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Certain things shouldn’t be done on a desk. For example, you shouldn’t crawl on top of a desk, especially after drinking a few shots of celebratory rum (even though you absolutely did; getting a week-long vacation is the right occasion for drunk desk crawling). You shouldn’t do a tipsy dance on top of the said desk (though you also did that, your current state is helping break your usual inhibitions). And you shouldn’t, in any scenario, attempt to seduce Vyn Richter, the owner of the said desk, on top of the said desk.
Yet, here you are, greedily drinking up Vyn’s expression as he reenters his office, his feet freezing when he takes in your spread legs and the exposed strip of skin of your torso, teased by a few undone buttons pulled apart. His mouth parts slightly, just enough for his tongue to dart out and wet his bottom lip, and his eyes are wide, those crystalline irises transcribing you to memory. You can see the subtle bob of his neck as he drags his attention down your legs and back up, slow and sultry.
Vyn sets down the contents in his hands aside — a thin glass filled with some ice and a navy handtowel — before stepping close to you, almost between your legs, “What are you trying to do, silly girl?” His voice is dangerously low and quiet, almost predatory; it’s a complete turnaround from the light, playful tone in his voice when he had laughed at your moves, at your hips swaying and circling with ease.
You grin at him now, your cheeks hot and head heavy. Vyn returns the gesture a little softer, much less inebriated than you are (though you can tell he’s tipsy from his lidded eyes and tone). His hand spreads over your jaw, tilting you upward, “Is this what you meant when you said you were hot? I had brought over some ice,” — his eyes slide over to the ice nearby and return —, “but it seems you’re craving something else, hm?”
Ah. Must he always phrase your intentions like this? It’s not the first time you’ve flirted with the ivory-haired doctor, not the first time he’s gotten this close and teased you. Though it’s definitely the first time you’ve been this bold — or this drunk in front of him — and it’s the first time that Vyn’s furrowed his brow and leaned this close, his mouth dangerously close to your own. You swear you can feel his lips as his breath meets yours, the space between you two getting infinitely smaller.
“What are you trying to say?” You drawl, giggling. Vyn’s smile grows a little brighter, a newfound glint in his eye, “I see the way you have looked at me, and your intoxication makes it much more obvious. I know what you desire, my dear. And I think you know what I desire as well.”
The night encompasses both your bodies, the moonlight warping over your forms as you meet him with a soft kiss. Your hand slides down his torso, grabbing fists of fabric and pulling him closer. His lips slot against yours, and as he softly groans in your mouth, you sigh with relief. He feels right, even when you’re not entirely sure what exactly right really is, and you’re tugging his shirt towards you when he quickly places his hands on your shoulders and parts from you. The two of you are silent, wisps of lusted breath swirling between, and after a beat, you speak, “Did I get it wrong? Do you not desire me?”
His words sound twisted and pained when you use them against him.
Vyn shakes his head, “My rose, you’re not in the right state of mind, and frankly, neither am I. I don’t want you to do something you would regret, and I don’t want to be that regret.”
“I’ve wanted you forever, Vyn,” you pout. Your thumbs run across the buttons of his shirt, blushing as you continue, “You’ve even said it. You know how I look at you, and I really want . . . this. Tonight.” Your hands move to his collar, fiddling with the fold as your legs spread wider. Vyn glances down momentarily, his eyebrows quirking upwards for a second before he frowns, “In my office? Do you not want to wait until we can move to a more comfortable setting? The desk . . . “
You bite your lip, looking up at him and hoping you don’t look ridiculous, “On the desk. So you remember me each time you enter this space.”
He stares at you funnily, the silence growing between. You don’t think your cheeks have ever felt so hot, and you’re positive all the blood from your body has gone straight to your ears. But Vyn finally breaks the quiet, leaning close enough that you can see the details of the delicate mole under his eye clearly.
“I do not need to fuck you to think about you every waking second,” he murmurs as he concedes, his lips catching your own. These kisses are stronger, not like the gentle pecks you shared earlier. Your mouth parts slightly and Vyn’s tongue slides against yours, slipping and salivating. He tastes like coconut, the same flavor as the rum you drank earlier, and you groan with pleasure as you relish the tropical flavor.
The first chance for air you get is thin and passing, quickly obscured by his mouth pushing onto you again. The sounds of your lips locking over and over, your tongues dancing, your teeth nipping soft skin . . . You gasp into him when you feel his hands slip to your ribcage, his thumbs pressing against the underside of your chest.
“Vyn, it’s too hot,” you moan. He licks his lips, collecting the saliva you’ve lost, and smiles with a hazy smile that sends an electric shock to your core. His lithe fingers begin to work at your top, pulling it off your torso. You giggle at the cool air hitting your skin, at Vyn’s attention to your breasts held tight. As he reaches around to undo your bra, you concentrate and manage to unbutton his shirt halfway. His milky skin, divots of muscle exciting your nerves with every new inch of exposure, every shallow breath he takes when you touch his chest. God. He’s so sexy.
Vyn tugs off your bra and flattens you against his desk, the cold surface sending goosebumps down your back. Your breathing is rough, your breasts heaving, your pert nipples rising with the motion. Vyn braces himself over you, the crotch of his pants too close to your wet center, “I have wanted this for so long.”
You hum lazily, drunkenly, and Vyn grins as he reaches for the abandoned glass in the corner. He takes a perfect ice cube and glances at you wickedly, “You are a talented dancer, my rose. Quite enticing . . . I wonder where you learned to move your hips like that?”
You’re too drunk to figure out what he’s implying, so you whine and arch up slightly instead. It’s a nonverbal cue for him to continue, but Vyn doesn’t reach for his belt or pull you close. Instead, he places the cool cube between his lips and shifts down, pressing the wet ice right above your navel. You squeal.
Vyn has already anticipated the way you’d buck at the sudden chill — his hands are sturdy, pressing down on your hip and upper bicep. You clench your jaw, grinding your teeth in agony as he moves up, the ice gliding up. He guides it between your breasts, between the ridge of your collarbone, along the plane of your throat as you gasp and shiver.
And as he makes it to your mouth, you feel his hands move to your chest, his palms pressing against the rounded flesh. He moves his lips, pushing the deformed cube between your lips and kissing you again. It’s wet and cold, and somehow so impossibly warm. You moan low as your tongues play with the ice, passing it between each of you, breaths molding into a heady mixture. It is just a small ball now, rolling around in your mouth and barely keeping you tethered to chilling reality. But Vyn . . . is just too hot.
He smiles against your lips before backing up and leveling with your breasts, “Shall I warm you up?” There’s no time to process his words when his hot lips wrap around your nipple and suck. You cry and bite your lip to keep it from yelping loudly, surprised at the sudden sensation. His tongue is so cold despite his fiery touch, and it’s enough to confuse your head enough and make you go blank. You can barely focus on Vyn’s actions; all you know is that Vyn has you, here and now, and he’s taking his sweet time with you here. The thought makes you clench below, your pussy wet beyond belief.
And Vyn knows. His hands work on taking off the rest of your clothes, and you lift your hips to let him slide it all off. He licks your nipple harshly as his fingers massage your hips, waist, and thighs, sparking a fiery trail across your skin. You call his name when he kneels, and his cool breath curls along your form as he faces your pussy. You catch his gaze, that seductive topaz stare, seconds before he leans forward, inhaling your scent and groaning. Your hands thread through his hair as he pushes close, his lips kissing your sex softly, slowly . . . endearingly. His mouth runs along the slit, his tongue parting your folds and tasting your arousal. You tighten with pleasure, “Vyn . . . “
“Mmm,” he hums contentedly. He flicks his tongue expertly over your clit, hitting your nerves over and over. You spaz out as he holds you in place, bucking against his lips to no avail. He’s taking his time getting drunk off you, and you have no choice but to dive into the bliss he provides. You close your eyes and open your mouth silently as you feel the pressure rise, as his tongue flattens over your entrance and laps you up. God, god!
You cry quietly, bending off the desk at a sharp angle, “Vyn, I’m . . . I’m gonna . . . “
“For me,” he whispers. You’re not sure which lick it is, but Vyn brings you over the edge, intense and unforgettable. His fingers move upward, keeping you spread as he slurps up your slick, and you tighten your legs around his shoulders to keep him in place. It feels amazing, this excruciating heaven, plunging you into an ocean of hazy heaven. The ice’s cool residue stings your mouth as you grip him close, forcing him to stay as you cum on his lips, his chin, “Vyn, Vyn, oh!”
You breathe hard as you loosen around him, exhausted and empty. Your sweat mixes with the water residue on your skin, and your pussy is spit-soaked and swollen. Vyn chuckles as he smoothes his hair back with his hand, and when he stands up, he reaches for another cube from the glass. You watch him warily as he holds it over your body, his frame bending over you now, his arousal rubbing against your oversensitive skin.
“We’re not done yet, my rose,” he mumbles, pushing the cube against your ribs. You shiver and tense, gasping, but Vyn continues, “We have a whole glass to get through.