Printer whirs in the corner. Open-space buzzes. Clicks of mice echo. Coffee scent mixes with my perfume. Heavy, intoxicating. I catch Mohsen’s eyes across the desks. He’s the IT whiz, buried in his thesis code. Dark eyes, lean frame. I’m Fatma, the visiting trainer from Tunis. Teaching French lit to execs. Ambitious. Professional. But my pulse races when he stares. Hierarchies blur. Dossiers pile up. Our fingers brush passing files. Heat builds. No words. Just looks. Legs cross under tables. Skirt rides up. He adjusts his pants. Tension coils tight. Late afternoon. Team scatters. I linger. ‘Need help with that projector?’ he asks. Voice low. We head to the conference room. Door clicks shut. Lock snaps. Heart pounds. Air thick. His breath quickens. Mine too.
Window blinds half-drawn. Sun fades. I lean on the table. He steps close. ‘Fatma…’ Fingers trace my arm. Goosebumps. Coffee breath mingles with my jasmine perfume. I play Oum Kalthoum low on my phone. ‘Les Ruines’ whispers. Vibes us both. Cigarette from my bag. Hidden pack. We share drags. Smoke curls. Forbidden already. His hand on my waist. Pulls me in. Lips crash. Hungry. Tongues tangle. Skirt hikes. His cock hard against me. ‘Fuck, you’re wet,’ he growls. Fingers slide under panties. Soak them. I gasp. Table edge digs in. Papers scatter. Printer hums outside. Risk spikes thrill. I drop to knees. Zipper down. Cock springs free. Thick. Veiny. Lips wrap it. Suck slow. Tongue swirls head. He groans. Hands in my hair. ‘Suck it deeper, Fatma.’ I do. Gags echo soft. Saliva drips. He pulls me up. Rips blouse open. Buttons pop. Bra off. Nipples hard. He sucks one. Bites. I moan. Bend over table. Skirt up. Panties yanked. ‘Fuck me now.’ Cock teases slit. Wet folds part. Thrusts in. Deep. Fills me. ‘So tight,’ he grunts. Pounds hard. Desk shakes. Slaps skin on skin. Fast. Raw. ‘Harder, Mohsen! Fuck my pussy!’ I cry. Clit throbs. Builds quick. He grips hips. Rails me. Sweat drips. Perfume mixes with sex musk. Coffee lingers faint. Door rattles? Imagination? Adrenaline surges. I cum first. Walls clench. Scream muffled. He follows. Hot spurts deep. Fills me. Collapses over. Panting.
The Building Tension
Pull apart. Cum drips down thigh. Quick wipe with tissues. Skirt smooths. Blouse buttons fumble. Half-assed. Hair fixed. Lipstick smear gone. His tie straight. Zipper up. Glance in reflection. Composed. Almost. Unlock door. Click. Step out. Open-space empty now. Colleagues gone. Next meeting? Fake it. Walk steady. Heels click floor. Smile at passing intern. Heart still races. Pussy aches good. Secret locked inside. Back to desk. Emails. Act normal. But thighs slick. Memory burns. Boss calls. ‘Fatma, ready for the brief?’ ‘Yes, perfectly.’ Mask on. Lust hidden. Ambition sharp. Until next time.