Something about starting your morning being bent over the bathroom counter by your hot boyfriend just puts a girl in a good mood.
I don’t even mind that I’m spending a beautiful afternoon behind a desk tucked away in a stuffy, minuscule cupboard of an office. When the office assholes make their usual snide comments about my coffee-making abilities, they just roll off my back. When I’m asked to copy something for the thousandth time that day, I do it with a smile. And when, while sorting through a mountain of paperwork, I glance up to find Paul paying me a visit, my smile doesn’t fade. “What can I do for you?”
It doesn’t take long for his surprise at my pleasantries to fade into a slick smirk. “Someone’s in a good mood.” His knees knock against mine as he rounds my desk and props himself on the edge. “Happy to see me?”
My smile twitches ever so slightly. The wheels of my chair creak quietly as I roll away from him. “Did you need something?”
“Yeah.” He inches closer again. “You.”
Ah, shit.
Paul’s fingers brush my thigh and I shift out of his reach, crossing my legs and angling them away from him. His forehead creases in a frown. “You’ve kinda disappeared on me lately.”
“Right.” I clear my throat. “Yeah, I, uh, got back with my ex.” Ex doesn’t feel like the right word to describe Jackson but it’s the only one I can think of right now. “So we can’t… you know, anymore.”
Paul’s smile drops. “Oh.” He huffs out a dull laugh, an irritated gleam in his eyes. “Recently, I’m guessing? Or were you fucking both of us at the same time?”
I flinch at his tone. “Don’t be a dick, Paul.”
“I’d rather be a dick than a slut.”
Charming.
With a sigh, I stand. Stalking towards the door, I hold it wide open with one hand, gesturing for him to leave with the other. “Get out, Paul, or I’m reporting you to HR for harassment.”
A simple, empty threat but it’s enough for him to concede. “Whatever,” he stomps towards me. “You’re not even worth it. Just a shit, easy fuck.”
“What did you just say?”
Both of us freeze. Our gazes snap towards the man lingering just a few feet down the hall. A paper takeout bag from Greenies in one hand, a bouquet of flowers in the other, Jackson grasps the latter so tightly, I’m surprised the stems don’t snap. He stands stock still, shoulders squared and body taut, almost like he’s ready for a fight, but there’s this eerie calm expression on his face. Calculating, almost.
When no one replies, Jackson cocks his head slightly, dark eyes burning into Paul. “I asked you a question.”
“Mind your own business.” Paul scoffs but it’s shaky. He tries to slip away but Jackson is in front of him in a flash, blocking his escape.
“Jackson,” I say, an edge of warning to my voice, my eyes darting around the office. It’s almost empty at this time, with most people out on their lunch break and anyone still here has their gaze trained on a computer screen but still. I don’t want to make a scene in front of the handful of people lingering.
Jackson’s gaze flickers to me for a moment, and none of the anger lurking in there is directed at me but it still knocks me back a step. Yeah, he heard exactly what Paul said.
And he is pissed.
“Listen,” Paul raises two pacifying hands, “I didn’t say anything. We were just talking.”
“No, she was asking you to leave. You were being rude.”
“I get why you’re pissed. I’d be pissed too if my girlfriend was ran through by half the office. But don’t take it out on me.”
Motherfucker.
“You lying little-”
One kiss of Jackson’s teeth thwarts my intention of slapping some manners into Paul.
It shouldn’t be hot, the threatening look he pins Paul with. It shouldn’t send a shiver up my spine, the single step he takes towards him, just enough so he invades his personal space. And the voice Jackson addresses Paul with, the low, quiet one loaded with something subtly menacing definitely shouldn’t send heat pooling between my legs.
“Talk about my girl like that again and we’re gonna have a problem.”
Whatever effect he has on me, he has the opposite on Paul.
The guy pales, shrinking as his shoulders slump. On the contrary, Jackson seems to grow, getting taller and taller until he’s towering over Paul. A firm hand on his shoulder stops any more escape attempts. “Apologize.”
“It was just a joke.”
“I’m not laughing.”
Paul swallows.
A full minute passes before he looks my way, cowardly staring at a miscellaneous spot above my head and mumbling a weak apology.
Jackson’s brows shoot up. “What was that?”
Pursing his lips, Paul readjusts his gaze to meet mine. “I’m sorry.”
“Good.” Jackson nods, clapping Paul on the shoulder before not-so-gently shoving him away. “Now, fuck off.”
Without waiting to see if he listens, Jackson ushers me into my office, shutting the door behind him with a little more force than necessary.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I admonish without meaning it, pecking his cheek and taking the stuff from his hands. A small smile curves my lips as I sniff the pretty flowers, a welcome addition to this dreary hole, before setting them on the desk, dropping the takeout next to them. “You brought me lunch?”
The quiet snick of the door locking is his only reply.
Turning around slowly, I find Jackson still lingering by the door, an overwhelmingly tense expression on his face. “That him?”
I don’t need to ask for further clarification. “Yes.”
A deep noise grumbles in his chest as he leans against the door, no distrust or anger in his tone when he asks, “Why was he in here?”
Just concern.
Okay, yeah, and maybe a little jealousy.
As much as I know the truth will piss him off, I know lying is much worse. “He was hitting on me.”
“By calling you a slut? Charming.”
Locking my hands together behind my back, my thumb goes to town on my ring. “I told him to leave.”
“I heard.” Slowly, Jackson advances until he’s close enough to touch me, a hand cradling one cheek while lips graze the other. “I can’t believe you were fucking that tool.”
I huff. “Me neither.”
Two hands clamping down on my ass draws a surprised yelp out of me, closely followed by another one when I’m suddenly hoisted up and deposited on the desk. His hands coast up my thighs, dragging the tight, pencil skirt I chose to wear this morning up with him so he can part my legs and stand between them. His fingers splay across my skin, thumbs stroking my inner thighs. “I fucking hate that he got to have you for a little bit.”
“I’m-”
“Don’t apologize.” Feather-light touches morph into a tight, possessive grip. “All mine now.”
Rolling my eyes, I shove at his chest gently, grumbling ‘caveman’ under my breath but I can’t keep the grin off my face. Damn right.
He smiles back but it’s tense. He’s tense. All rigid and wound up, and I do the only thing I can think of to calm him down; I lock my legs around his waist, fist his t-shirt between my fingers, and drag his mouth to mine.
It’s instantaneous, the shift in his demeanor. He’s still a solid wall of muscle beneath my palms but the stiffness recedes as he melts against me, pressing every inch of him against every inch of me. Somehow, it’s still not enough. The clothes separating us is too much, but Jackson’s making fast work of solving that problem.
Nimble fingers deftly unbutton my blouse, untuck it from my skirt and toss it aside in one smooth move, my bra following close behind. A little voice in the back of my head reminds me that only a locked door separates me from my co-workers, but it promptly shuts the fuck up the moment his mouth clamps around a pert nipple. The other one, he rolls between his thumb and forefinger, rapidly creating an ache only he can soothe as white-hot pleasure shoots down my spine and settles between my thighs.
He grunts against my skin, slipping a hand between my ass and the desk so he can hoist me higher, get more of me in his mouth. I arch my back to achieve the same thing, one hand needily gripping his hair, the other clamped over my mouth in a weak attempt to stifle the noises escaping me.
When my hips start grinding against his, he releases my nipple with a wet plop and I groan in quiet protest. I try to guide him back to where I want him but he resists, his stubborn smirk burning my collarbones. Leaving a trail of wet kisses up my neck, he tugs my bottom lip between his teeth. “How many times did he fuck you, Luna?”
I don’t answer at first. I barely even hear him. I’m way too caught up in the hand hovering above the waistband of my skirt, the muscles in my stomach contracting downright painfully in anticipation. Rough fingers tweak my nipple. “Answer me, sweetheart.”
“Eight.” Eight times. Easy to remember because it was eight times I felt guilty as hell. Eight times that instead of enjoying the post-orgasm haze, I drowned my sorrows in wine and ice cream. Eight times that I showered with the water on boiling hot in the hopes it would erase the icky feeling from my skin.
Teeth nip at my jaw. “Did he make you come?” I know better than to hesitate this time, nodding jerkily. A displeased noise rumbles in his chest. “How many times?”
“Every time.”
“That’s eight orgasms you owe me,” he murmurs huskily, snapping my waistband when I dare to protest. “But I’m gonna round it up to ten. And I’m gonna start collecting today. That okay with you?”
I nod so fast my head spins a little.
Jackson wastes no time yanking my skirt up and slipping a hand between my thighs, a groan escapes him when he finds me soaking wet and throbbing for him. Two fingers slip inside me easily, his thumb rapidly circling my clit. That combined with his head dropping and his teeth tugging on my nipple again is all it takes for me to clamp down around him, muffling my moans in his neck as I come, hard.
I feel his smirk against my skin. “One.”
He barely gives me a chance to recover before I’m being gently pushed onto my back, my hips lifted off the desk so he can shed the rest of my clothes. I prop myself up on my elbows so I can watch as he gets down on his knees, throwing my legs over his shoulders.
I promptly fall back again when he disappears between my thighs.
Keeping my whimper in is an impossible task as his tongue slips inside me, fingers digging into my ass and lifting me closer to his mouth. He fucking devours me, unrelenting, a man on a mission and that mission is to drive me out of my fucking mind.
And he’s succeeding. I’m incoherent. Nothing but a boneless puddle, limp on the desk. Tears brew in my eyes from the effort of keeping quiet, and I have to squeeze them shut because watching him fucking destroy me is too much. Teeth graze my clit and I’m undone again, drawing blood with how hard I bite down on my lip. I’ve barely ridden out the second one before the third hits, and I’m convulsing on the desk, soaking the wooden surface, drenching his face.
I’m panting like I’ve just run a marathon when he finally relents, wiping his sodden lips on my inner thighs. “Two.” His lips press just below my belly button, tongue flicking out to momentarily catch the jewelry dangling there. He rises higher, giving my nipple piercings the same treatment before his smug face hovers above mine. “And three.” The corners of his mouth twitch as he gazes down at me, eyes tracing every inch of my slack body. “You ruined your desk.”
I just about manage to lift a limp arm enough to pinch his bicep. “Shut up.”
I barely get the words out before he’s kissing me, cupping my cheeks with both hands as he helps me sit up again. I’m spent, or at least I thought I was until he flexes his hips against mine and I get a feel of the throbbing erection straining against his sweats trying to get to me, and suddenly I’m desperate again.
Realizing he’s still fully clothed and I’m entirely naked—bar the heels on my feet—I hurriedly rid him of his t-shirt before tugging down his sweats. My actions are foiled halfway there when I’m abruptly lifted and spun around, my wobbly legs barely supporting me as I’m bent over the desk.
A heavy, delicious weight settles over me, Jackson’s breath tickling my ear. “Did he fuck you in here?”
I hesitate briefly before nodding. The first time, it happened in here. It was the week after Thanksgiving, the week after what would’ve been our anniversary. I was sad, and I was so sick of being sad, so when we happened to be the last two people left in the office one night and he was a little flirty, I reciprocated.
The warmth enveloping me disappears as Jackson pulls back, one hand creeping up my back to tangle in my air, the other smoothing over my ass. “I’m gonna fuck you now, sweetheart.”
My fingers curl into fists, knuckles white and palms stinging from my nails digging into them. “Please.”
Gently, he rocks his hips into my ass. When I push back against him greedily, he chuckles. “It’s gonna be hard and fast but you’ll take it like a good girl.“ I whine in response, earning a harsh slap on the ass. “Yes, Luna?”
“Yes.”
There’s the brief rustling of fabric before I feel his bare flesh against mine, his hard cock sliding between my thighs, the head nudging my clit, teasing me. Greedy hands spread my ass as he eases inside my pussy, a simultaneous low groan escaping us as he sinks into the hilt. He only gives me a second to adjust, just enough for the breath to return to my lungs and the stinging pain of him stretching me wider than what scientifically should be possible to reduce.
And then he does exactly what he said he was going to do.
I grip the edges of the desk for dear life. Every long, hard, deep thrust threatens to knock me off-balance. It’s loud, the sound of his skin slapping against mine, too loud, and I should be worried about it but I can’t quite bring myself to be.
The hand in my hair jerks my head to the side, a silent demand for me to look at him, and I crane my neck as much as possible so I can. “Every time you sit at this desk, you’re gonna think of me.” He punctuates his grunted words with an extra-enthusiastic thrust. “Not him. Me. You’re gonna think about me fucking this tight little pussy. You’re gonna think about how good I felt inside you. You’re gonna remember how you moaned my name and how you soaked my fucking cock.”
“Jackson,” I beg, I’m not sure what for, I just know I need something from him. Hands on my hips rearranging me, lifting me higher, and I cry out as he hits a spot inside me that has my vision going blurry. “Fuck, please don’t stop.”
He doesn’t. He keeps pounding away, keeps hitting that spot. He shifts his weight so he’s covering me, sweaty skin flush against sweaty skin as his chest hits my back. “You’re gonna spend the rest of the day with my cum running down your thighs and you’re gonna fucking like it.”
Another thrust and those dirty fucking words are what it takes to send me over the edge, dragging him with me. He catches my lips with his as we both come, his kiss as frantic as his thrusting as he empties inside of me, so much so that I feel his release dripping down my thighs before he’s even done.
It takes a while for our breathing to regulate, for our bodies to stop quivering. His forearms brace either side of me so he doesn’t crush me under his weight, his lips pressed to my bare, clammy shoulder, his breath hot against my flushed skin.
It’s a stark contrast to minutes before, the gentle way his lips caress my shoulders and neck, the delicate way he cups my chin and turns me to face him. “You’re mine, Lu,” he murmurs softly, nothing but brutal sincerity glowing in those brown eyes I love. “I’m not giving you up again.”
