Forbidden Office Desk Quickie
Axel’s palm slammed between my shoulder blades and pinned me face-down across the desk, the cheap laminate cool against my cheek while his other hand yanked my skirt up around my waist and dragged my panties down my thighs. “Ass up and spread for me, Adria. Now.”
I complied without thinking, thighs parting on instinct, the air hitting my bare skin while his jeans stayed pressed against the backs of my legs. The denim was rough and unyielding where it brushed my inner thighs, every seam scraping as he leaned in harder. My blouse was still buttoned, my skirt bunched in a rumpled ring at my hips, and only the skin below was bared to him, the contrast making every nerve stand on end. Tomorrow the whole team would know something had happened between us. Tomorrow, professional ruin would hit like a freight train.
His belt buckle dug into the small of my back as he freed himself, the hot length of him sliding once between my folds without ceremony. I was already soaked, the wet sound loud in the quiet room when he pushed inside. He stayed fully dressed, shirt tucked in, only his fly open, so every thrust dragged coarse denim over my bare ass and the backs of my thighs. The friction burned in the best way, each stroke forcing more slick out of me until it coated his jeans and dripped down my legs. I gripped the edge of the desk, breathing hard, thinking of Marcus in the front row of tomorrow’s presentation, the way he always noticed everything, the way he’d clock the flush on my neck before I even opened my mouth.
Axel grunted and picked up speed, one hand fisting my hair to keep my face pressed down. The desk creaked under us. His clothed hips slapped against my naked skin with wet, filthy sounds, the denim soaking through from how drenched I was. When he leaned over me I felt the hard press of his shirt buttons through the thin cotton of my blouse, small blunt points digging into my spine with every drag of his weight. My clit throbbed untouched, swollen and aching, the denial making me clench around him tighter. He cursed, hips stuttering already, but he didn’t stop. I pushed back anyway, chasing the stretch and the heat, some part of me already rehearsing how I’d sit through the client meeting without wincing.
He came with a choked groan, pulsing deep and messy, the sudden flood of heat making my own body clench around him. He went still for a second, hips locked against me, breath sawing out of him like he’d been hit — then he forced himself to keep moving, short and clumsy, chasing something past the point his body wanted to quit. Hypersensitive now, his breath ragged against my neck, the fabric of his jeans rubbed raw against my thighs. Every oversensitive twitch of him inside me sent sparks through both of us, yet he kept thrusting, trying to last long enough for me. I felt the tremble in his legs, the way his grip on my hip tightened to bruising. The wet mess leaked out around him with each shallow push, soaking us both, but all I could think was that I’d be sitting across from him in that meeting tomorrow with this still soaking through me, and I ground back harder anyway.
My orgasm hit hard and sudden, my walls fluttering around his spent cock while he groaned through the overstimulation. He stayed buried, letting me ride it out against the rough denim and his softening length until I went limp across the desk. Only then did he ease back, and I turned in his arms before he could speak. With my skirt still bunched at my waist and nothing beneath it, I pressed my face to his still-clothed chest, breathing in the smell of sex and sweat soaked into his shirt. My voice came out small and breathless against the fabric.
“I actually — ” I stopped, swallowed, tried again. “I need you. More than — god, more than any of it. The job. Tomorrow. I don’t care anymore.”
He went rigid. Not soft, not gentle — his whole body locked up against mine like I’d pressed a blade to his ribs, his hand frozen halfway to the back of my head, hovering there, not quite touching. I felt his jaw tighten against my hair, felt him hold his breath so long I started counting it in my own chest. He said nothing. The smell of us, sweat and desk polish and what we’d just done, hung thick in the room, and neither of us moved to clean it up, like leaving it there made it undeniable in the morning. The client meeting was in eight hours. So were the consequences.