Printer hums in the open-space. Coffee scent mixes with his musky cologne. I steal glances at Mr. Sinik across desks piled with sketches. Ambitious junior designer, 20, ponytail swinging as I hustle portfolios. He’s untouchable—vermilion suit, violet shirt, black hat shadowing stormy eyes. I stalk his black Mercedes home. Flowery lawn, electric blue door. No ring. Obsession burns.
Meeting ends. Colleagues file out. He calls, ice-cold: ‘Nelly, stay after.’ Heart pounds like the AC drone. Door clicks shut, locked. Mouse clicks fade. His gaze pierces: ‘Your 3D renders suck. Perspective’s off. Why are you here?’ Whip-crack words sting. Average 4/20 on critiques. I snap, ‘Fine, I’m out!’ Turn to flee. He grabs my hand. Electricity surges. ‘I’d thought you sharper, Nelly.’ My name—velvet whisper. Tremble. He kisses my knuckles. ‘Be my muse tonight.’ Mouth dry. Pussy throbs. ‘Yes.’
The Building Tension
End of day. Elevator dings to third-floor studio. Mannequins lurk, tables cluttered, mirror gleams. I wait on desk edge. He enters, sheds hat, glasses. ‘Center. Pose like models.’ Strip to lingerie. Hair cascades. Chair. Legs spread. Hands between thighs. Halogen buzzes on. Pencil scratches paper. Fifteen minutes. Immortal.
He beckons. Shows sketch—me, perfect. Grabs my arm. Pulls to lap. Fear. Lust. Lips brush mine. Opium taste. I devour him—fierce, hungry. Tongues clash. ‘Nelly…’ Growl. Desk. Unclasps bra. Fingers trace tits. Slow. Precise. Neck suck—purple mark. Back strokes. Hair tugs. ‘Professor—boss…’ Hand silences. Kisses cleavage. I yank jacket, unbutton shirt. ‘Too impatient.’ Laugh. Licks nipples. Bites flanks. Shirt off—ripped abs, pale skin. Legs hook waist. Hands roam pecs, back. Passionate clash. Boxer tents. Skirt off—no panties needed. Naked glory.
The Explosive Release
Desk cold on hot skin. Bites hip. Kisses basin, thigh. Tease—clit peck, then up. Frustrated moan. Push shoulders. Tongue trails. Circles clit. Finger dips—wet fountain. Sucks. Flicks. Pumps slow, then fast. G-spot hunt. Second finger. Deep, rough. Waves crash. I buck. He knows.
Boxer drops. Cock springs—thick, veined. Pushes in. Tight heat grips. Slow thrusts. Skin slides. Deeper. Nipple suck. Pace ramps. Hips slam. ‘Fuck, so tight.’ I cream. Clench. He growls. Fills me—hot spurts. Bodies quake. Scents mingle—sweat, cum, coffee.
Printer whirs distant. He wipes me tender. I lick lips. Collapse on shoulder. Breaths sync. ‘Our secret.’ Adjust bra. Smooth skirt. Ponytail neat. Door unlocks. Click. Back to open-space. Glance shared. Mask on. Meeting resumes. Coffee sips. No one knows.