R-18: MAYOR'S MISTRESS

They met in the most cliché of ways—City Hall, rainy Tuesday, too many umbrellas and not enough patience.

Solemn wasn’t supposed to be in the room. She was an intern, technically. Assigned to the Mayor’s communications team to "gain experience and exposure.” The kind of line HR throws around when they want a pretty face in the background of press photos.

But Solemn didn’t blend in.

She had a habit of wearing black pencil skirts a bit too tight, heels a bit too high. She had this way of walking into a room like she already owned it and Mayor Nathaniel noticed.

He noticed the first day. She was laughing in the hallway with a staffer, lips painted dark like wine, clipboard hugged to her chest. She looked up. Met his eyes.

Didn’t look away.

Most women did.

_____

It didn’t happen overnight. No, Nathaniel had discipline. Years of it. Built up over election campaigns and backroom deals, smiling at donors he hated and kissing babies he couldn’t name.

But Solemn?

She cracked something in him.

It was in the way she lingered just a little too close during briefings, how her perfume, smoky vanilla and something sharper, seeped into his focus until he couldn’t remember the numbers on the page. It was in her habit of leaning against doorframes when she spoke, chin tilted, lips parted like she was daring him to look.

He told himself it was harmless. Just another test of patience.

Until it turned into small betrayals, a brush of hands when she passed him notes during meetings. Lingering glances in the rearview mirror when she sat in the back seat of his car on the way to press events. Once, at a fundraiser, she fixed his tie, palms flat against his chest, her eyes saying everything her mouth didn’t.

And still, he resisted.

But desire is patient. It waits, coiling itself tighter, until the right night comes along.

The night of the blackout.

The storm hit just as the mayor’s press conference began. Power gone. Room dark. A thousand murmurs rising from the chamber. The emergency lights took their sweet time before flickering on.

He turned.

And she was there.

Rain clung to her blouse, sheer where the fabric kissed her skin. Her cheeks flushed, breath shallow, hair damp and curling at her neck. And in that instant, the fragile glass of his control shattered.

She whispered, “You okay, sir?”

He didn’t answer.

He stepped forward, one hand locking on her hip, the other twisting in her wet hair. She gasped, her body jerking against his, and he dragged her closer until there was no space left to breathe.

The chamber was chaotic—reporters shouting, aides fumbling in the dark, thunder rattling the windows. But somehow no one saw. Thank God no one saw.

His mouth crashed against hers, rough, consuming. The taste of rain, the scrape of teeth, nothing careful, nothing soft. She clawed at his jacket, half to push him away, half to hold on.

“Nathaniel—” she tried, voice strangled between them.

He silenced her with another kiss, harder, his grip in her hair unyielding. Her blouse clung to her skin, thin and transparent, and his hand slid lower, pressing into her hip like he owned it.

And Solemn kissed him back.

Harder.

______

After that, they stopped pretending.

Once a week at first. Then twice. Then anytime he called her in with a “close the door behind you” in that low, commanding tone.

And each time, it got filthier.

She súcked him off under his desk while he answered calls.

He bent her over the podium in the empty press room, one hand fisting her hair, the other gripping her thígh as he fvcked her in near silence.

He liked when she wore dresses. No únderwear. He liked to finger her during briefings, seated next to his chief of staff, his fingers stróking slow and cruel under the table as she fought to stay composed.

“You’re so wét and no one knows,” he’d whisper. “The whole damn room’s looking at your perfect little mouth and has no idea I’m three fingers deep.”

He made her cúm like that. Twice.

And she never looked away.

Because Solemn wasn’t weak. She was hungry.

She didn’t just want the man, she wanted the power. She wanted to be the reason the mayor broke his own rules, the reason he clenched the edge of his desk with white knuckles, the reason his discipline, built over years of campaigns and compromises—crumbled under her hands.

And Nathaniel let her. He let her feed on his control, strip it from him piece by piece, until there was nothing left of the careful man but the animal she’d dragged out.

_____

She shut the office door behind her. No lock. Just a soft click that sounded a little too much like surrender.

Nathaniel didn’t even glance up. He kept reading whatever was in that folder, something about a city budget or a zoning permit. Búllshit. She wasn’t here for any of that.

“I said five,” he muttered.

“I got impatient,” she said, stepping inside like sin in heels. “You left me waiting all day.”

That made him look up.

His gaze was slow and lethal, dragging over her body like a hand. Her blouse was nearly translucent in the low light, ivory silk that clung like skin. No bra. Just bare nípples under the fabric, tightened from nerves or lúst or both. Her skirt barely brushed mid-thigh, and when she crossed the room, he could see the sway of her hips and the outline of lace underneath.

He shut the folder.

“You think I don’t notice the way you dress when you’re desperate?”

“I know you do,” she said. “I like it when you stare.”

He stood.

The chair scraped back, sharp in the quiet, and for a moment she swore the sound went straight through her.

Nathaniel didn’t touch her at first. He just stood there, tall, steady, the air between them thick enough to choke on. His eyes cut over her blouse, her skirt, the lace he wasn’t supposed to see—and lingered. Long enough to make her thighs press together.

“You think just because you show up wét, I’ll drop everything and fvck you?”

She smiled at him, innocent and filthy all at once. “It’s worked so far.”

He kissed her, dragging her in by the hips until the desk caught the back of her thighs. He broke the kiss only to rip her blouse open, buttons snapping, silk sliding off her shoulders in one rough shove. The office air was cold against her bare skin, her nipples already hard, and his mouth found them fast, sucking hard, biting just enough to tear a whimper from her throat.

“I should bend you over this desk,” he growled against her breast, voice rough, dangerous, “and make you beg for every inch.”

Solemn arched into him, breathless. “So do it.”

He spun her. Fast. One hand on the back of her neck, the other yanking her skirt up to her waist. Her lace pànties were sóaked, practically see-through. He dragged a finger up her slít, groaning at how ready she was.

“Fvck, you’re dripping.”

She braced her palms on the desk, hips tilting back to him. “You gonna waste time talking, or—”

The sound of tearing fabric cut her off. He ripped the pànties clean off her and stuffed them in his pocket like a trophy.

She gasped. “Those were expensive.”

“So am I,” he muttered, undoing his belt with one hand. “And I’m not free tonight.”

His cóck slapped against her àss, hot and thick and heavy. He didn’t tease. No warning. He grabbed her hips, spread her, and pushed in with one brutal thrust.

Solemn choked on a móan. He was thick, obscenely so and the stretch always hurt so fucking good. Her forehead dropped to the desk, nails scratching across the surface.

“You take it like a good girl every damn time,” he muttered, voice tight. “But you never come here looking for good, do you?”

Nathaniel started to move, slow at first, grinding into her so deep she saw stars, then pulling back to slam in again with punishing force. The desk creaked beneath her. Papers scattered. Her moans grew louder with every slap of skin against skin.

“God—Nathaniel—” she gasped, fingers gripping the edge of the desk so hard her knuckles whitened.

“Say it,” he growled, pressing down between her shoulder blades, forcing her chest flat to the wood as he drove harder. “Say you come here for this.”

“For you,” she choked out, cheek pressed to the desk, hair plastered to her damp skin. “I come here for you.”

His laugh was dark, ragged, almost broken. “That’s right. You come here to get ruined.” He pinned her wrists above her head, trapping her against the desk, his weight keeping her caged while his hips pounded into her mercilessly.

The desk groaned under them with a violent crack. One more thrust and it might collapse, but neither of them cared, he was fucking her like he owned every breath in her lungs, like stopping meant death.

“Keep quiet,” he snapped, grabbing a fistful of her hair. “Door’s not locked. You want the whole building to hear how much you love getting ruined by your mayor?”

Solemn shook her head, helpless, lips parted in a silent cry as he angled his hips and hit her just right.

He leaned over her, chest against her back, hand sliding between her legs to rub her clít in firm, tight circles.

“You gonna cóme for me?” he whispered in her ear. “Soak my cóck right here, while I’m still deciding if I even like you today?”

Her body tightened, knees giving out. The orgasm ripped through her sharp and brutal, like every nerve was snapping awake at once. Her thighs shook, her muscles locked down around him, and she buried her teeth in her forearm just to keep from screaming.

Her orgasm still trembled through her, body weak, breaths ragged. He pulled out slowly, watching the way she clenched around nothing, and dragged her down off the desk by her hair.

“On your knees,” he ordered, voice low and rough.

She dropped, still shaky, but he didn’t give her time to recover. He shoved his cock against her lips, still wet with her own release, smearing it across her mouth until she opened for him. He pushed in deep, making her taste herself on his shaft, groaning when her tongue flicked against him.

“Yeah,” he rasped, fist tight in her hair, guiding her head as she sucked him down. “Taste what you did to me.”

She gagged when he drove deeper, tears stinging her eyes, spit slicking her chin. He held her there for a moment, cock buried in her throat, before dragging her back by the hair—strings of saliva glistening between her lips and his shaft.

“Messy little thing,” he growled, shoving back in. “You love it, don’t you? Getting filled up, then choking on the taste of yourself.”

Her nails dug into his thighs as she sucked harder, tongue circling him greedily. The taste was sharp, her release still clinging to him and he twitched in her mouth at the way she moaned around him, as if swallowing him whole wasn’t enough, she wanted more.

He threw his head back, jaw tight, hips snapping into her face. “Fuck—"

He yanked her up off her knees before she could even swallow him down fully. He sat himself down on the chair and dragged her onto his lap, straddling him.

“Ride it,” he ordered, voice rough, hands gripping her hips like he’d bruise her. “Show me how much you want it.”

Her legs trembled as she sank down on him, still sensitive from her orgasm, her walls fluttering around his cock. She gasped, clutching his shoulders for balance as he filled her again. He slapped her ass, sharp and demanding. “Faster.”

She bounced on him, desk rattling with each drop of her weight, his teeth grazing her neck before biting down hard enough to make her whimper. His hand slid between them, thumb pressing against her clit, forcing another sharp cry from her throat.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he hissed against her ear, dragging her down harder, forcing her to grind against him.

Her thighs burned from the pace, every drop down his length sending shocks through her already spent body. She tried to slow, tried to catch her breath, but his grip on her hips kept her moving, grinding her down on him until her vision blurred.

“You’re mine,” he growled, dragging his mouth over her throat, biting hard enough to leave marks. “No matter who I smile for in front of a camera, this—you—belong to me.”

Her cry broke into a sobbing moan as he pressed his thumb harder against her clit, twisting it until she jolted against him. Her body betrayed her, her hips rolled faster, chasing the edge.

Nathaniel chuckled darkly against her ear. “There it is. Come again for me, right here—make a mess all over my cock.”

Her walls fluttered violently, and she collapsed against his chest as another orgasm ripped through her. He didn’t stop. He held her pinned, grinding her down on him through every aftershock until her nails dug deep into his skin, muffling her broken sounds against his neck.

Only then did he finally slam up into her with brutal thrusts, chair creaking under them. His breath grew ragged, curses spilling between clenched teeth until he buried himkself deep and groaned, spilling inside her, keeping her locked on his lap so she took every drop.

He stayed there for a moment, chest heaving against hers, his hand tangled in her hair. Then he leaned back with a wicked grin, cock still buried inside her.

“Clean yourself up,” he said. “And next time?”

She looked at him, fvcked out and glowing.

He smirked. “No panties at all.”