"Do it…" Ansel commanded, his rhythm becoming erratic, harder, deeper. "All over this desk, you filthy bitch. Let me see what a fucking mess you can make."
The permission shattered him. With a raw, broken shout, Lance came. It wasn't just an orgasm—it was an eruption. A hot, gushing flood of liquid shot from his cock, not in pulses but in a continuous, soaking stream, splattering against the desk leg, the floor, his own trousers.
His body convulsed, his hole clamping down on Ansel's cock and the vibrator in a violent, fluttering rhythm.
Ansel groaned, his own control snapping.
He buried himself to the hilt, his thrusts turning into short, savage jerks as he came inside the condom, his heat adding to the inferno consuming Lance.
For a long moment, the only sounds were their ragged breaths and the wet, sticky drip of Lance's release onto the tile.
