An impossible choice

His fingers tease my pussy, parting my lips, and I gasp as he strokes the entrance, finding me already dripping wet in anticipation.

He sets the tip of his cock against my pussy and we moan together as he pushes himself inside me. His eyes are locked on mine as he inches in further, and my nails dig into his back as he bottoms out, holding still to let us enjoy the moment.

I start to move my hips, desperate to feel him more, and he grins. Bringing his knees up under him for better leverage, he grabs my hips and pulls me off the floor, holding on to me as he starts to pump in and out of my pussy.

"Oh, Max," I moan, and this makes him redouble his efforts.

My breasts swing wildly with each stroke and I reach up to grab them, pinching my nipples to hold them tight, sending a wave of pain to mix with the pleasure Max is pumping through me.

Max reaches up to my lips, brushing them lightly. He pushes my bottom lip down with this thumb which I lick eagerly. He reaches back down, finding my clit instantly and giving it an experimental touch.

Instantly my pussy clenches in response and I moan louder, arching my back and feeling Max's cock slide deeper into me.

With a cocky smile, Max starts rubbing my clit, and I feel the orgasm building inside me, faster than I'd ever thought possible.

Within seconds I've clamped my hands over my mouth to stifle my scream as my pussy tightens around Max's cock like a vice. He holds still, the only movement his fingers still flicking my clit, slowing down, letting the orgasm pass through me.

"You okay?" he asks as I remove my hands from my mouth, panting, gasping for air.

"That was... intense," I nod.

Max grins and pulls his cock out of my pussy, glistening in my juices. He stands up, and attempts to pull his boxers over his still throbbing erection.

"Wait," I say, pushing myself up to my knees and wrapping my hand around his shaft. "Your turn," I whisper, not waiting for his response before taking the tip of his cock in my mouth.

He moans and rests his hand on the back of my head. "God, you're perfect," he murmurs as I take more of him in, tasting myself as I do.

My hand reaches up to cradle his balls and I work my tongue around his cock, cleaning him off. I push further and manage to take him in my throat, drawing an animalistic growl out of him as his hand tenses on my head, grabbing a fistful of my hair for stability.

I retreat with a gasp, feeling drool coat my chin, before going in again. Soon I feel his legs start to tense, his breathing increases, and he grabs my head with two hands.

I take him down my throat one last time and he holds me there, adorable little whimpers coming out of him as I feel his cum shoot inside me. I sit back on my heels, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, and grin up at him.

Max takes a shaky step back, his back hitting the wall and he slides down to a sitting position. "So... that happened," he chuckles.

"Yeah," I smile. "Feels like it was... overdue."

The intercom crackles back to life and we both jump like horny teenagers caught making out during a school dance - except this is much, much worse... we're horny adults who could be caught fucking in an elevator.

"We're nearly through," the voice announces, "how are you holding up in there?"

I rush to pick up the shirt - it's ruined anyway, two tops in one day, way to go - to wipe my face and chest. "Yeah, yeah, we're fine," I start, before realising they can't hear us unless we press the button.

Max got himself dressed quicker, pulling his shirt back on over his head after tucking his cock back into his trousers, and reaches the button. "We're okay," he says, "no need to rush," he adds, with a smirk in my direction.

I stick my tongue out at him, then find my jacket and put it on over my bare chest, zipping it up all the way to the top. The shirt and bra join my dirty blouse in my bag, which is now straining to contain everything, and I glare back at Max.

"Did you have to rip the shirt open?"

He saunters over to me, laying a hand on my waist and pulling me in for a kiss. "Yes, yes I did."

"So..." I start. "I... did not expect this." Understatement of the freaking millennium, right there.

"Listen, I--" Max begins, when a screeching fills the lift. The doors start to part, and we jump away from each other, finding opposite corners of the tiny cubicle to stand in.

A firefighter appears, prying the doors open, and pops his head in through the opening. "Alright guys, we'll get you out now."

The bright lights of the lobby only serve to illuminate how weird our current situation is, as Max and I stand awkwardly next to each other, unsure where to go from here.

"So, what now?" I ask Max.

"Well... what do you want now?" he asks back.

Infuriating. He's just incapable of saying anything meaningful. If he'd admitted he was attracted to me earlier, maybe things wouldn't have built up to this point, we wouldn't be in this situation now.

On the other hand... what do I want?

"I think..." I sigh. "I think I need to go home, shower, and find some clothes."

"Okay," Max nods, his face inscrutable. "Fine. I'll see you Monday, then," he says, then turns and walks away.

"Max, wait!", I call out, but either the roar of traffic is too loud, or he ignores me and keeps walking away.

***

I can't believe I did that. It's Saturday morning, and I still can't believe I did that. I was hoping sleep would help, that I would wake up to the reality that I'd imagined it all... but my night was restless, interrupted by dreams - memories, I guess - of Max's chest, his scent, his... god, his cock, deep in my pussy.

As if that wasn't bad enough, then I had to go suck him off! And get him to cum down my throat!

I groan and turn over, burying my face in my pillow and pulling my blanket up over my head. If I just hide here, then it didn't happen. My phone buzzes on my bedside table, and I ignore it. That's the outside world, the world where I fucked my coworker and have no idea what to do now.

Another buzz. Go away, world, I don't want to have to think about how I actually feel about Max. Or how he feels about me. Or what that fuck meant.

A third buzz. Stop, I don't want to think... ah, hell, clearly I'm thinking about Max already, so maybe the distraction will be good.

I throw the blanket off and reach for my phone, squinting as the light blinds me when I unlock the screen. Three texts, all from Matilda - a friend from the soup kitchen I volunteer at on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Hey girl x

Checking you're still cool to take my shift later. I know you don't normally do Sats, I appreciate it lovely xx

Waaaake uppppppp lol x

Ugh. Right. I forgot. Well, all I want to do is stay here and wallow in self-pity, so I guess that means I should get out and about instead. Keep busy.

No worries babe, I'm on it, I text back.

I let my head hang back down and scream into my pillow wordlessly.

***

I'm actually grateful to Matilda; a shift working here, helping other people, is exactly what I needed to take my mind off things. It turns out Saturdays are busier than I'm used to - fewer volunteers around, I guess. As it happens, I don't really know any of them, except Frankie, who occasionally shows up on Tuesdays.

For two hours I'm running around from job to job, setting up the tables, cleaning up as we go along, and serving up. By the time we wrap things up, I'm feeling a lot lighter. Whatever happens with Max, happens.

I gather up the remaining plates and bowls strewn around the tables and carry them out back to wash up, leaving the other volunteers to sweep up and put the tables and chairs away. Someone's already at the sink, having made a good start on a first pile of plates, so I settle next to them and add my own pile to the dirty dishes.

"Hey," I say as I grab a clean rag to start drying what they're cleaning. I've grabbed a first plate when I freeze, recognition dawning on me as my eyes land on the volunteer's face. "...Ryan? What--," I barely manage to avoid adding 'the hell', "--are you doing here?"

He himself freezes halfway through scrubbing a plate, his mouth hanging open. He looks so... different, compared to the office. Gone is the suit, the hair gel, the swanky watch, gone is the cocky smirk and swagger he carries around all day... all that's left is him, the warm and approachable guy I remember from our interview day.

He's wearing jeans and sneakers, and a well-worn Phantom of the Opera shirt, the design almost completely faded away. His hair is a mess, random bits sticking upright in various directions, like he's just rolled out of bed.

"I am washing dishes," he finally says as his hands wake up and keep scrubbing.

"Yes, I can see that," I blush. My own hands once again find their will to live, so I dry the first plate and put it away. "I'm just surprised, I've never seen you here."

"It's the other way round, really," he shrugs. "I'm here every Saturday, I'm the one who's never seen you here."

"I'm normally Tuesdays and Thursdays," I explain. "I'm replacing Matilda today, she had a concert or something."

"Yeah, she's playing cello for an event at her church," he confirms, nodding.

Huh. I didn't know that. Interesting that he does, though. "So, have you been coming here long?" I ask.

"A couple of years," he confirms. He clears his throat. "My mum and I actually used to come here when I was younger, after my dad died."

"I'm so sorry," I say, slightly shocked, unsure what else to say. I sneak a glance at him, but he keeps his eyes focused on the sink, methodically washing plates one by one.

"It's life," he shrugs. "It was rough on mum, though. She wasn't working before, and suddenly had to go back to work to support my brother and I."

"How old is your brother?" I ask. This is the first I'm hearing all of this. With all of his attitude, I'd assumed Ryan had had it easy growing up.

"About ten years younger than me. I used to save the money I made working McDonald's to buy him records," he smiles. "It's kind of our thing now, we would lie on the living room floor listening to everything and anything while waiting for mum to come home."

"That must have been hard, growing up so fast."

He shrugs again. "It wasn't so bad. Things are a lot easier now," he continues. "I can help now. Ralph - that's my kid brother - goes to university, and mum's down to a part-time job... Honestly, she could stop, but she says she'd miss the social interactions," he chuckles.

Ryan sets the last plate down on the drying rack and puts his sponge away. "Shit, sorry," he rubs his hands on his jeans to dry them. "Didn't mean to ramble at you," he grins, and he looks so... normal. Relaxed. Real.

"Don't apologise," I say, drying the last plate and adding it to the stack. "It's nice to see this side of you. You're different, at work."

"Yeah," he approaches to grab the stack of plates, grunting with effort as he heaves it off the counter. "I've got to be, it's cut-throat out there." The muscles in his forearms bulge as he lifts the stack of plates to the storage shelf.

"Well, for what it's worth, I prefer this version of you. At least here you talk to me. Instead of high fiving over me spilling my lunch," my mouth says before my brain can intervene. "Sorry," I blush, "that was harsh."

"No," Ryan stops me, putting a hand on my arm. "I was actually coming to apologise, when I bumped into you yesterday."

"Oh?" I'm somewhat distracted by his hand on my arm - I wonder again about the rough calluses I feel. What else don't I know about Ryan? How many layers does he have?

"Yeah. I just... didn't like that I had to behave like that I front of you," he lowers his voice and I have to lean in to catch the rest. "I couldn't stand the idea I'd hurt you."

"I had no idea you cared. I mean, I thought we'd hit it off at first," my own voice lowers to a murmur. "But then, I don't know, you got distant. What happened?"

He looks away, and sighs. "I told you, finance is cut throat. It's kill or be killed. Show the slightest sign of weakness and they'll pounce. I couldn't afford to lose focus, couldn't get distracted. And you... you're a distraction." He looks back at me. Straight at me, with an intensity that takes me by surprise.

Oh, crap.

"When I start thinking about you, I... can't stop thinking about you."

Oh, crap crap crap.

All these feelings I've been repressing are rushing back to the surface. This is him, this is the Ryan I first met all those months ago, the one who made me think for a while that I'd met the man of my dreams.

"Ryan, I..."

He leans in closer, his face so close to mine I can feel his breath on my skin. "Yes?" he whispers.

"I've missed you," I whisper back.

Softly, gently, he presses his lips to mine. His kiss is slow and careful, tentative, not pushing for more. I kiss him back, my hand rising to rest on his hip.

He moans softly, encouraged, and his hand brushes up my arm and round my back, pulling me into a close embrace.

My own arms reach up and hug him back. I break the kiss - curse my need to breathe - and we look at each other, a moment suspended in time.

"I should have done this a long time ago," he whispers. He grabs my hand and takes me to the back office. He takes out a set of keys and finds the right one, unlocking the office and stepping inside.

"Why do you have keys to the office?"

"I help them with their accounting, sometimes," he explains. "I'm not an expert, so it can take me a while and I lock up when I leave. Or there's a couch back here I sleep on if it gets really late."

"Wow," I murmur, stepping in after him and pushing the door shut behind me. "So you're just, like... perfect."

He grins. "No, baby, that's you." He takes my hand again and guides me to the couch, sitting us both down. "Listen, I really am sorry about everything at the office. I just -"

"Shh," I interrupt him, gently putting a finger to his lips. This is like a dream, and I don't want him to wake me up. Even if this all collapses tomorrow, I want to enjoy this moment - this Ryan, here and now, the one I've always imagined him to be. "It's OK," I whisper, and I lean in to kiss him.

It's more passionate this time, his fingers are in my hair, my hand is on his leg, and he pushes me backwards until I'm lying on the couch. His body presses against mine and I run my hand up under his shirt, wanting to feel him, touch him, make him real.

His own hand finds its way to my waist, tentatively reaching up to touch me, his fingers barely grazing my skin. I arch my back, wanting his touch, and he holds me, his strong arm enveloping me tight.

"Oh, Ryan," I whisper, which is about the extent of the words I can form right now.

He pulls back, hovering over me. "What?" I ask, worried. What did I say, how did I break the spell?

"I just want to look at you," he murmurs. "You are so beautiful."

"You already have," I smirk, "I saw you looking yesterday. I'm the one who didn't get a good look at you."

"Fair enough," he grins back, then pulls off his shirt and tosses it on the desk behind him.

I gasp. I guess he doesn't feel the least bit insecure, and... hell, why should he? He's sculpted like a Greek statue. My eyes linger on his chest, tracing every shadow, taking in every detail, searing it in my memory.

He tentatively touches the hem of my shirt, a questioning look in his eyes. "Can I..."

I nod and push myself up off the couch so he can slide my shirt off, reaching back to gently drape it over the desk chair. His eyes return to me, and I can see him mirroring my own look as he gazes at my chest, my breasts, my stomach...

I can't stand it any longer. I reach up and grab the back of his neck, pulling him down to me, wanting to feel his skin on mine. His warmth mingles with mine and as we kiss, I wonder where my body ends and his begins.

But I want more.

I reach down and pop open the button on his jeans. He breaks our kiss and freezes. "Are you sure?"

I nod, breathless. Then I pause. "Are... are you?" I ask, suddenly uncertain. This does seem too good to be true.

"God, it's all I've wanted since I first saw you," he murmurs. He kisses me again, softly, on the lips, on my cheek, below my ear, on my neck...

He continues trailing kisses down my body, down my chest, my stomach. He unbuttons my jeans and pulls them down as I lift my hips to assist him. He looks up at me again to confirm and I nod.

With gentle kisses to the inside of my thighs, he gently pushes my legs apart, working his way up until he's so close I can feel his breath on my pussy. I shiver in anticipation and his hands grasp my thighs reassuringly.

Then his tongue makes contact and... Oh. My. God.

He explores every inch of me, slowly, with slow licks and quick nibbles, with kisses and flicks of the tongue. His hands remain on my thigh, feeling every twitch of my muscles, and he lingers on what feels best.

My body is so confused, his slow, deliberate pace contrasting with the intensity building inside me.

I feel pressure at my asshole and gasp as he presses his thumb to me, probing gently, testing the waters. My hand reaches down and I bury my fingers in his hair, holding on to his head as I grind my hips into his face.

I feel him smile and he pushes one knuckle in, his thumb hooked into my asshole for balance as his tongue increases its pace on my clit.

It's good, so good, but it's not enough, my pussy aches to feel Ryan, feel his cock, feel him deep within me.

"Please," I beg him, "please, Ryan..."

He lifts his face to me and kisses me again. Our lips still interlocked, he guides his cock out of his jeans and pushes into me, sliding in with no resistance, my pussy drenched and ready for him.

It feels so normal, so right, to have him inside me. I wrap my legs around him, wrap my arms around him, wanting him close to me. I bury my face in his neck and buck my hips in time with his as he starts to thrust into me.

Our bodies move in unison, and I have no idea how much time passes - we exist out of time and space, there is nothing other than this, him and me.

"Fuck, I," he whimpers, "if you don't stop, I'm going to..."

"Yes," I whisper into his ear, "yes, Ryan, oh god yes, cum inside me," I ask him. I want to feel him, want to feel every drop of him.

He moans and thrusts a few more times, then buries himself deep inside me and gasps. I can feel his cock twitching inside me and I hold on to him tighter.

We lay there motionless, panting, gasping, reality slowly setting back in. Eventually Ryan pulls out and quickly grabs tissue from a box on the desk, handing me some and turning around to give me some privacy as I clean myself up as best I can.

I pull my panties and jeans back on and sit on the couch. Ryan sits next to me and runs his hand through his - now even more dishevelled - hair.

"Wow," he murmurs, looking at me with a smile. He reaches over to the desk to grab our shirts and turns back to hand me mine, his smile fading.

"What's wrong?" I ask, even though I'm pretty sure I know what's wrong. Post-nut clarity, that's what. He's regretting this, regretting me. I steel myself for his answer as I put my shirt back on.

"It's just..." he sighs. "I'm sorry. This isn't how I'd imagined our first time."

I pause. "You... you had imagined our first time?"

"Well, yeah," he says, briefly muffled as he pulls his shirt over his head. "Usually there were roses involved. And candlelight, or sometimes moonlight. You deserve more than this," he gestures to the office around us.

"Hey," I put my hand on the side of his face and gently turn his head to face me. "This was perfect."

He smiles and kisses me. "I..." He's interrupted by his phone ringing. "Sorry," he winces, then glances at his screen and curses. "Fuck, I forgot, I have this thing," he jumps up off the couch and paces a few steps back and forth. "Argh, I knew I'd forget, this is an alarm, I need to go," he stammers. "I've got to go sign a thing, for my brother, some guarantor thing for his tenancy, I'm sorry," he continues, a mile a minute. "I..." he meets my eyes, a lost look on his face.