The morning after

You wake the next morning already hard, the thick ache familiar and unwelcome. Natasha is on the far side of the bed, back turned, the same careful distance she has perfected over the last six months. When you shift closer she murmurs something about needing more sleep and edges further away. The rejection lands the same way it always does. You get up without pushing it, shower, and dress while the memory of Cheryl’s yoga-toned body taking every inch of you in the conference room the night before sits sharp and vivid under your skin.

Breakfast is silent. Natasha moves through the kitchen in her robe, short curvy body soft and closed off, brunette hair loose. She doesn’t ask about your late night at the office. You don’t volunteer anything. The ordinary routine of coffee and toast feels thinner than usual against the knowledge of what you left inside Cheryl and the promise she made about the presentation.

The drive to work is short and tight with residual heat. You park, take the lift, and step out onto the familiar floor. The fluorescent lights hum. Cheryl is already at her desk, posture perfect, blouse fitted, the competitive focus back in place as if the night before never happened. When she glances up and meets your eyes for half a second the corner of her mouth lifts, private and knowing, before she returns to her screen.

Ruby is on the HR side, head down over a file. The earlier near-miss conversations and the attraction that has been building sit unresolved in the background. You settle at your own desk, open the laptop, and pull up the final versions of the regional numbers for Friday’s presentation. The work is still real. The competition with Cheryl is still real. But every time you shift in your chair the memory of her cunt clenching around you while she told you to fill her rises unbidden, and the thick length of your cock begins to harden all over again under the desk.