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Autobiography	By : tartausucre Category: 1 through F > Firewall Views: 1918 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Firewall is the property of Warner Bros. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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“Take off your bra.”
“Please—”
“Off.”
She took a deep breath in an attempt to settle her nerves, but it caught and trembled in her throat. Margaux forced herself to uncoil her arms from her midsection, which was harder than she thought it would be with him looking at her like that, and reached back between her shoulder blades to unhook the clasp of her bra. She became conscious of the weight of her breasts as the garment loosened around them, and raised one arm to support them as she slid off the straps.
“Drop it on the floor. And…” he scratched his cheek thoughtfully, “I didn’t say you could cover yourself.”
She lowered her arm, but couldn’t bring herself to keep eye contact. She wished the ground would open up beneath her.
The seconds seemed to drag out into minutes. Hours. Bill regarded her silently, their breathing the only sound in the tiny room as Margaux trembled in fearful anticipation of that request which she knew must eventually come. And what then?
“Those, too,” he said at last.
Her eyes widened a little. Margaux didn’t move.
When Bill spoke again, it was in a low, hoarse voice.
“Take. Off. Your underwear. Now.”
His tone frightened her, but not nearly as much as his expression. It told her that when he had her — and he would — it would not be gentle.
Biting back a quiet sob, she moved her fingertips beneath the waistband of her lace briefs and began to slide them down over her hips. She stepped out of them as they reached her ankles, and stood with one hand shielding her pubic mound, as if somehow that might help.
“Give them to me.”
She looked at the fabric in her hand, then back at him. He raised an expectant eyebrow. After a moment she placed the crumpled lace on his outstretched palm, immediately pulling back her arm in an attempt to stay out of reach. He closed his long fingers around her balled-up underwear and slipped them into the pocket of his jeans. She frowned in confusion. At this point, raising any objection seemed redundant.
In one sudden motion he was standing, and his proximity startled her so badly that she almost ended up on the floor as she stumbled backward away from him.
“I don’t know where you keep thinking you’re going. You’re not leaving this room until I let you. Do you understand?”
She nodded slowly, feeling the edge of the desk press against her back. He moved forward and placed his hands on the desk to either side of her, trapping her in place. She had to tilt her head back to look up at him. The fabric of his shirt was tenting forward as he leaned over her, brushing against her bare flesh. Margaux’s breath hitched, and for a moment she was afraid that he might interpret the sound as arousal.
After one long, uncomfortable minute, during which Margaux tried desperately to lean away from Bill without looking as if she was, while Bill seemed to be attempting to commit every detail of her to memory, he moved back a little and took his arms from her sides.
She was relieved until she heard the distinct jingling of his belt buckle.
“Don’t look down, Margaux. Here. Look at me.”
One hand grasped her jaw to correct her wandering gaze, forcing her head back until she was looking up at him again, then returned to its original purpose. Her head was tilted too far back to track his actions in her peripheral vision, but she had a clear enough idea of what he was doing. He pulled his shirt out of the way, the fabric tickling across her belly.
“Give me your hand.”
She cast him a fearful look, but did as she was told. He took her by the wrist and guided her hand between them until her cool, trembling fingers brushed hot, turgid flesh. Feeling her resistance, he closed his fingers over hers, forcing her to wrap her hand around his erection. It twitched in her grasp, his pulse ticking against her palm, and Bill’s grip on her hand tightened as he inhaled sharply. He moved closer, leaning over her as he had before, until her hand was caught between their bodies.
The first coherent thought that came into her mind was of his size. He was only slightly smaller around than her wrist, and, judging from how high against her belly her hand was, long enough to be uncomfortable. She’d had a man that big before without much trouble, but somehow she doubted that Bill would be as gentle or as patient as that man had been.
His hand was moving over hers, drawing it up and down in short, languid strokes. After a while he stopped, giving Margaux an expectant look, and she obediently took up the rhythm. He groaned appreciatively and lowered his face to hers, capturing her mouth in a ravenous kiss that had the dual effects of moving his chest away from her and pressing his hips harder against her, while his newly freed hands roamed over her bare flesh, pulling her against him with rough insistence until she had no option but to slide her free arm around his neck to keep from falling over.
Margaux was beginning to feel overwhelmed by the smell of him, the taste of his mouth. Her chest felt strange and heavy. Through the fabric of his shirt, her nails scratched at his shoulder in long rents that would leave thin red lines on his skin.
His fingers brushed her inner thigh, and despite herself she pulled away with a whimper. He growled in frustration and wrapped one arm around her waist, lifting her onto the desk and holding her firmly in place while he manoeuvred his hips between her legs, making it impossible to push her thighs together. Her whole body jolted away when he touched her, his fingertips brushing across the warm, soft flesh of her labia, but there was nowhere to go. The hand that had been between their bodies was now thrown out behind her, the only thing that kept her from falling backward onto the desk, but if he noticed he didn’t care. His attention was focused solely on the movement of his deft forefinger as it travelled downward, following the contours of her sex until it found her entrance.
She felt his mouth narrow into a grin against hers as he rubbed his fingertip in slow circles against her, and she realised with dismay that she was wet.
Bill released her mouth, leaving her taking gasping breaths, and laughed.
“You dirty bitch,” he whispered, with evident pleasure. “If I’d known you’d like it…”
She opened her mouth to object, but he put a finger to her lips.
“Don’t go saying something you’ll regret, Margaux.” He grabbed her hips and pulled her to the edge of the desk, then yanked at the waist of his jeans, pulling them down over his hips. “You just have a talent for getting yourself in trouble, don’t you?”
She looked up at him beseechingly, hoping against hope that he was only trying to frighten her, that in a moment he’d laugh in that mocking way and tell her to put her clothes back on. But as she felt the hot, broad head of his manhood bump her thigh, she knew that it was time to face reality. Bill’s lips brushed her throat, and her eyes fluttered shut of their own accord. He was stroking himself from her slick entrance up to her clit and back again, and her body was cruelly interpreting it as pleasure. Margaux bit her lip hard, waiting.
In one abrupt movement, he bent his knees a little, lined himself up with her and thrust inwards, pulling her onto him. She cried out at the harsh combination of pressure and friction, his size stretching her entirely unprepared flesh, and he clapped a hand over her mouth, then groaned — her muscles were involuntarily tightening around him as she tried to relax them, and it had the unintended effect of massaging his length as he pushed into her.
“Fuck, Margaux.”
He pulled out briefly, granting her temporary relief only to plunge his full length into her. He stayed like that for a heartbeat, pushing deeper, until the pressure at the mouth of her womb drew a sob from her throat, then slowly drew out and began to thrust in earnest.
Despite the contradiction in the action, Margaux found herself clinging to him, wrapping her legs around his narrow hips and grasping at his back in a desperate attempt to find some comfort in his touch. Bill seemed to interpret that as an encouragement, and increased the speed of his movements. All at once, she felt heat beginning to build at her centre, as if completely by accident he had hit exactly the right spot, and she couldn’t suppress a moan.
“That’s more like it, isn’t it?” he murmured softly, his breath tickling her ear. Margaux didn’t respond, moving her hips against him in pursuit of that delicious friction, resolute that if she had been handed a pleasurable escape that she would take it. Bill grinned and drew back, moving away from the desk until she was forced to let go of him. She looked at him with equal parts confusion and mild annoyance, watching him kick off his jeans. He sat down on the bed. “Come here.”
She slid off the desk and stood in front of him. Waiting. He took hold of her wrists and drew her towards him until she was kneeling on either side of his lap on the mattress. One hand caressed the generous swell of her rear as the other angled his erection, and then he was slipping back inside her, drawing a fresh moan from her lips. He took her arms and slung them over his shoulders, encouraging her to hold onto him again before his large, warm hands moved over her hips, grasping her soft flesh and thrusting up into her. She responded in kind, wriggling against him, seeking that warm, roiling pleasure of before.
Bill pulled her mouth against his, and she impulsively bit his lower lip. He growled warmly, grabbing her hair and exposing her pale throat to deliver a bite of his own. Margaux gasped and bucked her hips against him, feeling his arm around her waist drawing her closer as her pelvic muscles began to flutter around him, their collective breath quickening as they drove each other nearer and nearer to the edge.
Suddenly, her very core seemed to be convulsing in waves so intense that she cried out into Bill’s shoulder. He pulled Margaux down onto him, his nails digging painfully into her hip as he rode out her orgasm, letting it tip him into his own, which came with a long, low groan and a final upward thrust.
As the pleasure began to dissipate, and they clung to each other, panting, Margaux began to feel the all too familiar creep of regret.
What was she thinking?
What had she done?
- 24
- 25
- 26
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Autobiography