Office Hours

Mark's POV

I walked into my office at 8:47 AM, coffee in hand, a fresh suit on my back, and a hard-on that hadn't fully subsided since I left Room 14.

This morning had been a master class in acting. I had kissed Elena goodbye at the front door, told her I loved her, and smiled at her like nothing in the world was wrong. She had absolutely no idea that her husband had spent the night buried in a twenty-two-year-old girl, coming undone in ways he hadn't felt in decades.

Now, sitting in my leather chair behind my mahogany desk, the charade was over. The mask was off and I was alone with my dangerous, filthy, consuming thoughts.

I set down the coffee and leaned back in my chair, loosening my tie. My office was quiet, the door closed, the blinds drawn. The floor was barely awake—just a few early risers tapping at keyboards down the hall. The hum of the air conditioner was the only sound, low and steady, doing nothing to cool the heat rising in my chest.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone.

Becca: "I'm at breakfast with my dad. He just offered me a job interview. I feel like a fraud."

I read the message twice. I could picture her sitting at that kitchen table, forcing a smile while Dave warmed her pancakes, completely unaware that his little girl had been screaming my name just hours ago. The guilt she was carrying—I could feel it through the screen. But instead of making me pull back, it made me want her even more.

I typed back.

Mark: "You're not a fraud. You're a woman who knows what she wants. You'll get the job, and after you get it, you'll come and see me."

I paused. The thrill of typing that, of knowing she was reading it while her father sat across from her, sent a rush of heat straight to my groin. I leaned forward, the leather creaking beneath me. I wanted more. I wanted to push her, to own her, to make her crave me the same way I craved her.

Mark: "What are you wearing right now?"

The dots appeared immediately.

Becca: "Jeans and a sweater. Nothing special."

Mark: "I don't want to know what you're wearing. I want to know what you're not wearing."

I watched the dots bounce. I could almost see her blush, her thighs pressing together under the table. I could see her biting her lip, her eyes darting around the kitchen to make sure her parents weren't looking.

Becca: "No panties. You told me not to wear them."

Fuck.

I shifted in my chair, adjusting myself through the fabric of my trousers. I was already half-hard, the memory of last night flooding back—the way she had bent over, the way she had cried out my name, the way she had begged me not to pull out. The smell of her, the taste of her, the sound of her breath hitching when I pushed deeper.

I glanced at my office door. Still closed and locked.

I stood up, walked to the small bathroom attached to my office, and locked that door too. I leaned against the counter, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My tie was loose, my collar unbuttoned. My eyes were dark, hungry, completely unapologetic. I looked like a man who had lost control—and I didn't care.

I pulled my phone out again.

Mark: "I need you right now. I'm in my office, thinking about you bent over last night."

Becca: "I'm thinking about your hands. Your mouth and the way you looked at me when you pushed inside."

I unbuckled my belt with one hand, letting my trousers fall open. I pulled my cock out, already thick and heavy, the tip glistening. I wrapped my hand around myself, leaned back against the cold tile, and closed my eyes.

I didn't imagine a warm body. I imagined her.

Her voice, her hips, the way she gasped when I hit that spot deep inside her. I imagined her lips wrapped around me, her tongue swirling, her eyes looking up at me with that desperate, hungry look she wore when she was about to break.

I stroked myself slowly at first, savoring the friction, building the tension. I pressed my thumb against the wet tip, spreading the slickness, and my hips bucked forward.

Mark: "Touch yourself for me, Becca. Right now. I want to know you're thinking about me."

Becca: "I'm already wet. I'm thinking about your mouth. I'm thinking about your massive cock buried deep inside me."

I groaned, my hand moving faster. I pressed my palm against the tile, bracing myself, the rhythm building into a frantic, desperate pace. The heat was building low in my belly, tightening, coiling like a spring about to snap.

I imagined her spread out on my desk. I imagined pushing her down, burying my face between her thighs, tasting her. I imagined her hands in my hair, pulling, begging. I imagined her screaming my name loud enough for the entire floor to hear.

Fuck, I want you.

The pressure built in my gut, hot and tight. I tightened my grip, pumped faster, and felt the familiar curl of release coiling in my spine. I bit down on my bottom lip, stifling a groan as I spilled over my hand, thick and hot, dripping onto the white porcelain of the sink.

I stood there, panting, my forehead pressed against the mirror, my hand slick and trembling. My reflection stared back at me—wild and satisfied.

I cleaned myself up with a towel, tucked myself back in, and washed my hands. I looked at my reflection one last time.

I was a married man. A business owner and I had just jerked off in my office bathroom to a girl who was still eating breakfast with her dad.

I didn't feel guilty.

I felt alive.

I picked up my phone one last time.

Mark: "I just came in my office bathroom thinking about you. That's the power you have over me. Don't ever forget it."

Becca: "I won't. I'll be thinking about you all day."

I pocketed the phone, straightened my tie, and unlocked the bathroom door. I walked back to my desk, sat down, and opened my laptop. The workday was just beginning, but my mind was already planning the next time I would have her.