Page 172 of Red Marked

I squeeze my eyes shut. I think about the exam. I think about border patrol forms. None of it helps. He’s pounding into me, and my clit is throbbing in time with him without ever having been touched, and my inner walls start to flutter around his cock.

“Oh…oh god,” I whimper.

I can’t stop it. It’s right there. One more stroke, and I’m going to⁠—

He pulls out.

I’m empty so suddenly that I gasp. I turn around with both hands gripping the edge of the desk behind me, and I forget how to blink.

Flint is standing two feet away with his sweats around his thighs and his wet cock in his fist. It’s thick and flushed dark, and it’s shiny with my juices. He strokes himself hard and fast. His eyes go from my face to where my pants are still shoved down, then come back up and stay there.

Every muscle he has is working. His biceps bunch with each pull. His shoulders round forward. The ridges of his stomach tighten and release, tighten and release, and a vein stands out down the inside of his forearm. Sweat shines on his chest.

His jaw is locked tight, and his eyes are blazing.

I’m vibrating again. I’m so close that watching him might be enough. I squeeze my thighs together, which only makes it worse.

“Don’t,” he grits out. “Don’t you dare,” he growls.

I whimper.

His breathing breaks up. He brings his other hand around and cups it in front of the head of his cock. His hips jerk.

“Fuck. Fuuuck—” His eyes stay on mine.

He crunches over in the middle, and every muscle in his stomach stands out. A groan tears out of him, long and low, and it turns into my name partway through. He comes in thick white spurts into his palm. One. Then another. He keeps stroking through it, slower now, grunting with each pulse, and he doesn’t look away from me once. His eyes are half-closed, and his mouth is open. Not a drop hits the floor.

It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and I hate him a little for it.

He stays bent over for a few seconds with his chest heaving. Then he straightens up. He pulls his sweats up one-handed, takes a wad of tissues from the box on the cabinet, and wipes his palm. He drops them in the trash. His hands aren’t quite steady.

“You can go now.”

I stare at him. “What? Are you serious?”

“You heard me.” His voice is like gravel. “Go to your apartment and go to bed. And you’d better not think about touching yourself. I’ll know if you do.”

“Surely you can’t expect⁠—?”

“Do not touch yourself. Not until I give you permission. You don’t deserve to come.”

“This is a little unfair.”

“Noted. You can go.” He points at the door.

“What about what Holt told me? Surely⁠—?”

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he growls, still looking angry.

Why? He got to come. I’m the one who has been left hanging here.

I pull up my pants. The waistband scrapes over my ass, and I suck in air. The seam presses against my clit, and I almost whimper. It’s throbbing. My channel aches, swollen and empty. My breasts are heavy and full, and my nipples are so hard that my shirt hurts them.

He watches me fumble with the button.

“You need to learn to take orders, Star. And to obey them.”

“Yes, sir.”