Trapped Elevator Tease
Nico slammed Jolene back against the sweat-slick steel wall of the jammed elevator, and his mouth was already on her—no pause, no soft landing between vertical and devoured. He hooked two fingers into the damp lace at her hip and yanked, and the fabric gave with a small, vicious tear neither of them acknowledged, and then it was just teeth and tongue crashing into the seam of her thighs while her skirt bunched at her waist and her spine hit cold metal hard enough to knock the air out of her.
She tasted like salt and heat and something underneath that he refused to name, slick and swollen against his tongue, and the sight of her pinned there—one heel hooked over his shoulder, her free leg trembling to hold her weight, fingers already fisting in his hair like she was afraid he’d stop—made something low in his gut coil tight and mean. His hands found her hips, thumbs digging into the soft give of her, anchoring her against the wall so she couldn’t buck away from him even if she’d wanted to. “Fuck, you’re dripping all over my chin already,” he growled against her, voice vibrating straight into her clit. “Bet you’ve been thinking about this since the doors shut.”
“Keep talking like that,” she panted, hips already rolling into his mouth, “and I’ll come before you get anywhere near the good part, pretty boy.” Her laugh cracked halfway into a moan when he sucked her clit between his lips and slid two fingers into her, curling them against that spot that made her thighs shake against his ears. She was close, right there, riding the edge of it with her whole body drawn tight as a wire—and that was exactly when he pulled back.
Nico eased off just enough, lips barely grazing her, fingers slowing to a lazy, cruel drag that kept her hovering instead of falling. “Not yet,” he murmured, watching her face crumple with the loss of it. “Say please first.” Jolene’s answering glare had no real heat behind it—she was too far gone, legs trembling so hard her standing knee buckled, and for one dizzy second her whole weight sagged against the wall before his hand shot from her hip to catch her under the thigh, hitching her straight back up, resetting her exactly where he wanted her. “You’re an actual monster,” she gasped, and he grinned against her, wicked and pleased with himself, before sinking back in and sucking her clit hard enough to make her vision white out at the edges.
This time he let her have it—almost. Her thighs clamped around his head, her back arched off the wall, and the coil in her belly snapped tight, tight, tight—and he stopped again, mouth lifting, breath ragged against her soaked skin. “You’re doing that on purpose,” she accused, voice shredded. “I absolutely am,” he said, and the smugness in it was the last straw.
She yanked him up by the collar before he could go back for a third round of torture, dragging him down with her in a bruising tumble to the narrow floor, knees scraping metal, both of them breathing like they’d run somewhere instead of just dropping four feet. Jolene straddled his hips before he’d even fully landed, dragging her soaked center along the length of him where he strained thick and heavy behind his zipper.
“Look at you,” Nico rasped, hands finding her ass and hauling her down harder, “riding me like you already own it.” “I do own it,” she shot back, reaching down to free him with hands that shook more than she’d admit, working his zipper and pushing his boxers just low enough, “you’re just renting space.” She sank onto him in one slow, filthy slide, and the sound that tore out of her had nothing clever left in it at all.
He filled her in degrees, thick enough that she had to breathe through it, hips stuttering as she took him inch by inch until she bottomed out with a shudder. Then she started to move—small, grinding circles first, her clit dragging against the base of him, and he cursed low and guttural underneath her. “That’s it,” he groaned, thrusting up to meet the next roll of her hips, “grind on it like that again.” “Bossy,” she managed, “for someone who’s about to lose control of his own dick.” He answered by snapping his hips up hard enough to knock the smirk clean off her face, and for a few strokes neither of them had the breath left for talking—just the wet, obscene slap of skin, her taking him at her own pace, him fighting to set a faster one, the two rhythms grinding against each other like the argument hadn’t stopped, just gone quiet and physical.
“Shut up and fuck me deeper,” she finally spat, nails biting into his chest through his shirt, “or I’ll finish myself and leave you leaking.” “Try it,” he dared, hands gripping hard enough to bruise, hauling her down onto him with a thrust that punched a broken sound out of her throat instead. The friction built in filthy increments—her clit catching the ridge of him on every downstroke, the drag of him inside her slow and full one moment, brutal and fast the next, neither of them willing to be the one who gave the other exactly what they wanted. Sweat slicked the space between their bodies. The trapped elevator air turned thick and animal, and somewhere in the fight for control she stopped being able to string together anything meaner than his name.
He gripped her waist and rolled them, pulling out of her as he went so the shift came clean, no snagging, just the sudden cold shock of the floor against her back replacing the heat of him. She barely had a second to process the loss before his hands were under her knees, dragging both legs up and over his shoulders in one deliberate haul that left her folded nearly in half, feeling completely, gorgeously exposed. He notched himself at her entrance and pushed in slow, watching her face the entire way, and the new angle drove him so deep her whole body arched off the floor, a broken sound catching somewhere between a moan and a curse.
“Christ, you’re stretching me out,” she managed, voice wrecked, and he groaned something that wasn’t quite words, hips flush against her, buried to the hilt in a way that made her feel every inch of him twitch. “You take it so well for someone with such a mouth on her,” he rasped, and even folded in half, even split wide around him, she found enough breath to snap back: “Careful. Keep flattering me and I’ll finish before you do.” “Not a chance,” he said, and proved it—slowing his hips to a torturous grind that stroked deep without ever giving her the speed she needed, holding her right at that ragged edge again, her whole body shaking with the effort of not tipping over.
She could feel every slow drag of him against a spot that made her toes curl, could feel her own wetness slicking down between them, and every time she tried to buck her hips up for more he pinned her down harder, unhurried, merciless. “Not yet,” he warned again, jaw tight, voice shaking with the effort of holding himself back from just as loose an edge. “Bastard,” she gasped, “Nico—please—I swear to god—” “There it is,” he said, breathless and smug even now, even shaking, “was that so hard?” “Yes,” she bit out, “now move, or I start without you.”
He was gorgeous like this, she thought dimly, all the arrogance stripped down to something raw and desperate, sweat dripping off his jaw, and he was thinking the exact same thing about her—the way she looked spread open and glistening around him, her body fluttering tight with every measured thrust, her whole frame one long, taut line of need he’d built and kept rebuilding for however many minutes they’d been trapped in here.
The denial finally broke when the elevator lurched hard beneath them, the whole cage shuddering, and the jolt punched his hips forward on instinct—once, twice, deep and unrestrained. That was all it took. Jolene detonated first, her release tearing through her in a violent, uncontrollable wave, slick heat pulsing around him and soaking down between their bodies as her back bowed off the floor and her whole frame seized. Her legs, still hooked over his shoulders, locked rigid, her heels catching against his shoulder blades hard enough to leave marks, her body jerking in aftershocks she had no control over—one leg twitching, a full-body flinch when he kept moving through the oversensitivity, a strangled “too much, too much” that didn’t actually ask him to stop.
He didn’t stop, couldn’t, chasing her through it with two more brutal thrusts before his own release ripped loose with a guttural sound torn from somewhere low in his chest, spilling into her in thick, uneven pulses that seemed to go on and on, his hips stuttering, jerking involuntarily with each aftershock until he finally collapsed forward, shaking, both of them twitching against each other in the last messy tremors of it.
For a long moment neither of them moved, chests heaving, skin fused together with sweat, his weight still pinning her open on the cold floor. “So,” she finally rasped against his shoulder, voice wrecked but already climbing back toward smug, “still think you’re the one in control here?” “Ask me again,” he panted, “once I can feel my legs.” The elevator lurched a second time, harder, gears grinding somewhere above them, and the sudden motion was the only thing that finally pried their bodies apart.