obsession. | victor gideon x f! reader
NSFW CONTENT BELOW - MDNI
Ao3 link → click here
summary: You had came to Rhode’s Hill to work a quiet desk job, filing reports, stamping letters, organising papers. Though, what you didn’t expect was the gradual, consuming obsession with your boss… or the way his gaze now lingers on you a little too long, as though he’d already noticed long ago.
!! content: smut, blowjobs, degradation, breeding kink, groping, obsessive behaviour, size difference
You had come to Rhode’s Hill for one simple thing, to work a desk job. It was what you were qualified to do. Filing papers, stamping papers, drafting letters. And for a while, that had been enough.
But what you hadn’t planned for… was him.
Somewhere between the endless paperwork, the trips to the coffee machine, the brief moments where you managed to catch a glimpse, something had shifted. You couldn’t quite pinpoint when it had happened. Only that, at some point, your thoughts had begun to wander in ways they absolutely shouldn't.
And unfortunately for you… those thoughts seemed to circle back to one very specific person.
Not only was he your employer, but the owner and lead researcher of the care centre itself.
You knew anyone else would call you mad, or even utterly insane. After all, he was your boss, but beyond that, the man didn’t just look wrong, there was something about him that felt wrong too.
And yet, you couldn’t deny how much that piqued your imagination.
It started off small, just plain curiosity. A quick glance here and there whenever he made an appearance, stolen in the seconds before he noticed. Then those glances slowly turned into the occasional attempt at small talk, awkward greetings offered whenever you crossed paths in the corridor or lingered too long outside his office.
Though, those moments never lasted long.
He had a way of shutting them down immediately. Not rudely, just with a finality that made it clear he had far more important things to do.
“Surely you have duties you should be tending to,” he’d murmur, smooth as silk.
His voice was something else entirely. Melting like butter in your ears, every word spoken with that stern certainty. Even long after he’d walked away, you could still hear it sometimes.
And even when his words were so very dismissive, your heart would still pump all the same.
You then started taking better care of yourself. Small things at first, subtle changes to your makeup, the way you styled your hair, the jewelry you chose to wear. Even your clothes changed, a prettier blouse, a blazer which complimented your figure… a shorter skirt…
All of it was done in the hope that one day he might actually stop and look at you.
But every time he passed you without so much as a glimpse, something in your chest pricked.
And still… the next morning you found yourself standing a little longer in front of the mirror.
That restless desire which burned from within was not so easily distinguished.
And without quite realizing it, the hours you spent at Rhode’s Hill began to stretch longer and longer.
What had once been a regular workday gradually turned into something else. You began staying later to finish work that could have easily waited until morning, rereading reports before they ever reached his desk, taking on tasks that no one had asked you to do.
After all, if your work was flawless, then perhaps he would notice that instead.
So, even as the building gradually emptied around you, you stayed put.
The office grew quiet as the evening crept in, coworkers gathering their coats and exchanging goodnights while the lights dimmed one by one. Yet, you remained seated at your desk, the scratch of your pen becoming the only noise that remained.
Endlessly, as you worked late into the depths of the night, the words on the pages slowly blurring together, your wrist aching and your throat dry, you told yourself it’d be for something.
His attention, and his attention only.
And eventually… it seemed like you might have it.
Not in the way you had imagined, of course. There were no compliments waiting for you in passing, no sudden acts of acknowledgement that would make your efforts feel rewarded. Victor Gideon was not the sort of man who offered praise so freely.
Still, there were moments.
Fleeting things you might have gone unnoticed if you hadn’t been paying such close attention.
A glance that lingered just a little longer than usual as he passed. A faint pause in his step when he noticed the lights of your office were still on. Once, when you placed a stack of organized reports before him, he had flipped through the pages, his eyes scanning the work before he gave the faintest hum beneath his breath.
“Excellent,” he had said.
Only a single word, but it had stayed with you. Etching its way into your brain, never to be forgotten.
Another evening, long after the corridors had grown dark, you thought you heard a door creak open somewhere down the hall. The sound of footsteps trailing behind, echoing faintly along the polished floors.
They slowed as they passed your door. Not enough to a halt, but enough for you to notice.
You always kept your eyes fixed on the papers before you, pretending not to realize someone was there, though your heart would quicken beneath your ribs.
Because somehow, without needing to look up, you knew.
And it became routine after that.
The soft glow of your desk lamp, the rifling of folders beneath your hands as the clock ticked away as it stretched later into the night. Occasionally you leaned back in your chair, rubbing the ache from your neck before reaching for the next task.
Then came the usual footsteps, falling still as he loomed in the darkness before the doorway.
After a while, sometimes he’d even enter.
Peering down at your desk, at the faint smudge of ink on your fingers or sleeve, and rarely, he’d offer what seemed to be a brief nod of approval before moving on.
And every time without fail, your cheeks would grow hot, your hands would grow clammy, and your focus would dwindle.
Tonight, you thought, would be no different.
The office had settled into its usual hush, the low burr of the water dispenser and the scratch of your pen across paper. You were deep into sorting the latest stack of medical records, flipping pages… losing yourself in the rhythm of routine… when the sound reached you.
They slowed as they neared your doorway.
You didn’t look up. You never did. The concentrated mask you’d perfected, head bent, pen moving.
The doorway framed him in silence for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
You lifted your head a fraction, your eyes staring at the paper in your hand before you shuffled it away, though for a moment it felt as though you were looking straight through it.
Victor stood in the doorway, coat straight, hands folded loosely behind his back.
For a moment, he said nothing. He simply watched, the faintest tilt of his head giving the impression he was studying you. Then, finally, with that soft tone he often used, he added, “I’m beginning to wonder whether you intend to sleep here as well.”
Only then did he step into the office.
His steps were unhurried, gradually carrying him further into the room until he stopped beside your desk. Close enough now that the lamplight caught against the lenses of his headplate.
You lowered your eyes back to the papers, forcing your hand to move again, though the line you were writing had begun to drift unevenly across the page.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then a thick hand, adorned with rings, reached forward.
You stiffened slightly as he lifted the folder you had been sorting earlier. The pages shifted as he flipped through, his lenses angled downward.
Your fingers curled faintly against the edge of the desk, waiting for something, criticism, praise, anything. Even the curt remark he was known for offering when things failed to meet his standards.
“Organized. A valuable quality.” He said after what felt like an eternity.
The single sentence made your stomach tighten.
He set the folder back down precisely where he had taken it from, adjusting the corner so it aligned perfectly with the rest of the stack.
Only then did the lenses lift again. Even without seeing his eyes, you could feel the attention settle back onto you.
“You stay very late,” he continued, almost thoughtful. “Long after everyone else has gone home.”
“Tell me… is it diligence that keeps you here…”
The crook of his mouth angled into a faint smile.
For a moment, you weren’t sure what to say. The room suddenly felt smaller than it had a minute ago, the silence pressing in around the two of you.
“It’s just work,” you said finally, though the answer felt thinner than you intended.
“Just work,” he repeated.
The tone in his voice made it impossible to tell whether he believed you.
Then, without warning, he stepped a little closer to the desk.
You suddenly became very aware of the position of your hands, of the ink smudged faintly along the side of your palm, on the edges of your fingers.
“You are very… devoted… to your work, aren't you?” His hand moved again, this time toward the paper you had been writing on.
He picked it up, scanning it like he did the others.
You anticipated the moment he would set it down again, but that never came. Instead, he kept reading, and reading, until you’d begin to wonder if there was something wrong with it again.
“I, uh,” You began, words not seeming to get past your tongue, “That one isn’t finished just yet, I still need to proof read it, and stamp it, but, um, my coworker left the stamper-”
The paper fell from his hands.
Gliding across the air in a delicate swoop, until it drifted onto the floor halfway across the room.
Your words died in your throat.
For a moment, you simply stared at where it had landed, your mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened.
Victor, however, hadn’t even looked at it.
“…the stamper?” he repeated calmly.
Your mouth opened slightly.
Steadily, he reached forward, twirling your office chair toward him. The movement was controlled, yet it shifted something in the air between you both, and you couldn’t quite tell whether it was for better or worse.
Victor leaned down, looming above you, just enough that the distance between you both had gotten your heart thumping at a pace you couldn’t quite hide.
Your hands remained frozen in your lap, your shoulders stiff, your spine tense, unsure of what you’d ought to do.
“The stamper,” His head shifted, “Is across the room.”
Your pulse skipped a beat, the hairs on the back of your neck standing tall.
“You should probably go and retrieve it…”
He straightened at last, the faint shuffle of his coat as he drew his hands back behind it.
But he didn’t move away from the desk. He remained standing there, watching, waiting, making it very clear he expected you to move.
He didn’t even step out of the way as you rose from your chair, leaving you to squeeze through the narrow space he’d created.
For a brief second, your blouse brushed against the front of his coat. You caught his scent, a strong cologne. Not one you recognized, but there was something refined about it, the sort of fragrance that wafted just long enough to make your head feel light.
Expensive, you thought, though it did little to settle the boom in your chest.
By the time you reached the stamper, your heels clicking against the wooden floor, you fumbled through the drawers below, knocking the desk softly as you pulled them open one after the other. You knew your coworker had left the ink press somewhere in there.
Behind you, the room remained still. Victor watched closely.
The jitter of your knees. The way your hands hesitated over every drawer handle. Reminiscing on the uneven rhythm of your breathing when you had brushed past him. Even the nervous habit of your fingers rubbing together.
Eventually, you pushed the drawer back into place.
Relief flickered across your face as you pulled it free, the stamper, at last.
You took a step back toward your desk, forgetting something.
“The paper,” Victor called out.
You stopped, the click of your heels falling still.
“Oh,” you mumbled, turning your head slightly. Only then did you notice you had already stepped over it.
Your gaze dropped to the sheet lying on the ground.
Then, briefly, to the hem of your skirt.
A strained sound left your mouth. “I, uh, I-” The stamper sat awkwardly in one hand while the other instinctively smoothed down the front of your attire.
Carefully, your knees bent as you attempted to reach the paper without leaning too far forward.
Your brows lifted, confusion written plainly across your face as you looked between him and the paper on the floor. You looked genuinely lost, like a deer in headlights.
And then he moved. The sound of his shoes crossing the floor reached you, circling, before halting just behind you.
A hand settled against your shoulder. Unrushed, he guided you a step to the side, turning you so that the front of your body now faced the fallen paper properly… and that he stood directly behind you.
Only then did he remove his hand, taking a single step back.
“Pick it up,” he told you again.
For a moment, you didn’t move. The paper lying innocently on the floor while your mind raced far too quickly for something so simple.
Carefully, you bent down, one hand gripping the stamper while the other reached toward the sheet.
Your skirt shifted slightly as you lowered yourself, the fabric pulling just enough to make you suddenly aware of how exposed the position felt.
And all the while, he remained there. Watching.
The heat crept up the back of your neck as you finally gathered the sheet between your fingers, the paper whispering as you lifted it from the floor. You straightened quickly, perhaps quicker than you meant to, the movement almost clumsy.
Your pulse was practically inside your throat.
Then, behind you, Gideon exhaled softly.
You turned slightly, unsure whether you were meant to face him fully or retreat back to your desk.
“You become very attentive,” he said after a moment, his voice growing lower, “when given clear instructions.”
As the words left his lips, he took a slow step forward. Then another. Each step placed with purpose until the space between you had almost disappeared.
From this close you could smell the trace of his cologne again, something cool beneath it that reminded you of antiseptic and polished metal. It made your head go dreary, like your thoughts were struggling to stay where they belonged.
He then seemed to notice the loose strand of hair before you did. Without warning, his hand lifted.
The backs of his fingers brushed lightly against your temple as he gathered the stray strand and tucked it behind your ear. The touch itself was brief, but the closeness of it sent a sharp flutter through your chest.
And for a moment after, his hand brushed near your cheek. His attention subtly resting on your face, examining every small reaction you failed to conceal.
“Tell me…” he said, his voice calm, almost curious, but nothing could’ve prepared you for what came next.
“Is degrading yourself for the faintest hint of my attention something you find… gratifying?”
Your eyes went wide, and only then did you just notice how much more intimidating he was up this close.
“All these months…” he tutted into a scoff, his tone carrying a hint of amusement.
The warmth of him reached you, the faint heat of his breath brushing the side of your neck each time he spoke.
His head tilted down, the all four optics angling toward your face, studying you with that same unnerving patience he seemed to give everything.
“The shade of lipstick you’re wearing,” a single finger against your chin, lifting it slowly, “is darker than yesterday.”
“The ring on your left index finger is new.”
“And your undergarments… you haven’t worn those since twelve days ago.”
His breath smoothed over your skin again, your heart thumping at a pace so vigorous it made your knees feel weak, warm against your skin as he leaned just a smidge closer.
“I notice things, you cannot paint me as a fool,” he whispered against the shell of your ear, his voice so smooth it slid through the air like silk. His breath ghosted across your skin, sending a sharp, tingling chill crawling up the line of your spine.
Neither of you moved. The room seemed to hold its breath with you. Your lungs worked unevenly, each inhale shallow and unsteady, your pulse thudding nervously within every vein.
“How pathetic of you…” Victor cooed softly.
The words were almost gentle, but the mockery laced through them made your stomach twist into an untieable knot.
A pause stretched, you could practically feel his gaze lingering, studying you, taking in every nervous shift and every shaky breath.
“I would be a liar if I said I didn’t find it…”
The word slithered off his tongue.
His fingers lifted, then hovered for the briefest moment near your face, then placed his thumb atop your bottom lip.
The contact was light, the edge of it brushing along the faint curve of your lip as though confirming the observation he’d made earlier. Your breath hitched at the touch, and you could feel his eyes sharpened at the reaction.
The corner of his mouth twitched upward, just barely, like a man who had predicted something correctly and found the result so very satisfying.
Then it travelled up the slope of your cheek, until his hand settled along your jaw. His fingers curved beneath it, firm enough now that it was merely more than a graze.
Your head tipped slightly under the pressure, just enough that looking away would have required effort you no longer seemed capable of summoning.
Victor kept studying you.
He took in the way your throat worked as you swallowed, every tremor in your body, the tension held stiff in your shoulders. Even without being able to see half of his face, it was the kind of look that made you feel as though nothing about you escaped his notice.
A soft hum left him, dragging, thoughtful rather than mocking this time.
It drifted along the edge of your jaw in a slow pass before slipping lower, brushing against the sensitive skin of your throat. The contact was now featherlight, like he was teasing, yet it was heavy enough to make your pulse jump violently beneath it.
His fingers stilled, “There it is.”
His thumb pressed against your pulse point, and his gaze lifted back to your face.
Then, his hand slid away and drifted down to your shoulder. His fingers brushed lightly over the fabric of your blouse, tracing the hem as if smoothing a small crease, before continuing down the length of your arm.
The warmth of his palm now unfolding followed the natural curve of your arm, brushing along the outside and sliding past the elbow. Your breath caught at the sensation, and he noticed immediately.
It curved gently with the line of your body, drifting from your arm to your chest as if the transition were inevitable.
His palm came to rest over your breast, pressing lightly through the thin material. The contact was seamless, every nerve in your body alert to the weight of his hand. Your chest rose and fell beneath his touch, your heartbeat thundering like a drum.
“You give yourself away,” he spoke. His thumb slid from the top of your breast, brushing lightly over the curve before pressing just enough to make you squirm.
“So… sensitive,” he murmured softly, almost indulgent, the words drawing a wince from your lips. “Every little twitch, every breath.”
The heat of him pressed near your collarbone, your cheeks burning with a flush of crimson. He made it impossible to breathe normally, impossible to think clearly.
“You just can’t help it, can you?,” he whispered in velvet.
Under the helmet, Victor’s eyes flicked to your lips for a brief second, then back to your face. Then, almost imperceptibly, he leaned in.
Every fraction of an inch intentional, giving you just enough time to realize what was coming.
Your breath caught in your throat, the curve of his mouth ghosting over yours before it even touched.
And then his lips met yours. A soft press, despite his rough looking lips.
His fingers remained anchored on your breast, circling your nipple now, feathering lightly.
Your body reacted instantly, to every single sensation, pulse hammering, knees threatening to give way, but you didn’t falter. He held you there, letting the kiss deepen, like he was testing the waters.
Then, almost imperceptibly, the kiss shifted.
His lips parted slightly, teasing at first, and then, suddenly, his tongue slipped into your mouth. Your body jolted at the sensation, breath catching, every muscle tensing under the intimacy.
As his tongue explored yours, his other hand moved silently, almost instinctively, to your hip. He gripped it tight, anchoring you against him, the pressure almost possessive.
He didn’t let go of your breast either. His thumb continued its faint circles over your nipple. And every wisp, every glide of his tongue, you drew out that muffled hum in your throat he’d wanted to hear.
You in your stomach, nerves on fire.
And then, he squeezed, testing another reaction through the fabric.
Your breath stuttered violently into the kiss, and his hand on your hip gripped tighter, pressing you closer.
Then, he shifted his weight, and you felt it before you saw it. A push against your hip that guided you downward, leaving no room for resistance. Before you could fully register, his grip had faded as he subtly pushed you onto your knees.
Your eyes widened at the sudden change in perspective, like you couldn’t believe it was real. All while his gaze bored over you with that same intensity.
Then, with a slow flick of his hands, he moved them to the front of his waist. His fingers worked the buckle of his belt, the clank of his rings meeting the metal clasp rang throughout the room. It slipped through his fingers, brushing over the waistband of his pants, the leather falling.
His fingers worked at the button, the subtle tug of fabric. You watched, caught between anticipation and shock as his hands slid lower, undoing the zipper.
The shift of his pants, loosened and sliding slightly, revealed the outline of him through the fabric of his boxers. Your eyes were drawn instantly.
He didn’t speak, didn’t move, just let the minute stretch, letting you take in the sight.
After a while, he moved subtly, just enough that the tent in his boxers was on full display, and you flinched, pulse hammering. The low hum that vibrated through him made it clear he’d noticed, and your chest tightened at the sound.
“Just like that,” he whispered as he reached down and took your hand, guiding it over the waistband of his boxers, letting you pull the fabric just enough to free him.
He leaned slightly forward, eyes flicking down to yours, as you took him in your hands. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth again, an acknowledgment of the control he possessed without a single harsh word.
A bead of sweat ran down your forehead, his cock was undeniably large. The same dark pattern that streaked across his skin now pulsed along the thick underside. Your eyes couldn’t look away.
His hand settled at the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. Not forcing, just guiding. You opened wide, lips stretching as you took him in.
The first inch filled your mouth instantly, the faint salt of pre cum coating your tongue. A low, satisfied hum rolled from deep in his chest, the sound causing you to squeeze your thighs together.
“Good… let me feel how eager that pretty mouth really is.”
You hollowed your cheeks, sucking gently as you slid further down. The stretching burned at the corners. Another inch, then another. Your throat fluttered around him when he bumped the back of it, and his fingers tightened in your hair.
He held you there, letting you feel every rigde as your tongue pressed against it. The lenses of his headplate angled downward, watching with intensity while his free hand reached down to trace the line of your jaw with one ringed finger.
“Look at you,” he said, almost fondly. “On your knees for your boss. How many nights did you touch yourself while thinking about this?”
You couldn’t answer. Could only moan around him, the vibration pulling another quiet groan from his throat. He rocked forward once, letting you choke softly, beautifully, around him.
Tears pricked at your lashes. You didn’t pull away. You couldn’t. Not when his thumb stroked your cheek like you were something precious.
He pulled back slowly, letting you gasp for air, strings of saliva connecting your lips to the head of his cock. His lenses glistened, studying the mess you’d already made of yourself.
Then he guided you back down, deeper this time, until your nose brushed the hair at his base. He kept you there longer, hips barely moving, just small pulses that fucked the back of your throat. The wet, obscene sounds of your mouth filled the quiet office like a confession.
When he finally let you up again, you were gasping, lips shiny, chin wet. He wiped a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb, almost tender.
“Enough,” he decided, voice low. “I want the rest of you now.”
His hands slid under your arms, lifting you to your feet like you weighed nothing. The moment you were upright he spun you, pressing your tummy against the edge of your coworkers desk. You barely had time to brace your palms on the wood before he shoved your skirt up over your hips.
The air kissed the damp fabric of your panties. He hooked two fingers into the waistband and dragged them down just far enough, leaving them stretched tight around your thighs.
One large hand pressed between your shoulders, bending you forward until your chest met the cool surface of the desk. The position left you utterly exposed, ass up, legs trembling.
He stepped in close. You felt the heavy heat of his cock slide between your thighs, gliding through the slick mess already coating your pussy. He dragged the tip up and down, teasing your clit, then lower, pressing just against your entrance, never quite pushing in.
“Tell me,” he said, voice even as his free hand gripped your hips hard enough to bruise. “Is this what you stay late for? To be bent over your desk like a desperate little toy?”
You whimpered, pushing back against him on instinct. He clicked his tongue in quiet amusement.
“Yes,” you breathed, voice wrecked. “Yes… please…”
The words seemed to snap the last thread of his patience.
He thrusted in with one relentless stroke.
The stretch was overwhelming. Your mouth fell open on a silent cry as he buried himself in, hips flush against your ass.
He stayed there, letting you feel all of him, like he did with your mouth, letting your walls pulse and clench helplessly around his cock.
“Fuck,” he exhaled, the first real crack in his composure. His hand slid up your spine, fingers curling around the back of your neck to hold you down. “So tight. So wet for me already.”
Slow and deep drags, just until just the head remained inside you, then slamming back in hard enough to make the desk wobble. Each thrust punching the air from your lungs.
His headplate reflected in the lamplight as he watched every reaction, every twitch of your thighs, every broken moan, every time your back arched when he hit that special spot inside you.
One hand left your neck and reached beneath you, fingers finding your clit with ease. He circled it slowly, perfectly in time with his thrusts, until your legs were shaking so badly you could barely stay upright.
“You’re going to cum like this,” he told you. “On your boss’s cock. In the office you’ve been defiling with your filthy daydreams for months on end.”
His pace quickened. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed. His fingers tightened on your hip, sure to leave bruises, pulling you back onto every thrust like he couldn’t get deep enough.
“Cum,” he ordered, thumb pressing firmer against your clit. “Let me feel it. Let me feel how badly you’ve wanted this.”
The coil in your stomach snapped so fast it stole your breath.
Your orgasm burned through you. You cried out, pulsing violently around his cock as pleasure tore through every nerve. He didn’t slow down. If anything, he fucked you harder.
But, once he slowed, he didn’t pull out.
Even as your body shuddered, he stayed buried deep, letting you feel every inch while you tried to catch your breath. The desk was slick beneath your palms from sweat and scattered papers stuck between your fingers.
You whimpered, oversensitive, trying to shift forward just an inch to ease the pressure.
His grip on your hip tightened.
“Uh uh,” he tutted, like you’d asked for something unreasonable. “We’re not finished.”
He watched the way your body quivered around him. Your thighs trembled so badly they could barely hold you upright.
Without warning, his hands slid under your thighs, fingers digging into soft flesh. In one smooth motion he lifted you off the desk entirely, pulling you upright and flush against his chest.
A startled gasp escaped you as he took you in his arms, hips still impaled on his cock, the new angle driving him deeper. Your ankles hooked instinctively around the back of him, heels brushing the fabric of his coat.
Your legs dangled helplessly in the air. Your blouse hung open, you hadn’t even realised it’d become undone, your breasts only covered by your bra pressed against his chest.
He was close enough now that you could see the faint reflection of your own flushed, wrecked face in his optics, lips parted, eyes glassy, cheeks streaked with mascara.
Then, he sat you back down, your back placed atop the desk, your limbs sprawled out underneath him. And once again, Victor's hands were on you without a second to spare.
“So pretty, look at you…” he hushed. “These cheeks,” he continued, stroking across the flushed skin, “always bloom the moment I look at you.”
His thumb drifted lower. He traced your lip again, parting them just enough to let it slip inside for one slow glide over your tongue.
“And this mouth,” His voice dipped darker. “So slick and eager.”
Victor smeared the faint sheen of your lipstick and saliva across your lower lip like he was painting you.
One smooth roll of his hips, deep enough to make your back slide an inch up the desk again.
You whimpered, his free hand hooked under your knee, lifting your leg and spreading you wider. Your head tipped back on a silent cry, working around nothing as he held there once more.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
You obeyed, eyes fluttering open.
He started moving again, not the teasing rolls anymore.
Pulling almost all the way out until the head caught at your entrance, then slamming back in. Your nails raked down the surface of the desk, then caught on the crisp sleeves of his coat.
You tried to speak, tried to beg, to curse, to say his name, but all that came out were shattered moans and gasps.
“You’re crying again… and you’re going to cum again… crying for me.”
His finger found your clit once more. No more gentle circles. Hard, fast strokes that matched the snap of his hips, pressing down just hard enough to make lightning shoot up your spine.
Your whole body locked up. The coil that had been winding since he first lifted you off the desk snapped like a wire.
You came again, back shuddering off the desk that only his grip kept you pinned. You clamped down around him in a spasm, milking him so hard he hissed through his teeth.
He fucked you through it, chasing his own release in the tight heat of your climax.
“Fuck, there,” he growled. His pace stuttered, once, twice, then he let out a heart racing sound that vibrated through his chest and into yours.
Heat flooded you in thick spurts. You felt every throb, every twitch as he came deep inside, hips grinding in slow, forcing every last drop as far as it would go.
For a long moment the only sounds were your ragged breathing, the faint creak of the desk, and the soft drip of everything he’d left behind leaking onto the wood beneath you.
Then, slowly, as he caught his own breath, he eased out.
The sudden emptiness made you whine, a thick ooze followed immediately, sliding warm and sticky down your pussy. He didn’t let your legs close, instead he left the one hooked over his arm where it was, watching the mess he’d made dribble out.
Wrecked beyond repair, dripping his seed onto the wood beneath you, utterly his in a way no one else would ever see.
“You’re quite obedient, even now, lying there, you’re still waiting for permission to move.”
“Tomorrow,” he spoke, quieter this time, the words sinking into you like a brand, “wear the black lace, the set with the garters. And when the last person leaves…”
“…you will be waiting at your desk. Exactly like this.”
You nodded eagerly, no doubt in your mind.
Then he straightened, coat settling perfectly around his broad shoulders, pulling up his pants and buckling his belt as if he hadn’t just fucked you senseless at your own workplace.
He walked to the door without looking back this time.
The office fell silent except for your ragged breathing and the faint, wet drip still sliding down your inner thigh.
You stayed exactly where he’d left you, body aching, heart still hammering with the promise of tomorrow.
Already counting the seconds.
Until he returned to claim what was already his.
I spent way too much time on this and i was lowk stroking my shit #tmi #keeping it real
izzy806
dededos
jbbartram-illu
pixelskylines
