Hateful Rivals Can’t Hold Back
Stefan shoved me backward into the shelves and his mouth crashed against mine, all teeth and fury, a voice laughing somewhere past the thin door, and I didn’t care who heard. The metal bit into my shoulder blades as his hands found my skirt and yanked it up around my waist, then he was dropping, knees hitting the floor in front of me, and his groan vibrated against my hip bone when he found the front of my panties already soaked through.
He didn’t bother with finesse—two fingers hooked the fabric aside, and when it resisted his impatience, he simply tore it, the lace giving way with a wet snap, one side left dangling off my ankle while he buried his face between my thighs like he’d been starving for it. “Fuck, Jules, you’re already this wet for me? Hate me that much?” His words rasped hot against my folds, and then his tongue was inside me, spearing deep, and I had to slap a hand over my own mouth to keep from screaming into the dusty air of the closet. Two thick fingers plunged in right behind his tongue, scissoring, curling, the slick obscene sound of it far too loud for how close Dan’s laugh still was on the other side of the door. I bit down on my palm but a moan tore free anyway, high and shameless, bouncing off boxes of printer paper. Footsteps paused just outside—one beat, two—and my pussy clenched around his tongue in a spike of pure panic-thrill, gushing so hard down his chin that he groaned into me like he’d won something.
He didn’t let up. He shoved my thighs wider until my knees shook, devouring me in long greedy strokes that dragged my clit against his teeth, wetness pouring down the crease of my ass onto the concrete. “Shit—Stefan, your tongue—fuck, don’t stop,” I choked out, the words falling apart before I could stop them, pleasure coiling tight and vicious low in my belly. Every near-miss outside made me wetter, and he clearly knew it, rewarding every hitch of my breath by fingering me faster, curling hard against that spot that made my thighs actually shake. He pulled back just long enough to spit filthy onto my clit and dive right back in, lips sealed tight, tongue flicking rapid-fire until my slick coated his jaw all the way to his throat, my hips grinding shamelessly against his open mouth like I’d forgotten we were supposed to be quiet at all.
Then he pulled off, and for one suspended second we just stared at each other—his mouth shining wet in the dark, his eyes black with the same contempt that had lived between us for months, my chest heaving—before he moved. He spun me hard by the hip, one arm hooking under my knee to sweep it out, and the world tilted sideways as my bare ass hit the concrete with a graceless thud, the cold floor biting raw against my skin. I scrambled, elbows skidding, trying to find purchase as he came down over me, knee shoving between my thighs to pin me open, and for a half-second neither of us moved, just breathing hate and want into each other’s mouths before he ripped my blouse open, buttons pinging off the metal shelf behind us.
He didn’t stop there—he yanked my bra down instead of off, the underwire digging into my ribs as my tits spilled free into the cold closet air, and I felt every inch of exposed skin prickle against the cold concrete beneath me, grit dragging against my bare shoulder blades with every small shift of my hips. He reared back, shoved his own pants and boxers down, and kicked them free of his boots entirely, the fabric abandoned somewhere behind him, and the sight of him—thick, flushed, already leaking for me—made something low in my belly clench hard. Then his hand closed around himself, notching the blunt head against my entrance, and only once he was lined up did he grab both my wrists and pin them over my head against the floor, his knee shoving my thighs wider still. I felt him hot and slick with my own arousal against me for one unbearable second before he drove home in one brutal thrust that punched the air clean out of my lungs.
The stretch burned perfect—hot, veined, splitting me open until my lips stretched taut around his base. “Take it, rival,” he growled against my throat, and then he was grinding, hips rolling in slow, crushing circles that dragged every inch of him along my walls, his cockhead kissing my cervix on every downward press. Sweat slicked between us fast, his chest damp and hot against my nipples, our breathing falling into the same ragged rhythm—his exhale hot against my collarbone, mine catching high and broken every time he bottomed out. The concrete scraped my back raw with every drag of his hips, and I could feel the heat radiating off him like a furnace, his stomach flexing hard against mine, sweat dripping from his temple onto my throat as he fucked me flat and deep into the floor. “Oh fuck, Stefan, harder, fill me, you bastard,” I heard myself say, voice cracking, raw and too loud, no filter left at all, my clit grinding against his pubic bone on every downstroke until the friction alone had my thighs trembling.
Somewhere past the door, Rome called someone’s name, and I clenched around him so hard he hissed through his teeth, retaliating by slamming harder, the force shoving my whole body an inch across the floor with every thrust. My cunt was a mess beneath him, cream frothing white around his shaft on every withdrawal, strings of it stretching and snapping as he drove back in. I locked my ankles behind his ass and pulled him deeper, cursing freely now, gasping, “Yes—fuck yes—ruin me,” loud enough that anyone lingering in the hall would hear exactly what we were doing. He let go of my wrists to brace above me on both palms, hips pistoning in that warm, heavy vice, sweat dripping steadily off his jaw onto my chest now, the whole closet thick with the smell of sex and dust and pure animosity gone molten. My walls fluttered, squeezing, chasing an edge that felt close enough to taste—and then, before I could fall over it, he pulled back and rose to his feet in one powerful motion, hauling me straight up with him like I weighed nothing, my legs scrambling to lock around his waist mid-air.
The loss of him hit before the height did—his cock dragging out of me on the pull, cold air slapping against my soaked, oversensitive skin as he carried me the two steps to the corner, my arms clamped tight around his neck. As he lowered himself toward the wooden chair, I unhooked my legs from his waist and let go of his neck, planting my knees hard against the frame on either side of his thighs to catch my own weight, hovering there for one torturous second, my soaked entrance poised right over the head of him. Then he gripped my hips and yanked me down onto every thick inch at once.
The chair shrieked under us as I bottomed out, my ass spreading over his thighs, the new angle punching him somehow deeper than the floor ever had. “Ride it,” he ordered, and I did—bouncing wild and uneven, thighs burning as I slammed myself down over and over, the wet squelch of my body taking his echoing louder than any hallway chatter ever could. “God, you feel—fuck, I can’t—” broke out of me involuntarily, my voice cracking on a note too loud for a supply closet, too loud for coworkers ten feet away, and I didn’t care, I couldn’t care, not with him gripping my hips hard enough to bruise and thrusting up to meet every drop. The chair legs scraped and skidded against the floor with each collision, my tits bouncing right into his face until he caught a nipple between his teeth and bit down just as I cried out again, full volume, wrecked.
He fucked up into me like he wanted the whole floor to hear it through the drywall, relentless, my clit dragging against him on every downstroke until my vision actually blurred at the edges. Sweat poured freely between us now, our bodies slapping together slick and filthy, my inner walls gripping him like a fist as the pleasure coiled to a screaming, unbearable peak. Then his mouth found my ear, breath scorching, and his voice dropped to something low and raw just for me—”Fuck, you’re perfect taking every inch like you were made for this”—and it ripped the climax straight out of my body without warning. My pussy locked down hard around him, milking, spasming, gushing in waves as I came with a broken, loud cry I didn’t even try to swallow, thighs shaking, nails raking deep red lines down his shoulders while the pleasure tore through every muscle I owned. He followed with a guttural groan into my neck, hips stuttering, flooding me deep, thick pulses of him spilling into my clenching heat until it overflowed and ran hot down his shaft onto the chair beneath us.
We stayed locked together, both of us shaking, his cock still twitching inside me, the hallway voices finally fading as the lunch rush moved on without us. Cum leaked out of me in slow pulses every time I shifted my hips, the chair sticky and ruined under us both. His hands stayed clamped on my hips a beat too long—not tender, just proprietary, like he was cataloguing something he intended to hold against me later—before he shoved me off him without a word. We were both wrecked, clothes ruined, skin marked, the hate still burning right alongside the claim we’d just carved into each other. Enemies. Still. Just ones who’d taken what they wanted in a closet that still smelled like us.