ZaydenBy the time I was done with her, her legs were shaking.She was still bent over my desk, breath shallow, hands gripping the edges like she needed the wood to stay grounded. Her blouse hung open, skirt wrinkled around her waist, skin flushed with the heat of what I’d just done to her.I stepped back slowly, tucking myself in, and watched as she tried to gather herself, her body still trembling, her pride barely holding together.And I couldn’t hide the smirk on my face.Because she had walked into my office this morning like a stranger. Like a professional. Like she hadn’t ridden me so hard nights ago I nearly forgot my own name.But now?Now she was a mess, my mess.“Still think it was just a one-night thing?” I asked, voice low, teasing.She turned slowly, fixing her clothes, chin held high even as her legs wobbled. Her hair was tousled, lipstick smudged, and yet she still tried to meet my gaze with that same defiance.“It was supposed to be,” she said, chest still rising and
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