He obliges.
The desk shudders with each thrust. His laptop slides dangerously close to the edge. More papers flutter to the floor. I’m pretty sure something important is getting crushed under my ass right now, but I can’t bring myself to care because he’s hitting that spot inside me with devastatingaccuracy.
“Nico.” I fist my hands in his shirt. “Oh god, right there.”
“Here?” He angles his hips and drives deeper. “You like that?”
“You know I do.”
His laugh is low and dark. “Oh I know. I’ve thought about nothing else for days. The sounds you make. The way you feel. The way you look when you cum.”
I’m climbing fast. Too fast. The combination of his voice and his cock and the sheer wrongness of doing this in his office while the cleaning crew vacuums twenty feet away is pushing me toward the edge.
“I can feel you getting close,” he murmurs against my ear. “Your pussy’s clenching around me. You want to cum?”
“Yes.” It comes out desperate.
He doesn’t draw it out tonight. “Then cum. Bree. Cum on my fucking cock. Let me feel it. Milk me.”
And because my body apparently takes orders from him even when my brain refuses to, I shatter.
I bite down on his shoulder to muffle my scream, tasting expensive fabric and underneath it, his skin. The orgasm rolls through me in waves, my inner muscles squeezing him, and I hear his groan vibrating through his chest.
“Fuck.” His hips stutter. Lose their rhythm. “Bree. Bree.”
He cums with my name on his lips. I feel him pulsing inside me even through the condom.
His forehead drops to my shoulder and his whole body shudders as he empties himself.
He collapses heavily on top of me, and for a long moment, neither of us moves.
The vacuum cleaner stops. Footsteps pass by in the hallway outside. We both freeze, holding our breath, but they keep going.
Eventually, he lifts his head. His hair is a disaster. His tie is askew and partially undone, thanks to my earlier fumbling with it. He looks thoroughly debauched.
I probably look worse.
“That was...” I start.
“Incredible,” he finishes.
He’s still inside me. Neither of us seems inclined to change that.
“We can’t keep doing this,” I say.
He finally pulls out, dealing with the condom. “Not here, anyway.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
He tucks himself back into his trousers. Zips up. Looks at me sitting on his destroyed desk with my blouse hanging open and my skirt around my waist and my panties god knows where.
“I mean at work, we keep it professional.” His voice is careful. “Outside of work...”
“Outside of work?” I prompt.
“We do whatever the fuck we want,” he finishes.
My stomach does its butterfly thing. “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea, or a terrible idea.”
