January Week 2: Friday-Leah Lovemaking...

There was no drawn-out seduction, no subtlety or ceremony. The moment Howard locked the door and turned back to her, it was as if someone had thrown a lit match into a trail of gasoline—the two of them combusted. Leah’s world narrowed to the frenzied collision of mouths, the **** groping hands, the fever-dream heat that eclipsed everything else. Her glasses skewed off her face; hair tumbled out of its no-nonsense bun as Howard’s hands yanked and tugged at every fastening on her blouse and skirt. She heard the scatter of pens and papers as she was hoisted onto the edge of his desk, her skirt riding up around her waist, the thin lace of her panties already soaked through and clinging to her skin. He didn’t waste time with sweet talk or even the pretense of gentleness: his mouth covered hers, tongue plundering deep, teeth scraping her lip with just enough pain to make her gasp.

The air in the office was cold, but Howard’s hands were volcanic. He shoved her knees apart and dropped to his own, no hesitation, no shame, burying his face in her womanhood like a starving man at a feast. Leah almost lost consciousness as his tongue worked her, broad and flat, then pointed and nimble, switching between ravenous slurping and surgical attention. She felt his stubble abrade her inner thighs; his leverage on her ass was bruising, as if he was determined to leave marks there. She didn’t care. She wanted the marks. She wanted everything—even the humiliation that came with being reduced so quickly from a put-together professional woman into a writhing, moaning mess.

She braced herself on the desk with both hands, banging her elbow on the stapler, which only drove home the reality: she was being devoured by her boss in the very same place where he’d just been sending emails to angry or concerned parents. She could hear Mr. Howard’s breathing—animal, guttural—interspersed with obscene little sounds as he licked and sucked and bit at her. It was messy and unrefined and way too loud for what should have been a covert tryst, but that only made it hotter.

She gritted her teeth to keep from screaming, but her body betrayed her. Her back arched, heels drumming against the desk drawers, hands scrambling blindly for purchase. Howard’s tongue speared inside her, flicking and curling, then retreated to flick mercilessly at her clit while he pushed two thick fingers in at once. She almost came right then, the pressure and friction winding her up so tight her vision pixelated. She could feel herself gushing, soaking his mouth and chin, and the knowledge that he relished it—craved it—drove her higher.