Amber broke. "Oh, god," she whimpered. "More, everything, please--" She didn't know how to tell him what she needed, for him to wrap her up, to cover her, to kiss her along her neck, to massage her stomach, to cup her breasts, to-- to surprise her. This wasn't enough, too cold, too distant. He'd ignored earlier what she wanted, making jokes about how she needed to be more specific about what (who) needed to get off, and now he was following her instructions literally, and it wouldn't do, it wouldn't do. In an erratic burst of resentment, Amber wished he could read her mind-- not everything, she'd keep most everything to herself, but enough for him to know exactly what she wanted, and when. "Eric," she let out, and tried to stand up, to let the warmth of his torso warm her back, to feel his breath against her cheek as she turned her face towards him, but she was stuck to the spot, not wanting to change what already felt so good, so overwhelming, so strong. She wasn't a machine, touch a button and make it go. "Touch me, anything, I want to feel you, all over, please--"
The smooth polish of the desk was slippery as it was, and her sweaty palms made it impossible to hold on firmly; even as Eric held her stomach, Amber slid with every tremor of her body. Couldn't anchor herself. She cried out, unable to stop the sounds of her pleasure, loud and frequently interrupted by sharp intakes of breath. It felt so good, Eric playing with her wetness, and god, that blew her mind, imagining how slick his fingers were now, covered with her arousal, and how it only helped him to drive into her faster, harder, more directed. Amber bent her head, eyes closed, rolling her hips because she couldn't help it, because that motion was instinct itself. She didn't notice how her hair brushed against her face, or how she was standing on tip-toe as if that would bring her nearer to heaven, for her world had narrowed down to the ecstasy rippling through her, the roar of building climax. Couldn't even distinguish scents anymore, overwhelmed with the aftertaste of his come, the strenghtening odor of their sweat. But that finger, its relentless stroking, it wouldn't be enough. Amber tilted her face towards Eric, asking without realizing herself that it was a request for more-- a kiss, a bite, a caress. Her lips parted with the unexpressed hope.
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The smooth polish of the desk was slippery as it was, and her sweaty palms made it impossible to hold on firmly; even as Eric held her stomach, Amber slid with every tremor of her body. Couldn't anchor herself. She cried out, unable to stop the sounds of her pleasure, loud and frequently interrupted by sharp intakes of breath. It felt so good, Eric playing with her wetness, and god, that blew her mind, imagining how slick his fingers were now, covered with her arousal, and how it only helped him to drive into her faster, harder, more directed. Amber bent her head, eyes closed, rolling her hips because she couldn't help it, because that motion was instinct itself. She didn't notice how her hair brushed against her face, or how she was standing on tip-toe as if that would bring her nearer to heaven, for her world had narrowed down to the ecstasy rippling through her, the roar of building climax. Couldn't even distinguish scents anymore, overwhelmed with the aftertaste of his come, the strenghtening odor of their sweat. But that finger, its relentless stroking, it wouldn't be enough. Amber tilted her face towards Eric, asking without realizing herself that it was a request for more-- a kiss, a bite, a caress. Her lips parted with the unexpressed hope.