Pinned for Office Revenge
Thorne’s chest crushed Petra flat against the desk. His hips locked her thighs open and his knees jammed her legs wider. The heat of him pressed in from every side, caging her, leaving no gap of air she could call her own. Sweat glued his skin to hers.
“You told the board I stole the account,” Thorne said. His voice stayed flat. He pushed his cock against her once, testing the fit. “You stood up in the meeting and said it was all my idea.”
Petra tried to shift her hips for more friction. He held her down harder. His weight kept her exactly where he wanted. He slid in on the next push and started a steady, selfish rhythm that used her body and nothing else.
“They gave you the corner office after I left,” he said. Each word came between thrusts. “I sat at home for six months while you took the clients.”
She felt every inch of him drag out and drive back in. The desk edge bit the front of her thighs. His stomach slapped her ass with each stroke. She reached back for his hip to pull him deeper. He caught her wrist and pinned it above her head.
“You don’t set the pace,” he told her. “I do.”
She tried anyway. She clenched hard around him, gripping, trying to milk a faster stroke out of him by sheer force. He felt it and gave her nothing. The same speed. The same depth. Her grip changed nothing about what he chose to do with her.
Petra’s breath came shorter. The heat from his body soaked into her skin. She twisted her free hand back into his thigh, nails digging, trying to drag him into her on her own rhythm. He shifted his weight and pinned that arm too, flat to the desk, and kept fucking her at the pace he wanted. Every thrust stayed the same, aimed only at his own finish. He had taught her everything she knew about taking what she wanted from a room, and now he was using all of it against her, showing her how little it bought her here.
“I heard you laughing when security walked me out,” Thorne said. He leaned more of his weight onto her ribs. “You didn’t even look at me.”
Her cunt clenched around him. The pressure built but he never changed his stroke to help her. She made a small sound and hated how it sounded in the quiet room.
“Say it,” he said. “Say what you want.”
“Harder,” Petra answered. The word came out thin.
He kept the same pace. “Louder.”
“Please, harder.” Her voice cracked on the second word.
Thorne dragged her loose arm in under his shoulder and trapped it there with his torso. Then his other hand left her wrist and moved to her hair. He gathered the strands at the back of her head and pulled. Her face peeled up off the wood, her neck arching back into the air, her spine forced into a long bowed line. The new angle let him drive deeper but he still moved only for himself.
“You begged the board to fire me,” he said against her ear. “Now you’re begging me to fuck you.”
Petra’s legs shook. The pull on her scalp mixed with the steady push inside her. She felt herself getting close but he gave her no extra speed. She heard her own voice again, higher this time.
“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
Thorne’s fist tightened in her hair. He yanked once, hard, and his hips snapped forward three final times. Heat flooded into her as he came. His body stayed locked on top of hers, chest still pressing her down, one arm crushed beneath his shoulder, his hand still holding her head back by the hair.
Petra lay under him, throat bared, cunt still pulsing around his cock. The words she had just said hung in the air. She heard how desperate they sounded. Shame rolled through her chest and settled low in her stomach. She stayed pinned exactly where he left him, his weight bearing down, her one free hand limp and useless at her side, the sting of her own voice already turning sour in her mouth.