Teasing is the entire point when she refuses to hurry. In 426 ball play scenes, nails, lips and slow palms work the most exposed part of him while she keeps her seat and her rhythm. Sensitivity turned into leverage, held at the edge of too much and never once rushed.
Ian slumps in the chair across from Natasha, legs bouncing. Says his girlfriend won't touch him. Won't even kiss him. Natasha leans forward, pen still. She offers to see them together. Then the silence drops like a hammer. Turns out the girlfriend isn't flesh and blood. Just code. A screen that talks back. Natasha swallows hard. This isn't therapy anymore. It's something darker. She stands. Walks around her desk. Her blouse is already half-open. "I can give you what you need," she tells him. "Real skin. Real heat." Ian's breath catches. He shakes his head once but his hands are already reaching. She grabs his belt, yanks him close. Their mouths crash together, hungry and rough. She shoves his pants down, grips his cock, strokes him hard. He lifts her onto the desk. She spreads her legs and he drives into her. No slow build. Just desperate, filthy fucking. Her heels dig into his back. Her nails rake his shoulders. Every thrust hits like punishment and relief at once. Sweat slides down her spine. She moans his name against his neck. He comes with a broken sound, buried deep. They stay locked together, panting. The screen on the desk stays dark.
Ian slumps in the chair across from Natasha, legs bouncing. Says his girlfriend won't touch him. Won't even kiss him. Natasha leans forward, pen still. She offers to see them together. Then the silence drops like a hammer. Turns out the girlfriend isn't flesh and blood. Just code. A screen that talks back. Natasha swallows hard. This isn't therapy anymore. It's something darker. She stands. Walks around her desk. Her blouse is already half-open. "I can give you what you need," she tells him. "Real skin. Real heat." Ian's breath catches. He shakes his head once but his hands are already reaching. She grabs his belt, yanks him close. Their mouths crash together, hungry and rough. She shoves his pants down, grips his cock, strokes him hard. He lifts her onto the desk. She spreads her legs and he drives into her. No slow build. Just desperate, filthy fucking. Her heels dig into his back. Her nails rake his shoulders. Every thrust hits like punishment and relief at once. Sweat slides down her spine. She moans his name against his neck. He comes with a broken sound, buried deep. They stay locked together, panting. The screen on the desk stays dark.
