said you won't forget my name | boss agatha part three
pairing: agatha harkness x fem reader
summary: sleeping with your boss made everything a little chaotic—especially coming back the next day to work for her.
content: g!p agatha, dom agatha, sub reader, dirty talk, degradation, praise, oral (reader receiving), vaginal sex
Agatha Harkness wakes up alone.
Now, this is not anything out of the ordinary, nor is it a new change to her lifestyle.
But there is one thing about this morning that stands out—that makes it different from all the other mornings of the past few years, in her penthouse apartment in black silk sheets—she wishes she wasn't alone.
Agatha is no prude. Looking the way she does, with the power and the money, the cars and the suits...she's desirable, and she knows it. She could have anyone. She has had a lot.
Women she picked up in fancy bars, in tight dresses and high heels that begged her to fuck them, or pretty girls at the law firm that she sent home in one of her cars after Agatha had ruined them—now, Agatha doesn't discriminate.
Everyone needs stress relief, and Agatha doesn't care what the women she uses for hers look like, as long as she finds them pretty and they obey her without hesitation. Though there is one thing all her former conquests have in common: she never missed them the next morning. She never woke up alone in her bed, wishing they were still next to her, curled up against her, skin to skin.
So, when her alarm goes off and Agatha opens her eyes, she's not exactly sure why her once dearly appreciated and cherished solitude feels like loneliness.
Blurry pictures from the day before flash in her head like polaroids, and she can't suppress a smirk. The cute little intern she'd been preying on for oh so long finally took initiative. Remembering the way your body moved against her, your lips on hers, the feeling of your tight, wet cunt—Agatha is definitely awake now.
But amidst the attraction to you and the feeling of accomplishment, there's something else. Something with which Agatha has not been familiar in a long, long time.
The rest of her morning follows its usual routine, but your face never fades in her mind and she certainly doesn't forget the things she did to you yesterday.
Neither did you.
It's still early when the elevator door dings and opens, and out walks Agatha Harkness in all her glory. She's wearing a cream-colored suit, tailored perfectly to show her curves in all the right ways—you can't believe this is really the woman that made you see stars only a day before.
Of course, being the overexcited intern that you are, you made sure to arrive extra on time today. Her assistant quickly joins her on the way to her office, handing her her usual coffee order, and you wish she wasn't wearing sunglasses so you'd know if the feeling that she was also looking at you was pure imagination.
When she's finally passed your small desk by the other interns, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.
Hours pass. You're sent out on more coffee runs than you could ever comprehend the number of (seriously, who is drinking all this coffee?), you copy probably important documents, you listen to the other interns gossip, but your mind never strays that far from Agatha Harkness.
What you don't know, behind closed doors, Agatha is having similar thoughts.
Hours pass.
The work you do get done certainly isn’t a lot, and probably nothing to be particularly proud of, but it’s simply torture trying to work with images of Agatha on your mind, having her way with you…you stop typing in the spreadsheet and take a shaky breath, trying to calm yourself.
During lunch break, you’d spent nearly twenty minutes in the bathroom to try and quench your thirst by fingering yourself in a stall, but nothing helps.
Agatha has ruined you, and nothing could make you happier.
Fortunately for you, it’s such a busy day that other interns have left you alone for most of it, you really couldn’t deal with them at a moment like this.
You try to shake images from last night and be at least a bit productive again, but then, your phone vibrates on your desk. A message pops up.
My office. Now.
Sent by a number that’s not saved in your contacts, but you know exactly who it’s from regardless.
You practically stumble to get up and make your way towards Agatha’s office, your mind racing with questions you wanted to ask her.
At the forefront: What was last night? And could you please fuck me again?
She’s already standing in front of her desk when you enter. Internally, you debate on whether or not to lock the door, but her hard gaze tells you that you should.
“Hi.”
“Hey.”
“You wanted to see me?”
Playing it cool, nice going. Agatha smirks.
“I always want to see you.”
You practically melt at the comment and take a few steps closer to Agatha.
“You’re such a flirt,” you say, warmth spreading through your body. She’s in a pantsuit again, a black one, and you’re not sure how long you’ll be able to control yourself around her.
Although, she’s not too sure herself.
Her smirk disappears, and she clears her throat: “Let me preface by apologizing for how…rough I got yesterday. I said and did things I didn’t know you’d be comfortable with, and I never wanted to leave you feeling mistreated.”
The only time you felt mistreated yesterday was when Agatha pulled her cock out of you, but you figure telling her that right now wouldn’t be beneficial.
A smile, a genuine smile passes your lips: “You’re so cute.”
“No, I’m serious. If, at any point yesterday, I made you feel-”
“The only thing you made me feel, Agatha, was wanted, and hornier than I’ve ever been in my entire life. And, um,” boldly, you take another step towards her, closing the distance between you, “you still make me feel like that.”
Agatha takes a deep breath, trying to collect herself. She shouldn’t, she really, really shouldn’t…but who is she trying to fool? She always gets what she wants.
Right now, Agatha wants nothing more than to have you.
She cups your face, much more gentle than before, and kisses you. One of you moans into it, not sure who it was as it gets more heated, passion filling you both and causing her cock to stir.
It’s not fireworks, the kiss. More like fire itself, burning slow but hard, uncaring, and God, so warm. One of your hands wanders up into her hair, the other to her pants—over the expensive fabric, you rub her hardening cock, hearing her groan into the kiss.
Agatha reaches for her zipper, the drag agonizingly slow until finally, her cock springs free. She’s been inside you in more ways than one, but the sight has you salivating, reaching for the hem of your skirt.
Agatha strokes herself to full hardness as pathetic whimpers escape your mouth, longing to be the one touching her instead, as you take off your clothes quickly, not bothering to put on a show for her—arousal runs through you in waves and you can’t bear to focus on anything but getting Agatha’s cock inside of you as quick as humanly possible.
“You look so cute, so desperate…you dream about me last night?” The first part of her sentence still sounds hard and mocking, but by the second, a hint of sincerity has snuck in—Agatha looks at you expectantly.
“I didn’t do much sleeping,” you reply sheepishly and avert your gaze. Like she couldn’t have known you would fuck yourself to the memory of her doing the same to you all night.
Agatha chuckles.
“Must be pretty sore. Poor girl. Want me to make it worse?”
“Oh, God. Yes, please.”
“Bend over my desk.”
Four words, a simple command, but it sounds so delicious coming from Agatha in her dominant voice. You comply and move to bend over her desk, the cool wood against your nude form sending shivers down your spine.
And when she finally moves behind you, Agatha wasted no time, pushing herself into your waiting cunt with a single thrust—you ache around her cock and let out a shaky breath, pain and pleasure alike mixing and making it hard not to grind back against her hips.
Gone is the reserved Agatha, so elegant and nonchalant, as she is practically feral in her move to fuck into you from behind, taking what she’s been longing for, taking what belongs to her.
“Taking me so well, good little whore,” she coos, dragging her nails across your back and ensuring marks you’ll later be able to admire in the mirror, when reality sets in and this is all over—you don’t even want to think about it.
Your cries fill the room. This feels punishing, raw, wrong, everything Agatha needs, and you’ll be damned if you don’t give it to her. Her other hand roughly pulls at your hair, a moan escaping through your teeth.
“S-so fucking good, Jesus,” you breathe out.
She then moves it to your clit, rubbing it between two tightly pressed fingers and you arch into the pressure, chasing the fullness, and your orgasm hits you, fast and hard and leaving your mouth open in a silent ‘o’, her entire body convulsing as the slapping sounds of flesh on flesh continue through the office.
When Agatha cums inside you barely a moment later, groaning, and you feel her warmth fill you up, you wonder: How did you get here, needing so desperately to fall apart at the hands of a woman more than twice your age?
You smile a bit at the thought, deliriously full of her with her cum dripping out of you and her cock still buried deep inside. She’s panting, and your smile almost goes unnoticed, but Agatha catches it and gives a small smirk in return, her hair sticking to her sweaty forehead.
“What’s so funny?”
You don’t have it in you to answer, so you just smile a little wider. Her piercing blue eyes are locked in on you when she moves to pull out, to which you respond with a whine.
“I’ll be slow, okay?,” Agatha assures, not mean anymore but rather, surprisingly sweet, “I’m taking you home. There are some things I wanna do to you that aren’t possible here.”
You need a few seconds to process, you can barely understand how she has the mental capacity to be making decisions and voicing them out loud after that earth-shattering orgasm, and Agatha adds, quieter: “If you want to.”
All you do is nod, and wince when she does pull out. Oh, well. There’s most certainly more to come.
Agatha's house is...to be expected. Modern, minimalistic, expensive but chic—everything she represents, all black and white and tasteful, and you're sure you could spend hours exploring her home she'd just driven you to, if you weren't absolutely crazed over wanting her to fuck you and she carried herself similarly as she leads you up a staircase, blazer discarded at its bottom.
When she kisses you, it’s passion pure. You meet her easily, with a small, high sound she can feel in the kiss. You latch your arms around her shoulders, and she picks you up with ease, your skirt lying somewhere in the room on the ground. When she sets you down, her bed creaks, a quiet promise of what's to come.
Agatha kisses your collarbone, your neck, leaning over you on her soft mattress. When you come out underneath her to switch positions, she lets it happen with a smirk.
"Such a pretty girl," she says, seemingly more to herself than to you, and you respond by grinding on her hips—Agatha moans.
You feel her length against your cunt, nothing but the thin silk of your underwear and her boxers separating you. You lean down to kiss her throat, dragging your mouth up her neck to her jaw while your hips find a slow, steady rhythm. When you bite her lip, your center dragging along the outline of her cock, a shamelessly loud growl rumbles from Agatha's chest.
She can't get her hands off you, always touching, hands sliding over your back, gripping the nape of your neck, trailing over your ribs to your hips, pushing you to move faster. You whine, breathing hard, letting her move you like a doll, until her quiet moans turn harsher.
"That's it," Agatha whispers when your leg muscles tighten, "My good, good girl, doing so well for me."
She dips her thumbs into the crease of your thighs, your bare, hot skin and the lacy line of your underwear under the pads of her fingers. You let out a gasp and fumble to undo your bra, letting it fall away and exposing your breasts to Agatha.
"So beautiful," she says quietly, admiring your body with a smirk on her face, "You're such a pretty girl."
"Your pretty girl," you answer, biting your lip as you continue to grind against her cock.
Your face tips skyward when she sucks your nipple into her mouth, a long moan that makes her thrust into you. You reach down between the two of you, frantically pulling at her belt, but she leans back, relaxing into the mattress, stalling you.
Agatha draws her thumb up and down along the line of your panties.
You hold very still, your thighs clenching rhythmically against her own. When she glances down, Agatha hums through her nose and slips her thumb under the material of your underwear.
You're so wet her cock jumps as the heat of you burns straight through her. You both let out a moan, and you arch back, your mouth falling open when she circles your clit lazily with her thumb.
"That feel good? Come on, talk to me, pretty girl."
Agatha keeps the same slow pace as you riding her, watching you struggle to speak with the pleasure she's building in you.
"Y-yes, it feels good."
She hums in approval as you throw your head back, electric jolts sent through your body with every touch Agatha grants you, your knees pressed like a vice around her hips.
Agatha is certain, she could come from watching the way you melt against her, hearing every noise she's drawing out of you.
"You wanna cum?"
"Yes, please," you force out.
Abruptly, Agatha stops any and all movements, removing her hand completely. You collapse in a whine, but don't have time to complain when she lifts you once more and flips you, so fast all your breath rushes out in a strangled cry.
Agatha doesn't give you enough time to question it, just shifts to her knees on the floor and pulls your underwear to the side, immediately sucking your clit while her palms press you open.
"Fuck," you force out with a choked moan, letting your hands dive into her hair, pulling her close while you swivel your hips, grinding against Agatha's face.
Your whimpers fill her bedroom as Agatha's hot breath teases you, your hips jerking as you claw at the sheets for any stability when Agatha presses her tongue flat against you.
Agatha continues to lap at you like you've known her to, like she's starving, and your knuckles whiten from tightening fists in her sheets as your hips continue to roll in her face.
"God, yes, Agatha," you moan, feeling yourself nearing the edge, your hips losing their steady rhythm.
When Agatha sucks your clit and sends you over the edge, your vision blurs—tired limbs and complete bliss, kisses you can barely register the feeling of on your thighs—and Agatha's voice, calming and grounding you the way she always did: "Stay here. I'll be back in a moment, darling. I'll just draw you a bath."
Then, a pause later, much more amused: "If one orgasm tired you out already, you're gonna be practically comatose by the time the sun rises."
