Ever since you found out she tried to purchase a celebrity sex tape, you've been hard as a rock.
You were standing beside her, the taste of her still on your lips as she blushed and admitted she'd paid real dollars for porn, and since then you can't stop thinking about laying her out on your desk. You just sit there as she plays Sudoku at reception, imagining all the naughty things you could be doing instead of selling paper.
You briefly consider removing the problem in the bathroom, but 67% of the female population at this job already thinks you're a pervert after the she who shall not be named fiasco, and this would probably put you right up there with Dwight, so you stick to hiding your erection under the cheap wood laminate.
You can barely keep your hands to yourself when you fold yourself into her car and its worse when she slides her palms along your stomach as your undershirt gets tangled with your button down when you pull it over your head. Her fingers trail along the sparse line of hair leading into your boxers, and if you got any harder, you might actually be able to cut glass.
With a wink, she steps into the kitchen to start dinner (for the two of you - a fact that will never get old) and you plop down on the couch. Hearing your girlfriend slicing something for dinner is suddenly intensely erotic, and you decide you definitely can't wait until after the meal to get your hands and other miscellaneous parts of your body on her.
It's always pretty incredible to you that your hands together almost completely span her waist, something you'd never realized before she finally became your girlfriend. It wasn't until you'd become lovers that you got to find out how soft the skin was on her abdomen, or how that spot behind her ear, when you flicked it with your tongue, made her instantly ready for you. When you grab her hips and whisper in her ear, pressing her against you and feeling her unconsciously move her body to rub right there, you're so far gone you might as well be floating.
Then her head is tilting to the side, offering you her throat, and you're tasting inches of sweet warmth that was once so sadly unfamiliar.
"It might have been One Night in Paris," she sighs, the upward inflection of the last few syllables letting you know that the spot you're hitting? You're doing it so right.
"Not a big Hilton fan. I'm more of a Ramada guy myself," you say, but focus much of your attention on grasping her hips rhythmically.
She pants lightly as you slide your palms up to cup her chest, one of your favorite places to keep your hands.
"She's a tall, bony Amazon. I like petite redheads, and you know how much I love these," you breathe, squeezing gently.
Her breath quickens and you know instinctively that she's about ready to head into the bedroom.
"Oh, God," she groans gutturally. There it is.
You grin into her hair. "No baby, it's just me, Jim."
You know she's about to retort with something snarky so you capture her mouth with yours, touching your tongue to her lips, wanting to slide it against hers. Then she's turning towards you and you're pulling her into your arms, up off the floor. Her thighs are clenched around your hips and she's pressed against the countertop. You thrust forwards once, twice, and her fingers tangle in your hair. She's ready.
Your mouths are still connected when you enter the bedroom and you lay her down on the comforter. When you pull back, her lips are swollen and pink and you've never felt more proud to have been kissing the hell out of her.
You remember the first time you'd really kissed her, her lips soft and pliant under yours, nothing between you but the future. You remember waking up in this bed for the first time, and feeling like you were home. You remember the subsequent wake ups, and knowing how right that first time was.
You slide your hands under her skirt to remove the black panties that she'd put on that morning, wiggling her ass at you as you groaned and fell back theatrically on the bed. Your belt is suddenly way too restrictive, so you pull down your pants and boxers and step out of them.
You push her skirt up and her knees fall apart and there she is, wet and glistening for you. You run your thumb against her and she moans, her eyes closed, anxious for you to keep touching her.
"Jesus, Pam," you say. "You're so wet for me."
Suddenly she's extremely over dressed and you tug at her shirt until it slides over her head, her chest bouncing in that sinfully sexy black bra. It's been entirely too long for those beauties to have been covered up and you bury your face against them, kissing and stroking them gently.
Her back arches and you pull down the fabric to release her nipple and you bend your head to take it between your teeth, threatening delicious pain before sucking gently and kissing tenderly. You run your tongue over the silky bud, feeling it harden in your mouth.
You move between her breasts and her groans get louder and her panting gets more pronounced. Her nails are digging into your back and you need to be inside her right fucking now.
You suck one last time and remove yourself from your girlfriend’s incredible chest, then grasp yourself in your palm. You rub your tip against her, coating yourself in her slickness, and then slide into her easily.
Home.
Your shirt falls in front of you, blocking your view, so you rip it off over your head in between thrusts. Her skirt is still draped over her hips, so you pull it to one side and hold it in place, watching yourself slide in and out of her, her body accepting yours with vigor. You move in short, hard, quick movements, waiting for the moment that her body wants to curl in on itself in pleasure. She’s turning pink with exertion and she’s writhing on the bed below you, and she starts chanting, “oh God, oh God, oh God.”
You let your hand on her left hip drift lower and you press your thumb to her clit and she’s arching her back and crying your name and “yes, oh my God, yes,” and you feel like a fucking rockstar.
When her orgasm subsides, she opens her eyes, fiery desire marking her territory, and you’re so willing to be her conquest. One hand pushes on your chest as she sits up and you let yourself fall backwards. She stalks towards you like you’re her prey and you scoot backwards up towards the headboard. There’s nothing you want more than for her to take control.
She swings one leg over you and slides down easily onto your cock, tight, satin, hot and quivering. She squeezes her inner muscles around you and you know without a shadow of a doubt that you won’t be lasting long tonight. You’ve been pent up all day, feeling like exploding all freaking day, and your girl is bouncing up and down on you wanting to feel you come inside her.
When she reaches back and releases her bra, you hold your hands out to catch her waiting breasts. They jiggle with each bounce and you take her sweet pink nipples between your fingers and tug gently. Her eyes are closed in determination and her mouth is a round “O”. Her hips are circling and you can feel the pressure building in your balls, aching to be released. She digs her nails into your shoulders and you release her breasts and grab her hips, helping her pump up and down once more, twice more, three times. On the third movement, you feel your cock expand and explode, the pleasure running up through your stomach and chest and down through your legs. It’s all encompassing bliss, feeling your woman – the love of your life, your Pam - squeezing your dick inside her tight wetness.
Your orgasm settles and you pull her down to you, your bodies pressed together, sweaty and spent. Who needs porn when you have a gorgeous, sexy woman like the one who just rode you into oblivion?
Of course, now that she’s mentioned Paris, you can imagine holding her hand along the Seine, kissing her in front of the Eiffel Tower, watching her joy at the Louvre. You grin and stroke your hand along her spine.
“What’s so funny, Mr. Halpert?”
Busted. You smile wider.
“I get to take you to Paris someday.”
You feel her giggle against your chest.
France? That’s easy. You’re also going to marry her someday, make her the mother of your children someday, spend the rest of your lives together someday. You inhale the coconut scent of her shampoo and exhale, content.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Jim's POV just couldn't been stopped. It's not my fault. He wouldn't leave me alone.
Not that I necessarily am upset about his persistence. *swoon*
Jim's POV just couldn't been stopped. It's not my fault. He wouldn't leave me alone.
Not that I necessarily am upset about his persistence. *swoon*
Chapter End Notes:
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stjoespirit04 is the author of 25 other stories.
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