Last push before summer vacation. Emails piling up. Printer humming like a pissed-off bee. Click-click of my mouse. Coffee scent hits, mixed with Melanie’s overpowering Opium perfume wafting from her office. Door slams somewhere down the hall. France bitches at the machine again. Fifty cents down the drain.
Benjamin struts in with her. That asshole from traffic. The one who flipped me off, nearly clipped my bumper on the bus lane. Now he’s the new mail boy. Fresh-faced, cocky grin. Eyes lock. Heat rises. I bite my tongue. ‘Follow him close,’ Melanie pinched earlier. Yeah, real close.
Tension Builds Between the Coffee Machine and My Desk
Open-space buzz. Phones ring. Keyboards clack. I grab files, nod at France. ‘Handle the mail stack.’ She shrugs, drags him to the breakroom. Door half-open. I peek. He’s sorting envelopes, ass tight in chinos. Coffee drips. Percolator gurgles. Perfume lingers, cloying sweet.
Afternoon drags. Melanie yaps about quotas. Her voice grates. I escape to my desk. Window cracked for air, but Paris smog fights Opium. Benjamin knocks. ‘Need help with your inbox?’ Smirk. Asshole knows. Traffic beef hangs thick. ‘Yeah. Breakroom. Now.’ Door clicks shut behind us. Locked. Snick echoes.
Tension snaps. His hand on my waist. ‘Sorry about the bird.’ I shove him against the counter. Coffee pot rattles. ‘Shut up. You owe me.’ Lips crash. Tongue invades. Hands yank my blouse. Buttons pop. Printer outside whirs. Someone walks by. Footsteps fade.
Quick, Raw Fuck and Back to Business as Usual
Skirt hikes up. Panties shoved aside. His fingers probe wet pussy. ‘Fuck, you’re soaked.’ Growl in my ear. I claw his belt. Zipper rasps. Cock springs free. Thick, veined. ‘Traffic made me want this?’ He laughs low. Spins me. Bends over sink. Cold edge bites hips.
Thrusts in hard. No mercy. Pussy stretches. Gasp escapes. Hand clamps my mouth. ‘Quiet, boss lady.’ Hips slam. Wet slaps mix with coffee drip. Door handle jiggles. Heart pounds. ‘Occupied!’ he barks. Voice steady. Lie. Fucks deeper. Balls slap ass.
I grind back. ‘Harder, you prick.’ Dirty whisper. His grip bruises. Fingers dig thighs. Perfume chokes air. Sweat beads. Climax builds. Fast. Brutal. Stars burst. I shudder, bite lip bloody. He grunts. Fills me hot. Cum drips down thigh.
Pulls out. Zips up. I straighten skirt. Wipe sink. Unlock door. Click. Casual nod to France passing. ‘Mail sorted?’ She eyes us weird. ‘Yeah.’ Back to desk. Mouse clicks resume. Melanie calls meeting. I smooth hair, grab notepad. Legs shaky. Pussy throbs. Smile perfect. Professional mask on. Adrenaline buzz. Best fucking day. Vacation tomorrow. But this? Secret fuel.