Don Diego
Can't Contain Myself
Nick Vargas kicked his feet up on the scuffed desk and tried to look like the world's sleepiest private eye. He didn't. Sweat gathered on his collar, his tie hung crooked, and his office smelled like cheap whiskey and even cheaper coffee. The girl across from him crossed her legs like she knew exactly what it did to a man's heartbeat. She did. Her skirt rode high, showed enough thigh to make Nick forget the 'professional distance' rule he'd sworn to keep yesterday. She leaned forward, blouse gaping just enough, voice honey-smooth. 'Somebody wants me dead, Nick. You gonna let that happen?' He dragged his eyes back up and failed. 'Depends, doll. You gonna let me live after looking at that rack?' Her laugh hit low and warm, and the desk between them felt about two feet too tall. Nick stood anyway. Buttons popped open, her blouse hit the floor like a bad decision in silk. He caught a breast in each hand, fingers sinking in, thumbs flicking nipples already hard from the cheap ceiling fan. She pushed his jacket off, went straight for his belt, tugged him closer until his cock pressed against her stomach. Heat flashed through both of them like a match on dry tinder. He bent her over the desk, papers scattering, and drove into her slick heat in one hard shove. She gasped, teeth catching her lower lip, and shoved back to meet every thrust. The wood groaned. Nick groaned louder. The ceiling fan kept spinning like it had seen worse.
Nick Vargas kicked his feet up on the scuffed desk and tried to look like the world's sleepiest private eye. He didn't. Sweat gathered on his collar, his tie hung crooked, and his office smelled like cheap whiskey and even cheaper coffee. The girl across from him crossed her legs like she knew exactly what it did to a man's heartbeat. She did. Her skirt rode high, showed enough thigh to make Nick forget the 'professional distance' rule he'd sworn to keep yesterday. She leaned forward, blouse gaping just enough, voice honey-smooth. 'Somebody wants me dead, Nick. You gonna let that happen?' He dragged his eyes back up and failed. 'Depends, doll. You gonna let me live after looking at that rack?' Her laugh hit low and warm, and the desk between them felt about two feet too tall. Nick stood anyway. Buttons popped open, her blouse hit the floor like a bad decision in silk. He caught a breast in each hand, fingers sinking in, thumbs flicking nipples already hard from the cheap ceiling fan. She pushed his jacket off, went straight for his belt, tugged him closer until his cock pressed against her stomach. Heat flashed through both of them like a match on dry tinder. He bent her over the desk, papers scattering, and drove into her slick heat in one hard shove. She gasped, teeth catching her lower lip, and shoved back to meet every thrust. The wood groaned. Nick groaned louder. The ceiling fan kept spinning like it had seen worse.