DDD: Daddies Dirty Desire
Months slipped by in a haze of stolen heat.
They never talked about what it was. Never needed to. It just kept happening—sharper, hungrier, more reckless every time.
Supply closet on the 12th floor: Damian shoving Alex inside during a fire-drill evacuation drill that nobody else took seriously. Door barely latched, Alex’s back to shelves of printer paper, pants yanked to his knees. Damian fucked him fast and quiet—hand over Alex’s mouth, hips snapping, come spilling inside before the all-clear alarm even sounded. They walked out separately, faces blank, Alex’s thighs slick under his slacks for the rest of the afternoon.