Bring a Jumbo Pack Nikita Mirzani 3

His fingers circled her clit. The suction of the kiss broke as she pushed him, grinding her hips against his hand, gasping for air. He stepped back, their dance made of steps banned by Arthur Murray.

His heel caught on the metal lip of the elevator as they stumbled back, balance completely lost until his thighs hit the back of the sofa in the elevator landing.

Golden wallpaper with subtle fleur-de-lis appliqu├ęs rose to a ceiling dominated by a tasteful, frosted light fixture. Several other upholstered chairs, end tables, and two huge vases filled with fresh flowers furnished the little lobby.

He spun, a final effort to save both of them a tumble over the couch back. When Nikita Mirzani’s butt hit the top of the sofa she welcomed the full weight of him, the momentum of their fall pressing him harder into her.

Her lips found his again, ravenous, drawing his flesh into her even as his fingertips stroked the folds of her pussy and slid easily into her. Electric bites of pleasure zapped her nerves, spreading heat and sensation through her. Her hips ground against his hand spastically, graceless, but honest and greedy.

Zack continued to press her against the back of the sofa, pulling her skirt up, her panties down. He took his hand from her clit long enough to pull her blouse free of the waistband of her skirt, reaching under it, under her lace bra to her breasts, cupping them as if he weighed them, testing her hard nipples, circling the tips until she panted.

He pulled back just enough to turn her away from him, so that his cock bumped her butt. He pinned her, holding her still, and when he took his hands from her, she felt like a boiling pot with the fire suddenly turned off.

The crinkle and tear of plastic registered moments before his hands again found her skin, one stroking the curve of her ass, the other stroking up the crack of her pussy, teasing her, spreading her.

The stroke of his cock head along her pussy lips nearly shoved her over the edge. Coated in her juices, he pressed into her from behind, his cock thick, hard and gloriously filling. His exhalation bordered on a moan, and with his balls slapping her butt, he paused, buried deep.

Nikita Mirzani drew a constricted breath that barely seemed real. She was doing it. She was getting fucked by Zack Wolburn. Another elevator might arrive at any moment, or someone might emerge from the hall into the lobby, but she was beyond caring.

His first few strokes were slow, testing, and amazingly smooth. She savored every inch, her nerves blooming beyond physical stimulation but into something so intense it seemed almost artificial, like some glorious drug that dulled mundane cares and magnified bliss.

The beat increased rapidly, his cock splitting her, taking her, marking her, a precise pattern of stretching nerves and tearing lust that left her powerless to do anything other than brace her arms on the seat of the sofa and take it.

Her clit bumped and bumped against the edge of the sofa, adding another layer of pleasure and as orgasm rose in her, she squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lower lip against the scream so near to utterance.

Gold walls melted to crystal. Her ears rang with the scuff of the sofa as Zack’s thrust pushed it into the coffee table. The shudder began at her knees and overwhelmed her body as the orgasm rocketed through her. Her locked elbows buckled, and her face met the back cushion of the couch.

She just knew her muffled scream could be heard down in the main lobby.

He pulled her back against him and gave three more hard, rapid pumps before he huffed, made a sound that resembled a gurgle, then folded over her, panting into her spine.

She couldn’t move, didn’t want to move. He kissed her back at the edge of her disheveled blouse, his hand reaching around her middle to hug her, a contented, but possessive hold that frosted the fading edges of her orgasm, sweet and rich.

He started to shake, then his chuckle cut through her fuzzy curiosity.

“Fuck.”

She grinned into the cushion. “Accurate.”

“No. I forgot my suitcase at the front desk.” He pulled out of her, his softened cock leaving her suddenly hollow.

She stood up, her muscles protesting after her prolonged half-crunch. She turned, pulling her shirt and skirt down and watched him wrap the used condom in his handkerchief.

She pushed at her hair and grinned at him.

“No problem. Go on to your room. I’ll bring your luggage up.”

She stepped up to him and gave him a playful kiss. “And, of course, I’ll see about that turn-down service.”

He squeezed her waist and grinned. “Hurry.”

And she did, riding back down to the lobby, her heart racing, the glow at her center far more than just the result of good sex. Maybe this was what nerve felt like, the illumination of possibility, the reward worth any risk.

She found his suitcase at the desk, gave Martin a wink, and caught the elevator back up. All the way to the top.