The last office

Emily’s footsteps slowed as she neared the end of the hallway, the familiar click of her flats against the office carpet fading into silence. Here, at the farthest door, everything felt still—too still. The air was thicker somehow, as if insulated from the soft clatter and polite murmur of the rest of the building. She paused.

This door was slightly ajar.

A small crack. A sliver of shadow and light.

She hesitated—just for a breath—then stepped forward, her palm brushing the cool brass of the handle as she pushed it open a little farther.

The room was dim, just like she remembered. Soft light filtered in through half-drawn blinds, striping the floor in gray and gold. The table inside was sleek and spotless, the same glass-top model she remembered from before Chloe, before the baby weight, before everything had become feedings and silence and drifting further from Jason by the day. Her eyes moved slowly, taking in the familiar.

Then she saw it. A faint, narrow dent in the drywall, almost hidden behind a floor lamp now nudged to a different corner.

Her heart kicked.

That dent.

She hadn’t seen it in almost two years, and yet it brought a flush to her cheeks instantly. The memory snapped into place: her, in nothing but heels and a trench coat, slipping into Jason’s office to surprise him. Bending over this very desk. The look on his face when he stepped out of the bathroom and saw her waiting—sprawled and open, wicked and grinning. The way he’d growled her name, torn open his belt, and driven into her without a word. The lamp had gone over during the frenzy, metal scraping drywall. They’d laughed about it. Then made love again on the floor.

Now…

That same bathroom door was shut. She could hear the soft, constant hum of the fan behind it. A low white noise, unmistakable.

And just like that, the idea was there. Unbidden, stupid, delicious.

Why not? her mind whispered, sly and breathless. Why not give him the same surprise again?

Emily’s breath caught in her throat.

Her body moved before her brain could fully catch up.

She shrugged off her cardigan, her fingers suddenly nimble, hungry. The nursing tank followed with a soft rustle, her full, tender breasts slipping free with a low bounce, nipples already pebbled from the rush of air. She stepped out of her leggings and panties in one smooth motion, her skin goosebumping as she stood there, naked and flushed, her heart pounding like it had that first time.

Then she moved.

Her bare thighs slid against the edge of the desk as she leaned forward, her hips tilting up, her chest lowering to the cold glass. Her arms spread wide to brace herself. She adjusted, just so, until she mirrored it perfectly—knees bent slightly, ass up high, her cunt glistening in the low light, exposed and waiting. The desk’s surface was cool against her breasts, her nipples dragging slightly as she breathed.

She didn’t need to see herself to know how she looked.

She remembered how he had looked at her the first time.

The fan in the bathroom clicked off.

Emily swallowed. Her breath hitched in her throat. Her skin was electric.

She heard it—footsteps on tile, the soft creak of the door. The hinge sighed. A single step out onto the carpet.

Silence.

Then a pause. The kind that stretched long enough to charge the air between them.

Then—just like before—a single, sharp intake of breath. A gasp.

She smiled. Slow and secret.

She could picture him. Jason, standing there, eyes wide, half-hard already, stunned at the sight of her like that again—his wife, his Emily, daring him to take her like he used to. Before Chloe. Before they’d started sleeping back to back. Before she’d begun wondering if he even saw her body anymore.

She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. Just breathed shallowly, feeling the heat of his stare soak into her back.

She heard it.

The metal clink of a belt.

The whisper of leather sliding through loops.

The heavy sound of pants dropping to the floor.

Her breath came quicker. Her thighs trembled just slightly.

She felt him approach behind her—close now. Close enough for body heat to skim over her bare skin. The air shifted. The quiet hush of the room felt impossibly loud.

And then—just like before—fingers touched her.

A hand on her lower back first, pressing gently, possessively. The warmth of his palm seared her, large and firm and spreading over her skin. The other hand slid down the curve of her ass, kneading softly, thumbs brushing where her thighs met the softness of her hips. She gasped, not from surprise but from memory—her body recalling every second of that day.

Then came the second hand, parting her folds with a firm, practiced touch.

Slickness greeted him.

Her own wetness had built without warning, her arousal pulsing steadily since she stepped into the room. He teased her open, just enough, and Emily whimpered. Her knees weakened. Her lips parted for a moan she held back with effort.

Then she felt it.

Thick. Hot. The head of his cock nudging against her entrance.

She braced herself.

He entered her with a slow, forceful thrust, stretching her around him, filling her in one determined stroke.

Her eyes fluttered shut. Her mouth dropped open.

“Ahhh—God—”

She gasped, fingers gripping the edge of the desk as her body adjusted to the sudden fullness.

Jason hadn’t felt this… big before. Had he? Maybe it was just the position. The angle. The time apart. Maybe he was just harder this time. More eager. Maybe—

But he didn’t pause.

He slid out and thrust in again, harder. His hips slapped against her ass with a fleshy sound, and Emily choked on her breath, the rhythm shaking through her. The glass desk trembled beneath her. Her breasts bounced freely with every impact.

His hands were rough now. Urgent. One slid to her waist, the other gripping her shoulder as he found his rhythm. Hard, fast strokes, deep and relentless.

She cried out again—louder.

“God—fuck—yes—yes—been needing this—so long—”

No answer. Just a groan behind her. Deep. Guttural.

She was too far gone to care. Her body was blazing. Her walls pulsed around him with every thrust. Her clit ached, throbbing with need.

Then his hand slid between her legs, fingers finding that swollen bundle of nerves and rubbing it with skill and cruelty—fast circles, steady pressure, like he knew exactly how close she was.

She didn’t last.

Emily cried out, loud and raw, as her orgasm crashed through her like a wave. Her body clamped down around him, pulsing, gripping, her thighs shaking, her knees nearly buckling. She moaned shamelessly, her breath catching in sobs of pleasure as he fucked her through every last pulse.

And only when she lay slumped forward, boneless, thighs still twitching, her cheek against the cool glass, did he speak.

“I knew you'd give in eventually, Emily.”

Emily froze.

Her eyes shot open.

That voice—too smooth. Too rich.

Not Jason.

Not Jason.

Slowly—too slowly—she turned her head to look back over her shoulder.

Victor Tran was smirking down at her.

Still deep inside her.

Still rock hard.

Still holding her hips as if he owned them.

Victor smiled wider.

“Well,” he murmured, brushing her hair back gently, “this is certainly a surprise. But I have to say—one hell of a welcome.”

As the words landed, he slammed into her again—deep and hard.

“Nnnnh—ahh—!” she cried out, spine arching from the sudden thrust, her hips jolting back against him before she could think, instinctive, helpless.