, legs not answering, then caught herself on her hands when she came down on all fours over his legs. His cock slipped out, shining, and she cursed at the loss.

“Don’t you—”

He dragged his legs out from under her, concrete tearing at his calves, and came up onto his knees behind her. Knees between hers. One hand flat on the back of her neck, the other guiding himself, and he drove back in to the hilt.

The angle was brutal. Deeper. She cried out, arms buckling, and he didn’t give her time to adjust. He set a heavy pace—long strokes, hips snapping, the slap of his pelvis against her ass loud in the empty warehouse. His thighs burned with it, the same burn from before but worse now, muscle screaming on every drive. Sweat dripped off his chest and ran down onto her back, tracking the groove of her spine. His grip on her neck kept her down, not choking, just the leverage, his palm heavy on the nape of her, and she pushed back into every thrust like she was trying to break him.

He could feel the pull of her on every outstroke. Her cunt dragged at him as he withdrew, tight and slick, like she was trying to keep him, and then he slammed back in and the wet sound of it was obscene—a thick, sucking slap on every stroke, over and over, until the rhythm of it was the only thing in the room. His breath went ragged. His lungs couldn’t keep up. He didn’t slow.

“That all you got?” she managed, voice wrecked. “After all that mouth?”

He fucked her harder. He could see the concrete scraping her knees red and she didn’t slow, didn’t shift, just spread them wider and took it. “You came on my cock in under a minute.”

“You counted?” A breathless laugh that broke into a moan when he hit deep. “Pathetic.”

“You shook.”

“So will you.”

He leaned over her, chest to her back, mouth at her ear, and kept the rhythm punishing—short, grinding thrusts now, buried deep, his balls tight against her. She was so wet he slid easy even as she clenched, trying to own the pace from underneath. It didn’t work. He had the leverage. He used it. His hips never stopped, a heavy driving pace that had the sweat running off his jaw, off his nose, dripping onto the back of her neck under his hand.

“You had a gun on my ribs,” he said, right against her ear, every word hammered in with a thrust. “Twenty minutes ago. And you still spread your legs on the floor like a—”

“You had your hand on my throat.” Her voice was a rasp, scraped raw from his cock. “And you didn’t squeeze. Couldn’t. Who’s weak?”

He drove in hard enough to shove her forward on her hands. “Who said easy? Who begged?”

“That wasn’t begging. You’ll know when I beg.” She twisted her head, tried to look back at him, and her eyes were slits. “Tomorrow you go back and tell your boss you lost the shipment and the woman who took it off you, and you’ll be the one on your knees. For him. Begging him not to—”

“Anyone else touches you, I’ll put him in the ground before I—” He bit it off. Didn’t finish. His hand slid from her neck to her jaw and turned her face just enough that he could see her—mouth open, spit on her chin, eyes half-shut, sweat running from her hairline down her cheek.

She tried for another retort. It died in a gasp when he drove in and held, grinding, and let his weight come down through her—no hand on the floor, every pound of him riding her spine, crushing her down toward the concrete while his free hand went under her stomach and found her clit again, rubbing in tight, mean circles.

“Say it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Say it, Vera.”

Her arms shook under the load of him, elbows threatening to fold. Her cunt fluttered around him, close again, fighting it and losing. He could see it in the way her lips pulled back from her teeth, the way her fingers clawed at the concrete. “Nobody,” she bit out, furious, voice gone to gravel. “Nobody else. Now finish or I will.”

That did it. The vow came out of him as he broke—low, snarled, right against her ear, and it was darker than the half he’d choked back. “No one else touches you. No one else sees you like this. Anyone who tries, I bury him where you’ll have to walk over him every day. You come apart on my cock or you don’t. Mine.”

He slammed deep and came, hips locked, cock pulsing hard inside her. The release hit in thick, wrenching spurts, and he felt himself empty into her while his whole body seized—thighs rigid, jaw clenched, a rough sound in his chest that wasn’t a word. Sweat poured off him. His hand stayed on her jaw. He kept thrusting through it, shallow and desperate, grinding the last of it into her while she shook under him and clenched again, cunt working him in hard pulses, a broken cry bouncing off the walls.

Her arms gave. They went down together. He caught himself on one forearm so he didn’t crush her, but his weight still pinned her to the concrete, both of them heaving, slick and stuck. His cock twitched inside her, oversensitive, and neither of them moved to separate. The warehouse was quiet except for their breathing and the distant tick of cooling metal.

Vera turned her face against the floor, cheek flushed, hair stuck across her mouth. She didn’t bother moving it. “Still think you won?”

Kiefer’s forehead dropped to her shoulder. He bit the muscle there, hard enough to leave a mark, and lifted his head. His voice was shot. “You said it.”

“I said it so you’d shut up and come.” She shifted under him, winced, knees raw and bleeding in two places, and didn’t pull away. “Don’t get sentimental. We’re still going to kill each other over the shipment.”

“Tomorrow.”

She didn’t answer. Her breathing evened out against the concrete. His hand left her jaw and settled on her hip, fingers spread over the bruises he’d put there, possessive even as the tremor drained out of his muscles. Outside, a truck downshifted on the access road. Neither of them reached for a gun. Not yet.