His rhythm increased, harder and faster, one hand leaving my hip to fist in my hair and force my head down against the desk. The new angle drove him deeper and I couldn't stop the quiet whimper that escaped my throat.
“I said quiet.” His hand released my hair and came down hard across my arse—a sharp, stinging slap that made me jerk forward. “Or do you want Mr Harrow to hear what his house manager is doing to his cleaner?”
I shook my head mutely, biting down harder on my lip until I tasted copper.
“Better.” Gerald's thrusts grew rougher, less controlled, his breathing harsh in the quiet room. “Going to fill you. Going to add my seed to Mr Harrow's and send you home dripping with both of us.”
He thrust deep one final time and came, his cock pulsing inside me as he added his release to Harrow's. His fingers dug into my hips hard enough to guarantee bruises that would match the ones Harrow had left, and his body shuddered against mine as he emptied himself completely.
When he finally pulled out, I felt the combined release of both men leak from my hole, warm and obscene, trailing down the inside of my thighs.
“Don't move yet.” Gerald's hand pressed between my shoulder blades, keeping me bent over the desk. “Let me look at what we've done to you.”
I stayed frozen—chest pressed to the desk, arse in the air, used and dripping—and heard him make a satisfied sound.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. “Absolutely ruined.”
He stepped back and I heard him tucking himself away, the sound of a zip rising, fabric being straightened. When I finally pushed myself upright and turned around, Gerald looked exactly as he had when I'd first arrived—immaculately dressed, perfectly composed, every trace of what had just happened hidden behind professional courtesy.
“You can clean yourself up in the washroom down the hall,” he said, his tone polite and distant now. “Second door on the left.”
I pulled my trousers up with shaking hands, my body aching in new ways now, and moved toward the door. Gerald unlocked it and held it open, gesturing for me to precede him into the corridor.
“This way, please.”
He led me to a small washroom and waited outside while I cleaned myself up as best I could—wiping away the evidence of what both men had done, though I could still feel them inside me, could still smell sex on my skin despite the soap and water.
When I emerged, Gerald was waiting exactly where I'd left him.
“The side entrance is just ahead,” he said, leading me back through corridors I'd memorised on the way in. The side entrance appeared ahead of me like something I'd been holding my breath for, and Gerald opened it to cool evening air that hit my face like a clean slate.
“Good evening, sir. I trust we'll see you again if Mr Harrow requires further services.”
“Perhaps,” I said, stepping out onto the street. “Have a good evening.”
The door closed behind me with a quiet, definitive click.
I walked. One block and then two, my legs unsteady but keeping their rhythm, not letting myself stop or think until I was far enough away that turning back wasn't an option any part of me could seriously consider. Three blocks, then four, and finally I turned into a narrow alley between two buildings, pressed my back against the cold brick, and pulled out my phone.
The notification was already waiting.
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