Yes

Victor’s thrust slammed into her just as the last tremor of her orgasm trembled through her thighs, and Emily's breath hitched violently, her knees nearly collapsing under the sudden, overwhelming pressure.

“Ahhh—nnh—w-wait—” she tried to say, but it came out broken, nothing more than a whimper dragged over her tongue.

Victor didn’t wait. Didn’t pause.

He just kept moving.

His hips rolled with obscene precision, thick cock dragging slow and deep through her slick, overstimulated cunt, splitting her open again and again with a heavy wet sound—schlk, schlk, thwack—every thrust grinding against her walls, every grind sending sparks of raw pleasure dancing along her spine.

Her body twitched beneath him, helpless. Too sensitive. Too tender. Every thrust made her gasp, her cunt gripping him involuntarily, clutching tight with each pulse. Her breasts—nursing-swollen and unbearably full—slid along the desk, nipples catching against the cold glass, aching, leaking.

Milk beaded from her tips.

Victor saw.

He groaned low and rough and brought one hand around her front, cupping a breast, squeezing it with greedy fingers. His thumb brushed the sensitive peak, and warm milk trickled out over his skin. He growled, hips jerking harder.

“You like this,” he muttered, his voice thick. “All this softness—fuck, Emily. I knew you were hiding this under all those sweaters.”

She shook her head faintly, but her body told the truth.

She was soaked. Her pussy drooled around his cock, every slap of his hips splashing her slick back onto her thighs. Her inner walls fluttered, **** and clenching, as if milking him deeper. The desk shook under her. Her breath hitched with every thrust.

He slammed deep and paused, grinding against her, the base of his cock pressing flush against her dripping folds, his balls smacking up against her swollen clit.

“Ahh—ohfuck—”

Her whole body jolted forward, mouth open in a sob. She was trembling—flooded with sensation. Her clit was so engorged she couldn’t tell where her last orgasm ended and the next was beginning.

Victor’s rhythm never faltered, brutal and relentless, like he’d been waiting for this moment for years.

And maybe… he had.

Emily’s mind fought to focus, to hold on to something other than the raw heat rolling through her, but her thoughts kept spinning back—back to Jason.

Jason, who hadn’t touched her in weeks. Jason, who sighed when she climbed into bed beside him. Jason, who barely looked at her breasts anymore except to ask if she’d spilled something.

And Jason hated Victor.

Every time he drank, Victor’s name came up. The smug bastard. The snake. Always outmaneuvering him at work. Always snatching projects out from under him. Always looking for ways to make him look small.

Jason never knew that Victor flirted with Emily at company parties.

Never knew about the night Victor whispered in her ear at the lakeside bar, hand grazing the small of her back.
“You ever change your mind, Emily… I’m right here.”

She hadn’t told Jason. Had pretended to laugh it off. Had walked away.

And now?

She realized that. He thought she’d changed her mind.

And maybe…

Maybe he wasn’t wrong.

She was still sensitive, everything amplified. But her body wanted it now. Her moans got higher again, laced with something new—need building once more.

It was so much better than Jason. Deeper. Hotter. Rougher. She didn’t have to coax or guide or pretend. Victor just knew.

The only man who’d ever made her feel this way before was Derrick—her ex in college. That one week they spent holed up in his apartment after finals, where he’d taken her on every surface, every morning and night until she couldn’t walk straight. Jason had never come close.

Another sharp thrust—schlck—and she cried out again, the sound raw, her eyes squeezed shut.

“Ah—f-fuck—”

Her mind scrambled for a reason, any reason, some way to justify what she was letting happen. What she was enjoying.

Jason stopped touching me.
Jason left me feeling invisible.
Jason never made me feel like this.

She moaned again, louder this time, her voice breaking as Victor pushed deep and ground his hips against her, making her clit throb even without his fingers.

Her thoughts twisted, shame and pleasure blurring.

If he didn’t want someone else fucking his wife, maybe he should’ve acted like she still mattered.
Maybe he should’ve reminded her she was more than just a mom.
Maybe Victor’s the only one who still sees her.

“F-fuck—fuck—Victor—”

His hands gripped her tighter, fingers biting into the plush give of her hips, and then he was on her again—leaning over, hot breath against her ear.

Victor leaned over her again, hands sliding from her hips to her waist, one palm splaying across her belly—fingers sifting down until they grazed her clit again, teasing it.

“You think Jason could ever fuck you like this?”

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Her body answered for her.

He rubbed tight, punishing circles while his cock drove up into her again and again, and she shattered—

“A-AHHH—fuuuhh—ck—!”

—coming hard, full-body, her pussy convulsing around him, squeezing him in fluttering waves. Her thighs shook. Her breasts spilled milk. Her mouth hung open in a silent cry as the pleasure ripped through her—raw, endless, humiliatingly good.

And Victor—still buried deep, cock twitching inside her—groaned, deep and possessive.

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

Then he thrust again—sharp, brutal, final.

Her moan pitched high and broken.

She was being fucked by Jason’s rival.

And still, he didn’t stop.