Page 93 of Run For Me
When she turns the corner, I jog to the end, then peek around it. She’s still going, and the hall is empty. Five feet in front of her is a door. Janitor’s closet. Hopefully, it’s unlocked.
I dash after her, my footsteps loud. My hand is around her mouth before she’s able to turn around. I pull her back, flush to my chest, and reach for the door handle. Thank fuck it opens.
I get us inside, closing the door behind us and press her against it.
“Stop looking so fucking hot in public,” I growl, lifting her skirt to push her panties aside while my other hand digs out my cock. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Maybe,” she pants, spreading her legs for me.
“Naughty little slut.”
“Only for you.”
Fuck, she’s gotten brave. I like it.
I guide my dick inside her, and her walls clamp around me. We moan together, her soft to my rough. With my arm around her stomach and the other pressed to the door, I fuck her hard and fast. I can’t help it when I’m with her, I turn into a fucking animal.
“Did you get yourself off this morning?” I ask.
She’d sent a photo of two fingers buried deep in her pussy, all creamed up.
“N-no,” she whines.
“No? Why not?”
I shift my legs apart so I can go deeper inside her.
“Needed… you.”
Fuck yes, she did.
“Well, now you have me, baby. Play with your clit for me. Come on my cock.”
I hear her hand slide down the door. It’s pitch black and I have no idea what’s in this closet. Other than the chemical smell,there’s no hint of what’s around us. I don’t even know how big it is.
Her pussy flutters around me as she gets closer, bringing me to the edge too.
“Better hurry up,” I taunt. “Your pussy feels too good to stop.”
She moans, pressing her ass against me.
“Fuck, Sailor,” I groan. “Coming.”
My dick pulses as her pussy chokes me. She moans loudly, the sweet sound echoing around us. I grit my teeth, not wanting to make a sound if only so I can hear her beautiful one.
I step away from her, tug her panties up, then put my dick away. The only sound in here is our heavy breathing. I step toward her, and her hands slide up my chest, pausing at my throat for just a moment before moving up to my face. Her fingers brush along my cheekbones, my jaw, my nose.
“I wonder what you look like all the time,” she whispers, still breathing heavily.
I’m inches from her, but I can’t see a damn thing, so I know she can’t either.
“I can turn the light on,” I say, and I’m met with silence.
This has been a topic that’s come up a few times lately.
“What does it mean for us if you do that?”
I’m not sure what she’s asking. I know what it sounds like, but I could be wrong.
