Disaster

The office was quiet—late afternoon light spilling through the blinds, casting long shadows across Emily’s desk. She leaned back in her chair, one hand lazily stroking her thumb along the rim of her coffee mug, the other tucked in her lap. Her inbox blinked with unread emails. A spreadsheet waited, forgotten.

She wasn’t thinking about work.

She was thinking about Mickey.

About the next time she’d pull him into the supply closet at his building—or maybe take it further. Make him come to her office after-hours. Close the blinds. Lock the door. Have him drop to his knees right in front of her desk, tongue out, begging for permission just to taste her.

Or maybe she’d sit him in her chair, tie his wrists behind it with her scarf, straddle him slow—grind down and whisper her name into his mouth until he was **** and shaking, begging to cum.

Her phone buzzed.

SARAH - CALLING…

The fantasy collapsed.

Emily blinked herself out of it, breath still a little shallow, and answered.

“Hey.”

Her sister didn’t waste time. “You are not going to believe the shit Mickey’s pulled.”

Emily straightened. “What?”

Sarah’s voice was sharp, fast. “His girlfriend went through his phone. Found sexts. Nudes. Full-blown affair with some older woman.”

Emily froze.

“She said the contact name was MILF ❤—like, actual emoji and everything. I swear to God, Emily, I wanted to scream. Who the hell does that?”

Emily couldn’t breathe.

Sarah continued, not noticing the silence. “There were photos too. Blurry, kind of dark, but definitely not a girl his age. She said it’s someone older. Way older. Not a student. Not even close.”

Emily’s jaw clenched.

Way older?

She wasn’t even thirty yet. Five years older than Mickey. Maybe six. That wasn’t way older. That was… reasonable. Barely a gap.

But she couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t defend herself without giving herself away.

She **** a neutral hum into the line.

Sarah huffed. “She’s convinced it’s some creepy townie or a faculty member or something. Mickey wouldn’t say a word. Just sat there, red-faced, asking her not to tell anyone.”

Emily swallowed hard.

“She didn’t threaten anything legal—thank God,” Sarah added. “But she did call me this morning. Thought I had a right to know what my son’s doing.”

Emily made a vague noise.

Sarah sighed. “I just—ugh. What kind of woman goes after someone that young? I mean, really. It’s disgusting. Manipulative.”

Emily stared at the desk in front of her, silent.

“You’re the only one I can vent to,” Sarah added. “I haven’t even told your mother. I don’t want this to spiral into some family-wide freakout until I talk to Mickey again.”

Emily kept her voice steady. “Yeah. Of course. I get it.”

“Anyway,” Sarah sighed, “pray for me. This week’s a disaster.”

The call ended.

Emily sat frozen, her coffee cold, her legs crossed too tightly.

Then her phone buzzed again.

MICKEY: She told my mom. I had to lie through my fucking teeth.

MICKEY: She thinks it’s some rando in her forties.

MICKEY: Please don’t text for a bit. I need to calm everything down.

MICKEY: But I’m not letting this go. I still want you. Always.

Emily didn’t answer.

Not yet.

She just stared at the message.

And slowly—quietly—smiled.