Kiss her

You grab her by the waist and kiss her with zero preamble. The angry words die against your mouth. Cheryl freezes for half a second, then kisses back ferociously, teeth and tongue and pure heat, her hands fisting the front of your shirt hard enough to pull the fabric tight.

You spin her around and force her forward over the conference table. Papers scatter. She catches herself on her hands and pushes back against you at the same time, still kissing over her shoulder whenever she can reach. The two of you start stripping in a rush. Her blouse is half unbuttoned, your belt is open, her skirt is shoved up around her waist, your trousers are shoved down just far enough. Neither of you finishes the job.

The need is too sharp. You free your cock, already thick and fully hard, and drag the head along the line of her body until it rests against her. You line it up carefully, the choice of hole still undecided, the head pressing in readiness while both of you breathe hard and the empty office stays silent beyond the locked door.