NSFW
XesSave
Established
The fluorescent hum of the office had always been a lullaby to Mara, but tonight it felt like a live wire buzzing under her skin. She'd stayed late again, buried in spreadsheets that blurred into meaningless numbers. The clock on her monitor read 11:47 PM. The building was empty except for the janitor, who she'd heard whistling down the hall an hour ago. Now silence, thick and heavy.
She stretched her arms above her head, feeling the pull in her shoulders, and let out a soft groan. Her blouse had come untucked from her pencil skirt, and a few buttons had popped open sometime during her fourth cup of coffee. She didn't bother fixing them. The air was warm, close, and she felt a bead of sweat trickle between her breasts.
Then she heard it: footsteps. Not the shuffle of a mop bucket, but steady, purposeful strides. Her heart hammered. She turned just as the door to her cubicle slid open.
Declan.
He was still in his suit jacket, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms dusted with dark hair. His eyes, the color of aged whiskey, fixed on her with an intensity that made her breath catch.
"Didn't expect to see you here so late," she said, her voice coming out rougher than intended.
"I could say the same about you." He stepped closer, the faint scent of sandalwood and sweat reaching her. "You've been avoiding me."
It wasn't a question. A month ago, they'd shared a kiss in the supply closet after the Christmas party. A kiss that had turned into her hand pressed against his chest, his palm cupping the curve of her ass through her dress. Then she'd pulled away, muttering something about it being a mistake. She'd been dodging his calls, his glances, ever since.
"I wasn't avoiding you," she lied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I've just been... busy."
"Bullshit." He moved until he was standing right in front of her desk, the edge of the wood digging into his thighs. "You've been scared."
Mara's throat went dry. "Of what?"
"Of this." He leaned down, one hand bracing on the desk beside her keyboard, the other reaching out to trace the line of her jaw. His touch was electric, and she shivered despite the heat. "Of how much you want it."
She wanted to deny it, but the words died on her lips. Her pussy clenched, a familiar ache spreading through her belly. She could see the bulge straining against his trousers. Her own nipples had hardened into tight peaks, visible through the thin fabric of her blouse.
"Declan..." she breathed, but it wasn't a protest. It was an invitation.
He didn't wait. He captured her mouth in a kiss that was all hunger, all demand. His tongue pushed past her lips, tasting her, claiming her. She moaned into his mouth, her hands flying up to grip his shoulders. His fingers tangled in her hair, tilting her head back as he deepened the kiss.
Then he pulled away, breath ragged. "I've been thinking about this every night since December. I can't focus on anything else."
"Me neither," she admitted, the confession ripping out of her.
He didn't need any more encouragement. He rounded the desk, his hands finding her waist, pulling her to her feet. The chair scraped against the floor. He pressed her against the edge of the desk, his body hard against hers. She could feel his cock through his pants, thick and insistent against her stomach.
"Tell me you want this," he growled, his mouth against her ear.
"Yes. God, yes."
His hands found the hem of her skirt, sliding up her thighs. She was wearing stockings, no panties—she'd been too eager to get to work that morning, and the thought had been a daring little secret she'd carried all day. His fingers found her bare pussy, slick with her own desire.
"You're wet," he murmured, a note of triumph in his voice. "So fucking wet for me."
He didn't tease. He pushed two fingers inside her, and she gasped, her head falling back. His thumb found her clit, circling it with practiced precision. Her hips bucked against his hand, needy and desperate.
"I want to taste you," he said, and before she could respond, he was on his knees.
He lifted her skirt up, bunched around her waist, and buried his face between her legs. His tongue lapped at her slit, sliding through her folds, licking up every drop of her arousal. She cried out, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk. He licked and sucked, his tongue flicking her clit in rapid strokes, then sliding lower to push inside her. She was trembling, her knees weak.
"Please—" she gasped. "Fuck me. Please, Declan."
He stood up, his face glistening with her wetness. He unfastened his belt, his zipper, and freed his cock. It was long, thick, the head swollen and purple. He stroked himself once, twice, then positioned himself at her entrance.
"Look at me," he said.
She met his eyes. He pushed in, slow but relentless, filling her inch by inch. She felt the stretch, the burn, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. He bottomed out, his hips flush against hers, and let out a low groan.
"You feel so good," he whispered. "So tight."
He began to move, a steady rhythm at first, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in. The desk creaked beneath them. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper. He grabbed her ass, fingers digging into the flesh, using his grip to control the pace.
"Harder," she begged.
He obliged. His thrusts grew faster, more punishing. The sound of their bodies slapping together echoed in the empty office. Sweat dripped from his brow onto her chest. She reached down, rubbing her own clit in frantic circles as he fucked her.
"I'm going to cum," she gasped, the pressure building unbearably.
"Cum for me, Mara. Now."
Her orgasm crashed through her, a wave of white-hot pleasure that made her whole body clench. She cried out his name, her nails raking down his back. He groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic, and she felt him pulse inside her as he came, hot streams of his cum flooding her cunt.
They stayed like that for a long moment, breathing hard, bodies locked together. Then he pulled out slowly, and she felt his seed trickling down her thigh.
He kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips. "We should do this again. Maybe somewhere more comfortable."
She laughed, breathless. "My apartment's twenty minutes away."
"Then let's not waste another minute."
She straightened her skirt, didn't bother buttoning her blouse. He tucked himself back into his pants, and they walked out together, hand in hand, into the night. The empty office hummed behind them, a silent witness to what had just happened—and a promise of what was yet to come.
She stretched her arms above her head, feeling the pull in her shoulders, and let out a soft groan. Her blouse had come untucked from her pencil skirt, and a few buttons had popped open sometime during her fourth cup of coffee. She didn't bother fixing them. The air was warm, close, and she felt a bead of sweat trickle between her breasts.
Then she heard it: footsteps. Not the shuffle of a mop bucket, but steady, purposeful strides. Her heart hammered. She turned just as the door to her cubicle slid open.
Declan.
He was still in his suit jacket, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms dusted with dark hair. His eyes, the color of aged whiskey, fixed on her with an intensity that made her breath catch.
"Didn't expect to see you here so late," she said, her voice coming out rougher than intended.
"I could say the same about you." He stepped closer, the faint scent of sandalwood and sweat reaching her. "You've been avoiding me."
It wasn't a question. A month ago, they'd shared a kiss in the supply closet after the Christmas party. A kiss that had turned into her hand pressed against his chest, his palm cupping the curve of her ass through her dress. Then she'd pulled away, muttering something about it being a mistake. She'd been dodging his calls, his glances, ever since.
"I wasn't avoiding you," she lied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I've just been... busy."
"Bullshit." He moved until he was standing right in front of her desk, the edge of the wood digging into his thighs. "You've been scared."
Mara's throat went dry. "Of what?"
"Of this." He leaned down, one hand bracing on the desk beside her keyboard, the other reaching out to trace the line of her jaw. His touch was electric, and she shivered despite the heat. "Of how much you want it."
She wanted to deny it, but the words died on her lips. Her pussy clenched, a familiar ache spreading through her belly. She could see the bulge straining against his trousers. Her own nipples had hardened into tight peaks, visible through the thin fabric of her blouse.
"Declan..." she breathed, but it wasn't a protest. It was an invitation.
He didn't wait. He captured her mouth in a kiss that was all hunger, all demand. His tongue pushed past her lips, tasting her, claiming her. She moaned into his mouth, her hands flying up to grip his shoulders. His fingers tangled in her hair, tilting her head back as he deepened the kiss.
Then he pulled away, breath ragged. "I've been thinking about this every night since December. I can't focus on anything else."
"Me neither," she admitted, the confession ripping out of her.
He didn't need any more encouragement. He rounded the desk, his hands finding her waist, pulling her to her feet. The chair scraped against the floor. He pressed her against the edge of the desk, his body hard against hers. She could feel his cock through his pants, thick and insistent against her stomach.
"Tell me you want this," he growled, his mouth against her ear.
"Yes. God, yes."
His hands found the hem of her skirt, sliding up her thighs. She was wearing stockings, no panties—she'd been too eager to get to work that morning, and the thought had been a daring little secret she'd carried all day. His fingers found her bare pussy, slick with her own desire.
"You're wet," he murmured, a note of triumph in his voice. "So fucking wet for me."
He didn't tease. He pushed two fingers inside her, and she gasped, her head falling back. His thumb found her clit, circling it with practiced precision. Her hips bucked against his hand, needy and desperate.
"I want to taste you," he said, and before she could respond, he was on his knees.
He lifted her skirt up, bunched around her waist, and buried his face between her legs. His tongue lapped at her slit, sliding through her folds, licking up every drop of her arousal. She cried out, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk. He licked and sucked, his tongue flicking her clit in rapid strokes, then sliding lower to push inside her. She was trembling, her knees weak.
"Please—" she gasped. "Fuck me. Please, Declan."
He stood up, his face glistening with her wetness. He unfastened his belt, his zipper, and freed his cock. It was long, thick, the head swollen and purple. He stroked himself once, twice, then positioned himself at her entrance.
"Look at me," he said.
She met his eyes. He pushed in, slow but relentless, filling her inch by inch. She felt the stretch, the burn, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. He bottomed out, his hips flush against hers, and let out a low groan.
"You feel so good," he whispered. "So tight."
He began to move, a steady rhythm at first, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in. The desk creaked beneath them. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper. He grabbed her ass, fingers digging into the flesh, using his grip to control the pace.
"Harder," she begged.
He obliged. His thrusts grew faster, more punishing. The sound of their bodies slapping together echoed in the empty office. Sweat dripped from his brow onto her chest. She reached down, rubbing her own clit in frantic circles as he fucked her.
"I'm going to cum," she gasped, the pressure building unbearably.
"Cum for me, Mara. Now."
Her orgasm crashed through her, a wave of white-hot pleasure that made her whole body clench. She cried out his name, her nails raking down his back. He groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic, and she felt him pulse inside her as he came, hot streams of his cum flooding her cunt.
They stayed like that for a long moment, breathing hard, bodies locked together. Then he pulled out slowly, and she felt his seed trickling down her thigh.
He kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips. "We should do this again. Maybe somewhere more comfortable."
She laughed, breathless. "My apartment's twenty minutes away."
"Then let's not waste another minute."
She straightened her skirt, didn't bother buttoning her blouse. He tucked himself back into his pants, and they walked out together, hand in hand, into the night. The empty office hummed behind them, a silent witness to what had just happened—and a promise of what was yet to come.
