୨୧ finally fucking office crush!higuruma… or attempting to at least. cw facefucking thru clothes minors dni
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he’s never broken out into a full body shiver so quickly in his life, because before today he’s never known what it feels like to have your fingers run gently down his shoulder, your voice tickling the shell of his ear, all but purring at him to meet you in the infamously unused meeting space in your office. from that angle, the view down your shirt was the last thing he saw before you turned and walked away without a second glance.
he stood up so abruptly his chair screeched across the floor, alerting the attention of all your other coworkers. he didn’t even know he had it in him to move that fast anymore, sure his hip would give out if he’d given it any conscious effort. he cleared his throat and adjusted his tie like it’d help him gain some semblance of control, lest he slip over his own dress shoes and make a fool out of himself in front of you.
despite how shaky his hands felt, he had no expectations when he pushed open the door to the chilly, uncharacteristically quiet room, jumping to accuse you—“uh oh. is this one of those schemes you use to trick me into grabbing lunch early with you?”
(by schemes he’s referring to the times you look up at him through your lashes and tell him, all sugary sweet, that you’re hungry. there’s not a lot of trickery involved, really. he seems to be very, very easily persuaded when it comes to you...)
well, now that he mentions it… “mm. that does sound nice, but not quite.”
you think you’re being pretty obvious, the sound of your voice, the way you’re slowly inching toward him… but when you lean in to lock the door behind him, so close that your breasts press against his chest, and he has that same clueless look in his eyes, you know no amount of hinting is going to inspire him to make the first move.
higuruma clears his throat, begins to speak again, but is instantly cut off by your lips against his. you swallow the surprised breath he hitches, lifting up on your toes for better reach as you slowly pry open his stiff mouth, sucking on his bottom lip. higuruma kisses back, but barely. he’s holding back at first, restrained by some sense of this isn’t really happening, she can’t be in her right mind, even when your hands come up to grasp his bicep, squeezing the muscles there through the layers of his suit.
and when you pull back, his eyes—more animated than you’ve ever seen them—search your face frantically. he’s already flushed, splotches of red painting his pale skin, pupils blown. “you, uh, you sure?”
and god, if that doesn’t turn you on even more. the quiver in his voice, like he’s holding back a dam from breaking using a flimsy stick. your nod is what breaks it; all it takes for him to dive back in with unrestrained force, slotting your lips together with more fervor this time. his tongue takes it’s fill of every crevice of your mouth like it’s been waiting eons to explore you. he walks you both deeper into the empty room until your back hits the curve of the round meeting table, his large hands all over you. grabbing, caressing, holding, squeezing. not rough enough to hurt, god forbid, but with just enough force to memorize all the curves of your body.
you sit halfway on the table, halfway held up by his unrelenting grip on your thigh, parting your legs so he can fill the space between them. higuruma groans outright when your clothed cores connect, already harder than he can ever remember being. he’s never been the kind of man driven by lust, even in his younger, primer years. but now, with you in his hands, so eager and willing, he finally understands the feeling, and he can’t help but think he’s been missing out.
higuruma’s swollen mouth presses into your cheeks and jaw, travels to your neck, sucking and kissing and licking every sliver of skin he can reach and unbuttoning your work blouse on his way down. when he reaches your breasts, only shielded from his prying eyes by your bra now, he swears he feels like he could faint. the look he gives you when he meets your gaze, dark eyes glazed over with desire like they’ve been caramelized, makes your pussy leak messily in your already damp panties.
“i’m sorry, i just…” higuruma starts, voice deep and rough, hanging his head to rest against your chest for a moment. as if he’s overwhelmed by everything that’s happening, drank too much of you too fast and now he’s well passed tipsy. much to your surprise, he exhales and drops to his knees at once. “i need this.”
you peer down at him, the curious hum you produce quickly morphs into a yelp when he yanks your hips into him, propping one of your thighs over his broad shoulder and holding open the other. so forcefully exposing you to him it’s almost dehumanizing. he lifts your pencil skirt until it’s a pool of fabric around your waist, littering a plethora of kisses to the insides of your thighs. each press of his lips to your overheated skin burns like a brand, devoted and reverent, sending white-hot need flooding behind your navel.
“hiro, don’t tease.”
you need his mouth on you. you need his tongue on your pussy. you need to feel the tip of his nose bump against your clit without the veil of your silk panties in the way, just like the way you pictured when you closed your eyes at night, touching yourself and imagining it was him. you’ve needed it for so long, and you know he feels the same—an unspoken truth that courses and pulses between the two of you like a living entity, hanging heavy over every trivial interaction, bleeding into every lingering touch and shared laugh.
however, higuruma quells his needs a different way. it’s mind-melting, the way desperation lines his every movement, you’d think he’d be tearing your clothes off—but he’s so hellbent on savoring you. taking his sweet time as he zeroes in on the spot you’re aching for him, closes his eyes and inhales the mess you made of the silky gusset. the low, drawn out moan that follows goes straight to your cunt, making you buck your hips up into his face crassly. almost instinctively, your hand flies to his hair, shamelessly holding him there so he doesn’t shy away again.
it feels like relief and denial all at once when he finally presses his lips to your clothed pussy, his tongue coming out to taste you. the wet pressure of his tongue jolts every nerve inside of you alive, and a moan escapes your mouth before you can stop it.
somehow, he reacts more audibly than you, his own whimper loud enough to be heard through the thick, sterile walls, but you can’t find it in you to care at this point—not when it feels this good—and clearly, he never has. in the back of your mind, you wonder just how long ago you could’ve gotten away with this. how long has he been craving you? so much so that he’s ready to risk it all, drop to the floor and devour you without a seconds hesitation.
he licks and sucks while his hands squeeze and grope, seemingly trying to wring every last bit of your juices out like he’s malnourished and all the nutrients he needs is stored in your pussy. and yet, every roll of his tongue, every press of his lips is driven with purpose; the only reason he isn’t sloppy with it is because that’d mean letting it go to waste.
your hands grip the table so tightly it hurts, your stomach tensing under the weight of your own pleasure. you’re already so close and he hasn’t even touched you bare yet. the barrier between you two is almost unbearable.
“hiro—higuruma. take ‘em off, baby. please. it’ll taste so much better.”
his eyes flick up to you like he just remembered you were there, your wrecked voice a welcome intrusion on his one-on-one time with your cunt. he speaks sweetly, brokenly, “tastes perfect just like this, though?”
you’re starting to think your coworker derives some sort of pleasure from denying himself.
higuruma doesn’t let you complain anymore, because then the curve of his large nose is rubbing against your clit so nicely, and his tongue is all but trying to pierce through your panties to reach your quivering hole, so empty and so needy. you cry out, muffling your noises with your own hand while you grind your sopping pussy against his nose, the friction sending a million tiny sparks of fire all throughout your body, blossoming from the center and prickling your ears, shooting all the way down to your toes.
“oh, is that it? yes, fuck my face. please, sweetheart? take whatever you need; i can handle it.”
you weren’t planning on stopping, though the encouragement spurs you on, humping into him in earnest, using him like a toy for your own release.
to hear higuruma speak so vulgarly where he’s usually the poster boy of professionalism, always so careful with his words, fills you with a sense of power you didn’t realize you could feel. the swell of pride that courses through you to be the one person able to break through his stoic exterior and reduce him to a hungry, desperate and defiled man in his place of work… it’s nothing short of dizzying.
without warning, higuruma finally, finally pulls your underwear to the side, fully exposing your cunt to the heat of his breath, and shoves his face into you again. like he’s reached the end of the bowl and it’s time to lick the dish clean.
moaning, he wraps his lips around your puffy clit, and all it takes is one, two noisy sucks and your orgasm crashes into you like a wave. the fury of white spots behind your eyes when you squeeze them closed are brighter than the harsh overhead lights in the office. his ministrations never stop, not as you pull his hair, not as you convulse and clamp your thighs around his head, not even when you attempt to push him off, legs shaking and pussy sore.
“i came, hiro,” you plead, muscles too weak from the aftershocks to pry him off of you. “mmf—too much.”
“i know,” he pauses to say, his face shiny with with a mixture of your slick and his spit. there’s a crazed look in his sunken eyes that you’ve never seen before. he actually looks… alive for once? “thank you, but i’m not done yet. give me a few more?”
