Read Novel Full Chapter 913: Purity Watches (r-18)
Chapter 913: Purity Watches (r-18)
"Mmmh... ahh... hehe... oh god... Eros..."
Her soft, breathy moan melted into a nervous little giggle as his lips found the sensitive hollow beneath her ear.
The office was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the irregular thump of her heartbeat against his mouth.
"Do we... really have to do this here?" she whispered, voice trembling between protest and plea.
Her fingers clutched the edge of her own desk—the same polished mahogany surface where she signed contracts, led team meetings, pretended to be untouchable.
Now it felt like sacrilege just to be leaning against it.
He didn’t answer with words.
Instead he dragged his mouth down the long column of her throat in one slow, wet pull—sucking hard enough to leave a blooming rose of red beneath her skin.
Then lower, deeper into the delicate bowl of her collarbone, tongue tracing the fragile ridge before he sealed his lips there and drew again, possessive, deliberate.
She whimpered, hips twitching forward involuntarily.
He moved upward once more, teeth grazing the soft lobe of her ear before he caught it gently between them.
"If you truly don’t want to..." His voice was velvet gravel, warm breath fanning the shell of her ear. "...we can wait. Until you’re dripping down your thighs in the elevator. Until you’re begging me in the parking garage. Until you can’t think straight at tomorrow because all you feel is how empty your cunt is without me inside it."
His hands—warm, sure—cupped her cheeks, thumbs brushing the flush there, then slid downward. Fingers slipped beneath the open V of her blouse, tracing the upper swell of her breasts, teasing the stiff peaks through lace until she arched with a broken moan.
"Ah—fuck—"
He returned to her neck like a man starved, sucking harder this time, open-mouthed and filthy, marking her where her blouse collar would barely cover it tomorrow.
She leaned back—deeper, heavier—until her shoulder blades met the cool wood of the desk. Files slid sideways.
A pen clattered to the floor. She didn’t care.
"Fuck it," she gasped, voice cracking into something ecstatic and raw. "Fuck it—fuck me. Fuck me so hard, so deep—right here on my desk. Ruin me. Now."
A dark, satisfied chuckle rumbled against her throat.
"That’s what I thought."
His strong hands seized her waist. In one smooth motion he lifted her, spun her, and sat her ass firmly on the edge of the desk. Papers scattered like frightened birds.
Her skirt rode up instantly, bunching around her hips.
He stepped between her knees and pushed them wider—then wider still—until she was spread obscenely, lace panties stretched tight across her soaked folds, the damp fabric clinging and outlining every swollen curve.
Then he dropped to his knees.
The sight of him—tall, broad-shouldered, godlike—kneeling between her corporate thighs sent a fresh gush of wetness through her.
Her thighs were a study in lush contradiction: powerfully built yet impossibly soft. Thick and full, they curved outward in generous, feminine swells—smooth, creamy skin glowing under the muted office fluorescents, unmarred except for the faint sheen of nervous sweat that had begun to gather in the inner creases.
Veins traced delicate blue rivers just under the skin near her groin, pulsing faster now with every heartbeat. The inner surfaces—those most secret, sensitive planes—were silkier still, flushed a deeper rose from the heat radiating between them, slick already with the evidence of her arousal.
When she shifted from hi breathe ghosting her thighs, the meat of her thighs quivered ever so slightly, a hypnotic ripple that made the bunched fabric of her skirt look fragile by comparison, as though the material itself might tear under the pressure of such ripe, womanly abundance.
He paused for a heartbeat, simply drinking in the view... then he started slow. Reverent, almost. Soft kisses along the inside of one thigh, then the other—open-mouthed, lingering, tasting the faint salt of her skin and the sweeter musk that gathered higher up.
Her head fell back on a long, shuddering moan.
"Ohhh... yesss..."
Both hands flew to his hair. She gripped hard—desperate—pulling him closer, deeper into the cradle of her thighs. Her skirt fell forward like a curtain, draping over his head, hiding him from view, leaving only the obscene sounds of his mouth moving higher, closer, hotter—
And then—
She gasped—half shock, half exhilaration.
He didn’t pause.
He started slow. Reverent, almost. Soft kisses along the inside of one thigh—open-mouthed, lingering—lips pressing hot and wet against the tender skin just above her knee.
He sucked lightly there, drawing the flesh between his lips until a faint pink mark bloomed, then soothed it with the flat of his tongue.
She shivered violently, a soft "mmmh" escaping as goosebumps raced up her leg.
He moved higher. Kisses turned to slow, dragging licks—broad strokes of his tongue painting wet trails along the plush inner thigh, tasting the faint salt of her skin mixed with the first delicate traces of her arousal leaking downward.
The higher he climbed, the thicker the scent became: warm, musky vanilla edged with sharp feminine need.
Her thighs trembled under his mouth, muscles jumping every time his teeth grazed the sensitive crease where thigh met hip.
Her untouched pussy responded before he even reached it. The lace of her panties was already dark and clinging—sodden at the center where her swollen lips pressed against the fabric.
Every slow lick on her inner thigh made her entrance clench visibly beneath the thin barrier: tiny, hungry spasms that pushed fresh slick outward.
A bead of her love juice cream welled up, soaked through the lace, and slid slowly down toward her perineum in a glistening trail. Another followed. Then another. The fabric grew translucent, outlining the plump outer lips, the long ruffled inner folds peeking through like dark-rose petals trying to escape confinement.
Her clit—protruding shamelessly—throbbed visibly against the damp cotton, a perfect little pearl twitching in time with her racing heartbeat.
He switched to the other thigh—same slow worship. Open-mouthed kisses turned filthy: he sucked hard enough to pull the soft flesh into his mouth, teeth scraping just enough to sting, then released with a wet pop.
A faint hickey appeared—small, red, possessive—high on the inside where only he (and tomorrow’s mirror) would know.
She whimpered—high, broken—hips twitching forward involuntarily, trying to chase his mouth.
"Please... higher..."
The word came out cracked, needy, barely a whisper over the wet sounds of his lips on her skin.
He obeyed—but not all the way. Not yet. Instead he traced the crease of her thigh with the tip of his tongue—slow, teasing zigzags that skirted the edge of her soaked panties without touching them.
Every pass made her pussy spasm harder: the untouched entrance fluttered open and closed beneath the lace like it was breathing, pushing out more slick in rhythmic pulses.
The wet spot spread wider, darker; the fabric molded itself obscenely to every curve—outer lips puffy and parted, inner folds swollen and ruffled, clit standing rigid and desperate against its prison.
A thin string of her arousal stretched from the center of the damp patch down toward the desk, hanging for a second before dripping onto the polished wood with a faint plink.
Her breathing turned ragged—short, wet pants that ended in tiny, helpless giggles of overwhelmed nerves.
"Oh god... it’s twitching... I am twitching for you..." she whispered, voice trembling between shame and awe. Her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer even as her thighs quaked.
He finally pressed his mouth to the very top of her inner thigh—right where thigh met groin—lips sealing over the soft, fever-hot skin just beside her panties.
He sucked hard—open-mouthed, possessive—drawing the flesh deep while his tongue flicked flat against it in rapid strokes.
Her whole pussy spasmed at once—hard, visible contraction beneath the lace.
Her entrance winked open, pushing a fresh gush of cream through the fabric in a sudden, hot flood.
The panties couldn’t contain it; slick seeped out along the edges, running in shiny rivulets down her perineum, pooling beneath her ass on the desk. Her clit jumped visibly—once, twice—straining against the cotton like it was trying to reach his tongue through the barrier.
She cried out—long, shattered—"Ahhh—fuck—please—touch me there—"
Her hips rolled forward in tiny, frantic circles, grinding the soaked lace against nothing, smearing her own slick across her inner thighs.
The untouched center of her pulsed openly now—spasms coming faster, stronger, each one forcing more cream to leak out in rhythmic waves. The scent bloomed thicker, sweeter, filling the quiet office like incense.
He pulled back just enough to look.
Her pussy—still untouched by his mouth—was a glistening, desperate mess: panties ruined, clinging transparently to every swollen fold, clit throbbing visibly beneath the fabric, entrance clenching and releasing in hungry little flutters, slick dripping steadily onto the mahogany in dark, shining puddles.
She was trembling all over—thighs shaking, breath hitching, fingers white-knuckled in his hair—completely undone by nothing more than his mouth on her thighs and the unbearable anticipation of what came next.
He leaned in again—lips brushing the soaked lace now, hot breath ghosting directly over her clit.
She bucked—hard—moaning brokenly into the quiet hum of the air conditioning.
And then—