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By (user no longer on site) 38 weeks ago
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They used to arrive together.
Same hallway. Same morning coffee. That quiet energy between them that only people pretending to be fine carry.
Not today.
Today she passed me in the corridor, alone — faster pace, tighter jaw. I caught the look in her eyes. Fury held together by office etiquette. The kind of storm that doesn’t cry — it simmers.
He didn’t show up to the meeting. Didn’t show up to much lately, really. But she stayed. Composed. Efficient. On the surface.
By 5:07 p.m., the building was nearly empty. Just the two of us and a couple of cleaners. I watched her linger at her desk — not working. Just thinking too loud.
She didn’t notice me until I stopped at her door.
“You done pretending?”
Her eyes flicked to mine — sharp and tired. No defenses left.
“Come with me.”
No argument. No words. Just the scrape of her chair as she stood and followed.
We passed quiet offices and darkened doorways. She didn’t ask where we were going. I didn’t explain. She knew.
His office was unlocked. Sloppy. Just like him.
I opened the door. She paused, staring at the nameplate, then stepped inside. I watched her eyes scan the desk, the framed photo of them still sitting next to the monitor.
“I don’t want to talk about him,” she said, her voice rough around the edges.
“I don’t want you to,” I replied. “I want you to reclaim the space he thought he owned.”
I stepped behind her, slowly wrapping my fingers around her waist.
“You’ve been holding it all in. The anger. The grief. The need.”
She inhaled. Shallow. Sharp.
My voice dropped.
“Let me take it.”
Her body softened.
“Turn around. Hands on the desk.”
She obeyed. No hesitation.
“This isn’t for love,” I said as I traced the curve of her lower back. “It’s for every time he made you feel unseen. For every time you begged in silence.”
She was trembling now — not in fear, but release.
“He used this desk to act like a man,” I said quietly, leaning in. “Tonight it will remind him who actually is one.”
Her moan was low and helpless as I pressed her down flat.
Slow. Hard. Not rushed. Every movement deliberate. She gasped, then whimpered, then surrendered completely — her body remembering what it meant to be taken, not tolerated.
“Say it,” I whispered against her ear.
“I’m not his anymore,” she said.
“No,” I growled, pulling her back into me. “You’re not. You’re mine… for as long as I decide.”
And the photo of them on his desk?
Facedown.
I gripped her skirt. Jerked it up and over her hips, exposing her thighs. Her skin was flushed, breath coming in ragged gasps. I could feel the damp heat of her cunt, her body ready, her need palpable.
"Tonight, I decide when you come,” I growled. “I decide how hard, how fast. You're mine to command."
I slipped my hand between her legs. My fingers found her slick folds, dripping and ready. She gasped as I began to tease, my touch firm and deliberate. She pushed back against me, trying to increase the pressure, but I controlled the rhythm, keeping her on edge.
"I want you to beg for it," I whispered, my lips brushing against her ear. "I want you to beg for my cock. Beg for me to fuck you like he never could."
She whimpered, her body trembling with frustration. "Please," she gasped, her hips moving in desperate circles, trying to find release. "I need it. I need you."
"Not yet." My voice was firm. I circled her clit, my touch just firm enough to make her gasp, but not enough to push her over the edge. Her breath hitched, her body tensing as she tried to chase the sensation. I pulled my hand away, leaving her panting and needy.
"Please," she begged, her voice raw with desperation. "I need more. I need you inside me. I need your cock."
I smiled, my hand coming down hard on her ass, the sound echoing in the room. She gasped, her body arching into the touch. I did it again, the sting mixing with the pleasure, driving her wild. She was begging now, her words a desperate plea, her body writhing against mine.
I slipped a finger inside her, just enough to tease, then pulled it out, leaving her empty and aching. She cried out, her body trembling with the need for more. I could feel her desperation, her body begging for release.
"I need your cock," she moaned, her voice a mix of desperation and lust. "I need you to fuck me. Please, just let me come. Let me come all over you."
I leaned over her — my body pressing against hers. "Is that what you want?" I growled, my voice low and dangerous.
"Yes," she gasped, her body pushing back against mine. "Yes, I want that. I need that. I need you to use this body for your pleasure. To claim me like he never did."
I gripped her hips, positioning myself at her entrance. She was dripping, her body ready and desperate. I teased her, rubbing the head of my cock against her slick folds, coating myself in her juices.
"Please," she begged, her voice a whimper. "Please, just fuck me. I can't take it anymore. I need to feel you inside me."
I thrust into her, hard and deep, feeling her body yield to mine. The sensation was electric, her tightness enveloping me, her wetness coating my cock. I groaned, the sound raw and primal, as I began to move, my hips slapping against her ass with each brutal thrust. The desk shook, the glass top rattling with the force of our bodies colliding. Her cries filled the room, each one a symphony of lust and release.
We both watched as he arrived in the morning. He paused at his door, taking in the sight of the marked-up desk.
His face went pale, then flushed with realization. Our juices mingled on the glass, a stark reminder of the night before. He looked at us, then back at the desk.
He knew exactly what happened. And he knew he was never reclaiming his throne. |
