Hey : )

Fern's back arched in resistance to the wooden desk as Fred came down on top of her.

The force against her shoulder blades would leave a mark but she didn't care. The only thing she could focus on was Fred's red and stern face, looming over hers with only a few inches between them. His breath huffed in chaotic bursts, brushing her cheeks with hot air.

He looked on the verge of snapping her neck.

She wished he would.

Kill her. Kiss her. Yell at her.

His attention was intoxicating, so she goaded him.

"You're an asshole," was all she was able to get out before his lips were on hers in searing and unforgiving connection.

The rush of heat through her torso, and between her legs, made her give up the fight instantly. Her knees split wide without coaxing, allowing him to slot himself there. The lines of anger and attraction had been more blurred than she realized as a sudden gust of air, cooled the wet arousal pooling between her legs.

In an instant, his lips disappeared, and he stood looming over her splayed body.

"Fucking ridiculous," he mumbled, roughly pushing her skirt up and yanking her underwear halfway down before kneeling between her legs. "Need you."

She didn't have a moment to think before his tongue found her sensitive core.

His hands reached up and gripped either side of her waist, bracing her legs over his shoulders, with her feet hanging behind his back. The position pressed her against his face making her powerless against the onslaught of repetitive, brazen, suckling.

She brushed the hair away from his eyes, and couldn't hold back the moan as he looked up at her with his nose and lips slick with her arousal.

"Shhhh," he cooed. "Don't want anyone to hear you except me…"

She nodded furiously, tugging his hair to encourage his tongue to land on her again.

"So wet," he sighed hoarsely, dragging his lips and nose against her slit. "You like yelling at me, don't you? Is that what gets you so wet?"

Her eyes closed and her head tipped back. His voice and breath being so close to where she needed him most, was maddening.

"Or maybe it's when I yell at you," he said softly, mouthing the words against the sensitive skin.

She writhed, and whined, begging for the friction to release her from this torture.

"Use your words," he commanded, suddenly louder than before.

The stern tone sent a rush through her. It was irritating how right he was. He saw right through her and knew that the entire time he was raising his voice, and looking at her with murder in his eyes, she wanted him to pin her against any surface and fuck her until she forgot what they were fighting about.

"Shut up," she whined, not willing to give up the tension they'd built. He'd really pissed her off, regardless of how close she was to climaxing.

He smiled and brushed his lips against the inside of her thigh, making her fingers tangle into his hair with an unyielding grip.

"C'mon, Fern," he sighed. "Be a good girl for me."

He stared up at her, his tongue flat and moving teasingly against her core.

"Fuck you," she moaned.

He chuckled darkly before standing up. Her legs slid off his shoulders and he pinned them, bent wide against the table. Already with himself in hand, he leaned over her, before bringing his other hand up to delicately brush the hair out of her face.

"How long are you going to pretend that you don't love this," he whispered, transfixed by his fingers, now gliding down her neck.

Internally, she fought him, saying things that would shoot him down, or make him think she was just using him as a quick fuck. But externally, only a shuddering whimper escaped as he played with her nipples.

"As long as it takes for you to believe it," she sighed, hating herself for shaking and squirming underneath his touch.

"Tell me to stop, then," he whispered, finding her core again in short, slow circles.

Fern watched his eyes, black with blown iris's, tracking every twitch and heavy breath she made. He worked her with just one finger, slowly, agonizingly.

"Go on," he whispered again. "Say the word, and I'll stop."

His thumb slowed, barely moving, and rested against her throbbing core. She bucked her hips, chasing friction. The movement was desperate and needy and he smiled as she began rubbing herself against his hand.

"I hate you," she moaned, so close to the edge.

"Not that much, apparently," he cooed. Her eyes closed and her head tipped back, as he encouraged an answer by pressing two fingers inside, moving them in long rhythmic thrusts. His chuckle made her blush and contemplate covering her face or getting up to leave.

She whined when his fingers disappeared and then bucked her hips as his erection replaced them inside her, slowly.

"Arrogant asshole — oh fuck," she moaned.

He grunted with the first thrust and leaned over her. "Fern."

"You hate me too," she gargled, strained and distant. He pumped into her more slowly then and nuzzled into her neck.

"Not as much as I'd hoped," he admitted between sighs, nibbling at her ear. "Believe it or not, you make it quite difficult….with your short skirts — foul mouth — fuck, turn over."

She would've complied without question but he moved her before she could do it herself. One arm latched around her middle and the other braced them against the table. She raised herself on tippy-toes so he could slip into her again. The new angle had them both gasping and moaning haphazardly.

"I'd hate you if I could," he continued, kissing her neck roughly and thrusting into her hard.

All she could do was moan in response and lean forward to lay onto the table for fear of losing her balance. His hands instantly captured her hips, giving him the leverage he needed to thrust deeper and harder. She pathetically pressed her chest to the wood, arching her back for him to fuck her into the table, babbling something about hating him even though her heart wasn't in it.

"I'd hate you if you didn't fucking look like that — sound like that….fuck, Fern," he moaned, almost against his will.

"Yes, yes, yes…Fred, right there."

"I love that sound," he whispered. "I love how you feel."

He stopped talking then, almost like he was waiting for her to admit it too. Truthfully she didn't hate him, but she'd never tell him that.

She didn't want him to feel so good or stoke the fire within her so perfectly. He lit her ablaze with no more than a look. He fit her fantastically in more than one way and it was, in a word, infuriating. If he was bad at this, or terrible at fighting, or careful and gentle when he handled her, then it'd be easier. But he was annoyingly perfect at riling her up and then fucking her brains out.

"Please," was all she said before a few final pumps brought her to a leg-shaking orgasm.

He wrapped a hand around her throat and pulled her back to him. She went willingly, letting the force bring her against his chest while she rode out the rippling pleasure.

"Fucking hell," Fred groaned as he slipped out of her right before something warm and wet hit her exposed ass.

Fern laid back down on the table in front of her, catching her breath. She heard Fred zip his pants back up and take a few steps away. She braced herself up on her elbows and placed her head in her hands.

This was not how she wanted her evening to go. She sighed a huff of exasperation and lifted herself up.

"Don't move," Fred commanded from only a foot away.

Exhaustion made her roll her eyes but intrigue made her lower herself back down to her elbows. He took a few steps towards her and yanked her skirt back up to her waist, exposing the lower half of her completely. Goosebumps covered her body as he took his thumb and spread his cum across her right cheek, letting it dry in a thin layer on her skin.

He pulled her skirt back down and into place before hooking an arm around her waist, and yanking her back to his chest. A whimper escaped her lips as he moved her hair off of one shoulder and placed a delicate kiss against her temple.

"Don't wash that off until after dinner," he whispered.