Miles pushed down on Olivier's shoulders, her shirt having been discarded alongside her jacket on the sofa where he'd kissed her hungrily. Mauling had followed, his hands unfocused claws as they stripped her upper body of its facade: the wool and cotton and regalia that kept her chaste, concealing the obscenity beneath, splintering watchful glares, some lecherous and some scornful. Olivier's hand had fluttered to her cheek as he clutched her swaying breasts, his grip strengthening as his breath quickened. Then she was on her feet, Miles' hands hooked under her arms until they made an urgent trip to his belt, shaking as they pulled it open. He grappled with the zipper, and his pants fell, followed by his boxers. Then he pushed her to her knees before she even had a chance to examine his swollen member.
She met his clouded gaze and moved her mouth to speak, angling her head and stammering before squeaking out, "I haven't done this before". She trembled as his cock brushed against her cheek with the softness of felt, leaving a sticky trail, though one hand ran reflexively down her body.
Miles' fingers bobbed in front of her lips, occasionally making contact, but then took the plunge, forcing her mouth open. Olivier froze, her eyes squeezed shut, but then she caught his rhythm, and swayed with the hand that was clamped on the back of her head.
"Can you give me this?" Miles asked, his voice soft, his gaze earnest. Olivier bowed her head, the heat rising in her cheeks. She could smell him, stronger and deeper than the musk that imbued his clothing. The tails of his shirt framed his thighs. A note of desire was ringing through her core, struck by that first kiss and never fading, an unmuffled chime. And she stared up at him, her eyes wet, the strand that held her back breaking. His fingers withdrew and his cock thrust forward, bumping her lips. She opened her mouth, her whole face burning. The taste was salty but strong, and she maneuvered her tongue, exploring it.
Olivier had ridden Miles three times before, and each time, his groin seemed indecent. She always looked away, refusing to accept the vulgarity of their impending actions. But there was no ignoring the taste or the scent or the shape or the hardness shoving through jaw or the oozing between her legs. Miles moaned, and her posture slackened, just slightly. She thrust her hips, and was rewarded by a small tingle, her movement restricted by her blues.
Olivier wished that Miles had removed them. It was incongruent. A Major on her knees, a mere vessel, her subordinate's whimpers polluting the air. But, weeks ago, her body had started to betray her. She strove to keep her tempting frame worthy of uniform. Sterile. Unobjectionable. Unsullied. But the facade was buckling beneath her need.
Olivier's nipples were hard and her body was flush. Her aching hands clenched at his rear. She pulled herself closer, yearning to be enveloped by his skin.
"Fuck," Miles hissed, twisting his hands into her hair, guiding her. She held her arms steady, despite an urge to cover her face. The taste was intensifying and she wanted more of it. Every flutter of her tongue elicited a new whimper.
"Good girl," Miles moaned, wrenching her head harder. Olivier's jaw opened wider. Then he was wailing, a new taste filling her mouth. It spilled, spattering Olivier's face and chest.
Miles guided her to her feet and embraced her, his face awash with adoration. With one tail of his shirt, he wiped her face. She lifted her chin to aid him and he formed a small smile. "I like seeing you all ruffled like this. You're always so serious."
Olivier lowered her gaze, but then met his eyes, her chest loosening. She took a breath and nodded.
