Page 32 of Foxy Trouble
Malik didn’t wait. His hands gripped Indy’s hips, holding him in place as he set a rhythm that had the desk creaking with each thrust. The angle was perfect, hitting that spot inside that made Indy see stars. His own cock rubbed against the desk edge with each movement, the friction not quite enough.
Reaching down to touch himself proved impossible with the angle and Malik’s grip. Indy could only take what his mate gave him, bent over and spread open, making sounds he’d be embarrassed about later. The slap of skin against skin filled the small office, obscene and perfect.
“Touch yourself,” Malik commanded, his voice rough.
Indy’s hand flew to his dick, stroking in time with Malik’s thrusts. The dual sensation was overwhelming, pleasure building fast and inevitable. His other hand scrambled for purchase on the desk, knocking over the pencil holder.
Malik’s rhythm faltered, becoming harder, faster. One hand left Indy’s hip to press between his shoulder blades, holding him down against the desk. The dominance of it, the weight and control, pushed Indy right to the edge.
“Close,” Indy gasped, his hand moving frantically on his cock. “So close, gonna—”
Malik’s teeth found the back of his shoulder, biting down as he drove in deep. The combination of sensations—teeth and cock and his own hand—sent Indy over. He came with a cry, spilling across his fingers and the desk, his whole body clenching.
His mate followed immediately, hips stuttering as he pressed deep and stayed there, heat flooding inside as Malik groaned against Indy’s shoulder. They stayed frozen for a moment, both breathing hard, the office air thick with sex and sweat.
Slowly, carefully, Malik pulled out. Indy stayed bent over the desk, his legs unsteady, feeling thoroughly used in the best way. Tissues appeared, Malik cleaning them both before pulling Indy upright and turning him around.
The kiss was softer now, languid and satisfied. Indy melted into it, his hands finding Malik’s shoulders for balance. When they finally separated, Malik’s expression had shifted to something tender, his thumb brushing across Indy’s swollen lips.
“You have inventory to finish,” Malik said, the corner of his mouth quirking up.
Indy looked at the desk—papers scattered, pencils everywhere, suspicious stains that would need immediate attention. His clipboard was still on the floor by the cooler where he’d dropped it. The shop smelled like sex now, unmistakable and slightly mortifying.
“You’re helping me clean up,” Indy said, pulling his underwear and jeans back up with as much composure as he could manage. “And you’re buying me dinner after. A good dinner. The kind where they have actual napkins.”
Malik’s laugh was low and warm, filling the small space. He reached for the paper towels, already moving to help restore order to the chaos they’d created. Outside, the late afternoon sun slanted through the shop windows, painting everything golden. The street was quiet, peaceful.
Normal, except for the pleasant ache that would remind Indy for hours exactly what had happened in his cramped office. He grabbed the cleaning spray from under the desk, actively not meeting Malik’s amused gaze.
“Stop looking smug,” he muttered, though his own mouth was fighting a smile.
“I’m not looking at anything.” Malik was clearly looking.
The normalcy of it—the teasing, the casual intimacy, the lack of danger lurking—felt precious. A month of quiet was nice after so much chaos. Their life together had an easy rhythm now, comfortable in ways he’d never imagined. It hadn’t been a perfect start, or even a perfect in between, but Indy loved his mate beyond measure, thankful for the rain that had sent his mate running to his shop.
THE END
