She Came on My Fingers in the Elevator Before We Even Reached My Floor

She came on my fingers in the elevator before we even reached my floor.

The second the doors closed I had her against the mirrored wall, dress shoved up, panties pulled aside. She was already dripping. Two of my fingers slid into her easily. She bit my shoulder to stay quiet while I fucked her with my hand, thumb rubbing tight circles over her clit. She came hard and fast, thighs clamping around my wrist, a broken moan muffled against my neck.

The elevator dinged. 12th floor.

I pulled my fingers out, sucked them clean while she watched with dark eyes, and led her down the hall by the wrist. My cock was so hard it hurt.

The moment my apartment door locked behind us I had her bent over the nearest surface—the console table. Her panties were ripped aside. I shoved my jeans down just far enough, rubbed the head of my cock through her wetness once, and pushed in to the hilt in one hard thrust.

She cried out. I didn’t give her time to adjust. I fucked her in deep, powerful strokes that made the table slam against the wall. One hand stayed locked in her hair. The other reached around and rubbed her still-sensitive clit.

“That’s two,” I growled. “You’re going to give me more.”

She pushed back to meet every thrust, already moaning again. I felt her start to tighten. When she came the second time her legs shook so hard I had to hold her up. I kept thrusting through it and buried myself deep when I finished, flooding her in thick pulses.

I stayed inside her, breathing hard against her neck. She was trembling, still pulsing around me.

“Bedroom. Now.”

I pulled out. Cum immediately started sliding down her thighs. I lifted her, carried her to the bed, and dropped her on her back. She spread her legs without being asked, dress still bunched around her waist.

I stripped the rest of the way and climbed over her. She was still dripping with me. I sank back in with a single thrust and started fucking her slower this time, deeper, grinding against her clit on every stroke. Her hands fisted in the sheets. Her mouth stayed open on broken sounds.

“Look at me,” I ordered.

She did. I watched her face as I fucked her, watched the exact moment the third orgasm hit her. She clamped down hard and cried out. I followed right after, groaning into her mouth as I filled her again.

We didn’t stop.

The fourth time I put her on her hands and knees and took her from behind, one hand wrapped in her hair, the other reaching under to play with her oversensitive clit. She came so hard she collapsed onto her elbows. I held her hips up and kept thrusting until I finished one last time, grinding deep and staying there while everything I had left emptied into her.

Afterward we stayed locked together, sweaty and shaking. My cock was still twitching inside her. She was so full it was already leaking out around me.

I kissed the back of her shoulder, voice wrecked.

“I’m not letting you leave until morning.”

She pushed back against me, still fluttering around my cock.

“Good,” she whispered. “Because I still haven’t had enough.”

I laughed—low, filthy—and felt myself starting to harden again inside her.

“Then we’re going to ruin this bed.”

And we did. Until the sun came up.