My Coworker's Monster Knot

I’ve never told anyone this—not my sister, not my therapist, not even the half-empty bottle of wine that usually gets the truth out of me—but I’ve been dripping for my coworker Marcus for months. My name’s Lena. Twenty-eight. Junior accounts coordinator at a mid-size marketing firm downtown, the kind of place where the fluorescent lights hum like they’re bored of us and the break-room coffee tastes like regret. I’m the girl who stays late because my studio apartment feels emptier than the office after six, and because Marcus stays late too.

He’s quiet. Not shy exactly—more like he chooses every word the way some men choose their grip. Tall, broad through the shoulders, the kind of muscle that looks earned instead of purchased. Dark hair always a little too long at the collar, jaw shadowed by five-o’clock whatever even at nine in the morning. He wears button-downs that strain across his chest when he reaches for the top shelf of the supply closet, and slacks that somehow never quite hide the heavy shape of him. I noticed that shape the first week. I noticed it every week after.

I didn’t know then what he was. I only knew that whenever the office emptied out and it was just the two of us under those cheap ceiling panels, something electric crawled under my skin. He’d pass behind my desk to grab a file and I’d catch the faint scent of him—pine and something wilder, like rain on hot asphalt—and my thighs would press together without permission. He’d glance down at me, those amber-flecked eyes lingering a second too long on my mouth, and I’d feel my nipples tighten against the lace of my bra like they were trying to punch through.

Last Thursday the full moon was three nights out. I felt it before I understood it. The air in the office got thicker. Marcus moved like his clothes hurt. He kept shifting in his chair, rolling his shoulders, jaw flexing. I watched him from my cubicle over the top of my monitor, pretending to update a spreadsheet while my cunt grew slick and swollen just from the sight of him. He’d stand, stretch, and the front of his trousers would tent obscenely for a second before he adjusted himself with a rough, almost angry hand. The outline was impossible—thick, long, and at the base something wider, a heavy flare that made my mouth water and my pulse hammer between my legs.

I stood up, smoothed my pencil skirt, and walked over on legs that felt unsteady. “You’re here late again,” I said, voice lower than I meant it to be. Confessional already, even then.

Marcus looked up. His eyes had gone darker, the gold in them catching the overhead light like an animal’s. “So are you.” His voice scraped. He cleared his throat. “Big presentation Monday. Figured I’d get ahead.”

“Me too.” I leaned a hip against his desk, close enough that my knee almost brushed his. The heat rolling off him was unreal. “You look… tense.”

A muscle jumped in his cheek. He laughed once, short. “That obvious?”

“A little.” I let my gaze drop, bold with the empty office and the way his cock was clearly fighting the zipper. The thick ridge pulsed once under the fabric while I watched. My clit throbbed in answer. “Anything I can do to help?”

His nostrils flared. I swear he scented me—the wetness already soaking the crotch of my panties. He shifted again, thighs spreading wider like he needed the room, and the knot at the base of that massive cock pushed visibly against the wool. It looked painful. It looked delicious.

“Lena.” Just my name, rough. He dragged a hand through his hair. “You should probably head home. Moon’s getting close. I get… restless.”

I didn’t move. My pulse was a drum between my legs. “Restless how?”

He stood. The motion brought him fully into my space, towering, the front of his slacks brushing the soft give of my lower belly. I felt the hard, hot length of him for one electric second—heavy, twitching, that swollen knot unmistakable even through layers. My breath hitched. His did too.

“Like that,” he muttered. His hands stayed fisted at his sides, tendons standing out. “I can smell how wet you are. Been smelling it for weeks. Every time you cross your fucking legs I want to—” He cut himself off, breathing hard through his nose. “You don’t know what I am.”

I tipped my chin up. My breasts felt heavy, nipples aching points against my blouse. “Then tell me. Or show me. I’ve been touching myself thinking about you for months, Marcus. In the shower. In bed. Once in the supply closet because I couldn’t wait. I come with your name in my mouth and I still want more.”

His control cracked just enough that a low sound rumbled out of him—half growl, half groan. He braced one hand on the desk beside my hip, leaning in until his forehead nearly touched mine. The heat of his body soaked through my clothes. That monstrous cock jerked against my stomach again, the knot grinding slow and deliberate like he couldn’t stop the rut of his hips.

“I’m not entirely human,” he said, voice wrecked. “Werewolf. The moon pulls and everything gets bigger, harder, hungrier. This—” He rolled his hips once, shameless now, letting me feel every thick inch and that fat, bulging knot—“doesn’t go down easy. It wants to lock inside something hot and willing. And right now all it wants is you.”

My cunt clenched so hard I whimpered. I reached down between us, bold and shaking, and cupped him through the fabric. Jesus. He overflowed my hand. The shaft was scorching, ridged with veins I could map even covered, and the knot at the root was the size of my fist already, throbbing like a second heartbeat. Precome had soaked a dark spot at the head. I squeezed gently and he shuddered, hips punching forward into my palm.

“Lena—fuck—”

“I want it,” I whispered against his mouth. “I want you to ruin me with it when you’re ready. Knot me so deep I feel it for days. I’ve imagined it. Your cock stretching me open, that thick base popping inside and locking us together while you pump me full.” My free hand slid up his chest, feeling the wild hammer of his heart. “We both want this. Don’t pretend we don’t.”

He kissed me then—hungry, open-mouthed, all tongue and teeth and the faint copper tang of restraint. One of his hands fisted in my hair, the other gripping my ass hard enough to bruise, yanking me flush so that fat knot ground against my mound through skirt and trousers. I moaned into his mouth and rubbed back, shameless, chasing friction on my clit. Wetness slicked my inner thighs. The office was silent except for our breathing and the wet sound of the kiss and the creak of his desk when he lifted me onto it like I weighed nothing.

He stepped between my spread knees, shoved my skirt up to my hips, and stared at the dark, soaked crotch of my panties like a man starving. His thumbs hooked the sides but he didn’t pull them down yet. Instead he pressed the heel of his hand against my cunt and rubbed in slow, filthy circles until I was panting and rocking.

“Smell that,” he rasped. “Sweet little office girl dripping for the monster. You have no idea how hard it’s been not to bend you over the copier every night and breed you.”

I was so close already, clenching around nothing, my confession pouring out between gasps. “Do it. I don’t care what you are. I’ve watched you adjust that huge cock under the table and wanted to drop to my knees. Wanted you to knot my throat, my cunt, whatever you’d give me. The moon can have you after—right now I want the strain, the size, the way you look at me like you’re seconds from losing it.”

He snarled softly and yanked my panties aside. Cool air hit my swollen folds. Two thick fingers pushed into me without warning—stretching, curling—and I cried out, head falling back. He worked them deep, thumb scrubbing my clit, watching my face like he was memorizing every twitch.

“Tight. So fucking tight. Gonna feel like heaven locked around my knot.” His fingers pumped faster. The wet sounds filled the empty floor. “But not tonight. Moon’s too close. If I get inside you now I won’t stop and I won’t be gentle and I won’t pull out until you’re dripping down your thighs for a week.”

I clenched hard around his fingers, right on the edge. “Then tease me. Make it worse. I want to go home aching.”

He did. He finger-fucked me right there on his desk until my thighs shook and my orgasm crashed through me in sharp, gushing pulses. I came with my face buried in his neck, breathing that wild scent, moaning his name while his cock—still trapped, still monstrous—rutted helplessly against my calf. He didn’t come. He held himself back with visible agony, jaw clenched, that knot visibly swollen and angry behind the zipper.

When I sagged, boneless and fluttering, he slowly withdrew his glistening fingers and sucked them clean, eyes locked on mine. Then he fixed my panties, smoothed my skirt down with surprising gentleness, and stepped back. The front of his pants looked obscene, a thick vertical ridge ending in that brutal bulge.

“Tomorrow,” he promised, voice like gravel. “Moon rises full the night after. I can keep human enough if I try. Half-shifted at worst—claws, fangs, the knot bigger than you’ve ever taken. You still want that?”

I slid off the desk on wobbly legs, cunt still twitching, juices cooling on my thighs. I stepped in close one last time, palm flattening over that straining monster cock, feeling it jump and leak for me.

“I’ve wanted it since the first time I saw you hard across the conference table,” I said. “I’m not running. I’m going home to edge myself thinking about how it’s going to split me open and lock us together. Don’t you dare take care of this yourself tonight. Save every drop for me.”

His eyes flashed pure gold. He caught my wrist, brought my hand to his mouth, and bit the heel of my palm just hard enough to sting—claiming, warning, promising.

“Go,” he growled. “Before I forget why waiting is a good idea.”

I went. But every step to the elevator left me emptier, needier, the phantom stretch of his fingers already not enough. Behind me I heard him groan, low and animal, and the soft thud of a fist against a desk. The full moon was coming. So was everything else.

I rode home with my panties ruined and my mind already writing the next filthy chapter of us—his knot, my cunt, the office that would never look the same.

I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes I felt his fingers again, thick and relentless, and the heavy promise of that knot grinding against my calf. By morning my sheets were twisted and damp, and the only thing that got me through a shower and into a fresh pair of panties was the knowledge that I’d see him in less than an hour.

The office smelled like toner and stale coffee the way it always did, but underneath it I caught him the second the elevator doors opened—pine and rain and that low animal heat. Marcus was already at his desk, sleeves rolled to the elbows, the muscles in his forearms flexing every time he scrolled. He didn’t look up right away, but his nostrils flared and his jaw went tight. I felt the answering pulse between my legs like a second heartbeat.

All morning the charged glances stacked up. He’d pass my cubicle with a file he didn’t need just so the back of his hand could brush my shoulder. I’d lean over his desk to “check a number” and let my blouse gap enough that he could see the lace edge of my bra and the way my nipples were already hard. Once, when the hallway was empty, he crowded me against the supply-closet door, nose buried in my hair, and growled, “You edged yourself last night like a good girl. I can smell it. Sweet and frustrated.” Then he stepped back like nothing had happened and left me dripping.

By late afternoon the floor had emptied. Rain tapped the windows. The full moon was tomorrow night, close enough that every move he made looked like it hurt. He kept shifting, rolling his hips in the chair, palm pressing hard against the massive ridge in his slacks. The knot was even thicker today—visibly swollen, a brutal fist of flesh trying to punch through wool. I watched him adjust it for the fifth time and finally couldn’t stand it.

I walked over, heart hammering. “Marcus.”

He looked up. His eyes were pure gold now, no amber left, and the tips of his canines had lengthened just enough to catch the light. “Lena. You should—”

“Don’t tell me to go home again.” I perched on the edge of his desk, thighs parting just enough that my skirt rode up. “You’ve been leaking through your pants for an hour. I can see the wet spot. Tell me what it feels like.”

A rough laugh scraped out of him. He dragged both hands down his face, then let them fall to his thighs, fingers digging in. “Like my cock’s trying to turn itself inside out. The knot swells first—hot, heavy, constant pressure at the base like it’s got its own pulse. Then the shaft thickens until the head’s so sensitive every brush of fabric makes me want to snarl. I need to lock into something. Need the squeeze, the heat, the way a body has to stretch and then can’t let go. It’s been building for weeks, Lena. Every time you cross your legs I smell how wet you get and the knot jumps like it’s already trying to force its way inside you.”

My cunt clenched so hard I had to bite my lip. “I’ve wanted that exact thing since the first time I saw the outline of it. I touch myself and pretend my fingers are that thick ridge, pretend the heel of my hand is the knot shoving in and locking. I come so hard I see stars and it still isn’t enough. I want the real thing—your monstrous cock stretching me open, that fat base popping past my entrance and trapping every drop of you inside me.”

He stood so fast the chair rolled back and hit the wall. The front of his trousers was obscene, the shape of him fully mapped: long, veined, the flared head glossy where precome had soaked through, and at the root that brutal swelling the size of a large fist. He looked feral. Beautiful.

“Door,” he rasped.

I was already moving. I flipped the lock, the metallic click loud in the quiet office, and when I turned he was right there, crowding me back against the wood. His mouth crashed onto mine—hungry, open, the faint scrape of lengthened fangs against my lower lip. One clawed hand (half-shifted already, nails black and sharp) fisted in my hair; the other shoved my skirt up around my waist and cupped my soaked panties, rubbing hard.

“Jesus, you’re drenched,” he groaned against my mouth. “Been like this all day for me?”

“All night too.” I reached between us, palm flattening over that monstrous ridge, feeling it jump and throb. “Let me see it. Please. I’ve been dying to get my mouth on you.”

He snarled something that wasn’t quite words and yanked his belt open with shaking hands. Zipper down. The second the fabric parted, his cock sprang free—heavy, dark with blood, the head flushed nearly purple and already dripping a thick strand of precome. It was longer than I’d imagined, thicker than my wrist at the middle, ridged with veins that pulsed under the skin. And the knot… God. It sat at the base like a swollen, fist-sized flare of flesh, shiny and tight, twitching with every heartbeat. Half-shifted, yes—his cock had taken on a subtle taper, the knot more pronounced, the whole length radiating heat that felt almost feverish.

I dropped to my knees so fast my stockings snagged on the carpet. The scent of him hit me full force—musk and salt and something wilder, like the forest after a storm. I wrapped both hands around the shaft; my fingers didn’t meet. He was scorching, velvet-soft skin over iron hardness, and when I gave an experimental stroke the knot pulsed visibly, a fresh bead of precome welling at the slit.

“Fuck—Lena—” His claws scraped the door above my head. He was staring down at me like he couldn’t believe I was real.

I leaned in and licked a broad stripe from the top of the knot all the way up the underside to the head. The taste exploded on my tongue—salty, slightly sweet, addictive. I did it again, slower, swirling around the flared crown, then sealed my lips over him and sank down. He was almost too thick; my jaw stretched wide, spit already gathering at the corners of my mouth, but I forced myself lower, tongue working the thick vein, until the head nudged the back of my throat and I had to breathe carefully through my nose.

Marcus made a broken sound and threaded his fingers gently into my hair—careful of the claws. “That’s it. Take what you can. Christ, your mouth is so fucking hot—”

I hollowed my cheeks and sucked hard on the way up, then dropped again, farther this time, until my lips brushed the upper swell of the knot. It was too big to take yet, but I worshipped it anyway—licking wet circles around the taut flesh, pressing open-mouthed kisses to it while my hands stroked the spit-slick shaft. Every time my tongue dragged over that swollen base he shuddered and more precome spilled onto my tongue. I swallowed it greedily and went back for more, bobbing in earnest now, sloppy and eager, the wet sounds of my mouth on his cock filling the locked office.

He was leaking constantly, cock jumping against my palate, knot visibly tighter, darker. I could feel how much it hurt him—the way his hips kept making tiny aborted thrusts like he was fighting the urge to just bury himself to the root. I pulled off with a filthy string of spit connecting my lower lip to his cockhead and looked up, voice wrecked.

“Does it hurt worse when I do this?” I stroked the knot firmly with both hands, feeling it throb like a second heart.

“Yes,” he growled, eyes blazing gold. “Fuck, yes—makes it ache to lock. Makes me want to drag you up, bend you over that desk, and shove every inch inside until it pops past your cunt and we’re stuck. I can smell how empty you are. You’re dripping onto the floor, aren’t you?”

I was. My panties were ruined again, thighs slick. I dove back down, taking him as deep as I could, gagging softly when the head punched my throat, then pulling back to lavishly tongue the knot again—sucking at the stretched skin, nipping gently with my teeth just to feel him jerk. My free hand slipped between my own legs, rubbing my clit through the soaked fabric while I worshiped him, moaning around his cock so the vibrations ran straight down to that needy flare.

Marcus’s breathing had gone ragged, almost panting. One half-shifted hand cupped the back of my head, not forcing, just holding, claws carefully retracted so only the pads of his fingers pressed. “Look at you. Office girl on her knees for the monster’s knot. You’re going to ruin me. Tomorrow night when the moon’s full I’m going to knot this pretty cunt so deep you’ll feel me for a week. But right now—” He hissed when I suckled hard at the sensitive spot just above the swell. “Right now I need your mouth. Need you to keep sucking like that while I try not to come down your throat and knot nothing but air.”

I redoubled my efforts, both hands working the shaft and knot in wet, twisting strokes while my mouth focused on the head—tonguing the slit, sucking hard, letting him fuck shallowly between my lips. Spit ran down my chin and dripped onto my blouse. My knees ached. My jaw ached. My cunt was throbbing so hard I thought I might come just from the taste of him and the filthy praise rolling out of his mouth.

He was getting close; I could tell by the way the knot swelled even fatter under my palms, by the desperate little growls he couldn’t hold back. But he didn’t tip over. He held himself right there on the razor edge, hips rolling, cock throbbing heavily on my tongue, every muscle in his body locked with the effort of not flooding my mouth.

I pulled off again, lips swollen, chin shiny, and pressed my cheek to the scorching shaft so I could speak against it. “Don’t come yet. I want you aching the same way I am. I want you so desperate by tomorrow that the second the door locks again you forget how to be gentle.”

His laugh was pure gravel. He hauled me up by the arms, spun me, and pinned me face-first to the door, grinding that massive, spit-slick cock against the cleft of my ass through my skirt. The knot dug in just above my hole, hot and insistent. His mouth found my ear, fangs grazing the lobe.

“Tomorrow,” he promised, voice wrecked. “I’m going to spread you open on this desk and watch every inch disappear. I’m going to feel that tight little cunt stretch around my knot and then lock us together while I pump you so full it leaks out around the seal. And you’re going to take it. You’re going to beg for it. Aren’t you, Lena?”

I pushed back against him, shameless, chasing the pressure. “Yes. God, yes. Knot me. Breed me. I don’t care how half-shifted you get—claws, fangs, whatever. I want all of it.”

He reached around, shoved my panties aside, and sank two thick fingers into me again—easy this time, I was so wet—curling them just right while the knot rubbed filthy circles against my ass. I came with a broken cry, clenching hard, juices running down his wrist. He worked me through it, then slowly withdrew, brought his glistening fingers to my mouth, and made me suck them clean while his cock continued to throb neglected and furious against me.

When he finally stepped back, tucking himself away with visible agony, the outline was somehow even worse—soaked fabric plastered to every ridge and the brutal swell of the knot. He looked at me like he wanted to devour me whole.

“Go home,” he said roughly. “Edge yourself again tonight. Think about how it’s going to feel when that knot forces its way inside and doesn’t come back out for hours. Tomorrow we finish this.”

I unlocked the door on shaky legs, lips still tasting of him, cunt still fluttering around the ghost of his fingers. The hallway was empty. Behind me I heard the low, frustrated snarl he couldn’t quite swallow, and the creak of his desk chair as he dropped into it hard.

Tomorrow. The moon. His knot. My body already aching for the stretch I hadn’t taken yet. I walked to the elevator with his precome still on my tongue and the certain knowledge that neither of us would last another full day.

I barely made it through the next day. The full moon hung fat and low even before dusk, pressing against the office windows like it wanted in, and Marcus moved through the fluorescent haze like a live wire. Every brush of his sleeve against mine sent a fresh gush of slick down my thighs. By six the floor was a ghost town. Rain hammered the glass. I found him already in the conference room, blinds drawn, the long table cleared of everything except a single forgotten legal pad. His eyes were molten gold. The tips of his fangs dented his lower lip. When he looked at me the air itself seemed to thicken.

“Lock it,” he said, voice scraped raw.

I did. The click sounded final. I walked to him on legs that trembled, heart slamming so hard I felt it in my clit. He caught me by the hips, spun me, and sat hard in one of the rolling chairs, yanking me astride his lap facing away—reverse, just like I’d pictured a hundred filthy times. My skirt was already rucked to my waist. He shredded the soaked panties with one half-shifted claw and tossed the scraps. Cool air kissed my dripping folds a second before the scorching brand of his bare cock slid between them.

“Fuck, Lena—look at you.” His hands gripped my hips, claws carefully sheathed but the strength unmistakable. “Sit on it. Take every thick inch. Show me how much that greedy little cunt wants the monster.”

I reached between my legs, wrapped both hands around the veined monster jutting up, and guided the swollen head to my entrance. Even after all the teasing I had to breathe through the first stretch. He was denser than any toy, hotter, the flared crown forcing me open millimeter by millimeter while I sank. My head fell back against his shoulder. A broken moan tore out of me as the thick middle of his shaft speared deeper, ridges dragging over every sensitive spot until my thighs shook and my walls fluttered wildly around the invasion.

“That’s it—ride it. Bounce on your coworker’s knot-ready cock like the desperate office slut you are.”

I did. I planted my heels on the rungs of the chair and lifted, then dropped, taking him deeper each time. The wet slap of my ass meeting his thighs filled the room. His grip on my hips tightened, guiding the rhythm, forcing me down harder until I was stuffed full and still craving more. The knot at his base thumped against my stretched lips with every descent—hot, fist-sized, insistent—not inside yet but promising. Precome and my own slick coated him until we were both shiny and filthy. I reached back, bracing on his thighs, and rolled my hips in tight circles, grinding my clit against the root while that massive shaft dragged over my g-spot again and again.

“Marcus—oh God, you’re so deep—” Words dissolved into gasps. Sweat slicked the small of my back. My tits bounced free of the unbuttoned blouse; he reached around and pinched both nipples hard enough to arc pleasure straight to my cunt. I rode faster, chasing the burn, the stretch, the way his cock seemed to swell even thicker inside me with every pulse of the moon.

He snarled against my ear, fangs grazing the shell. “Feel that knot? It’s getting ready for you. Gonna lock this pretty cunt so tight you won’t walk straight for days. Keep riding. Make yourself come on it first.”

I did—shattered with a cry that echoed off the glass walls, walls clamping down in rhythmic waves while he held me impaled and trembling. Juices flooded around his shaft, dripping onto his balls. I was still fluttering when he stood in one powerful motion, keeping himself buried, and laid me face-down across the polished conference table. Papers skidded. My cheek pressed to cool wood. He kicked my feet wider, folded me tighter, and drove back in to the hilt—mating press bent over the edge, his heavier body blanketing mine, hips snapping hard and deep.

“Yes—take it. Take every fucking thrust.” One hand fisted in my hair, the other braced beside my shoulder, claws leaving shallow crescents in the veneer. He pounded into me with raw, animal power, each stroke bottoming out so the fat knot spanked my clit and stretched rim. The table creaked. My moans turned continuous, broken only by the wet smack of skin and his low, continuous growl. “This cunt was made for my knot. Feel how it tries to suck me deeper? Greedy. Perfect. Mine.”

I pushed back to meet him, ass high, spine arched, completely open and begging without shame. “Knot me—please, Marcus, I need it—lock me, fill me, I want every drop—”

His rhythm turned savage. The knot battered my entrance, swelling rapidly now, hotter, harder, until every thrust forced a desperate stretch. Then, with a final brutal snap of his hips, the huge base forced past my resistance and popped inside. Instant, overwhelming fullness. I screamed into the table as my walls locked around the impossible girth, stretched so wide the burn bloomed into pure, blinding ecstasy. He was sealed. No way out. The knot throbbed like a second heart, pulsing against my cervix, and then the first supernatural flood hit.

Hot, thick ropes of cum jetted deep, volume after impossible volume, each spurt harder than the last. The pressure of being locked and flooded sent me over again—harder, longer, my whole body seizing as orgasm after orgasm ripped through me. I came on the stretch alone, then on the heat of his seed, then on the relentless pulse of that massive knot forcing more space inside me. He kept grinding, shallow and locked, every micro-movement dragging fresh sparks across my g-spot while he emptied what felt like a lifetime of denied load straight into my womb.

“Fuck—Lena—taking it so well—feel that? Breeding you right here on the conference table where anyone could’ve walked in.” His voice was wrecked, half growl. Clawed hands slid under me to cup my tits, holding me flush while his cock jerked and painted my insides white. Another orgasm crashed; I sobbed his name, cunt milking the knot in greedy ripples that only made him flood harder. Cum already leaked past the seal in thick rivulets down my thighs, yet more kept coming—supernatural, endless, claiming.

We stayed locked, panting, sweat-slick, the table cool under my cheek and his chest a furnace against my back. His knot showed no sign of going down. Every tiny shift sent aftershocks ripping through me. I clenched deliberately just to hear him snarl and feel another heavy pulse of cum. The moon pressed closer outside. Somewhere in the building a night cleaner’s cart rattled, distant but real. Neither of us moved to separate—couldn’t, didn’t want to. His fangs scraped my shoulder in a gentle, possessive bite.

“Not done,” he rasped against my skin, hips giving one more locked grind that made my eyes roll. “Moon’s barely up. This knot’s staying put until you’re dripping for a week and begging for round two on your knees under my desk tomorrow. You still with me, Lena?”

I could only moan and push back onto the swollen lock, already aching for whatever came next while his cock kept twitching and filling me past full. The night—and the monster buried inside me—was only getting started.

We stayed locked like that, his knot a living fist pulsed tight behind my pubic bone, every shallow grind dragging fresh sparks across nerves already raw from coming. The conference table bit cool into my cheek while his chest blanketed my back, furnace-hot, half-shifted claws carefully flexed so only the pads of his fingers traced the undersides of my breasts. Cum kept pulsing—thick, endless, supernatural volume that stretched my belly just enough to feel claimed. I clenched on purpose and felt him snarl against my shoulder, another heavy jet painting my insides white.

“Still with me?” he rasped, voice wrecked and low.

“Mmm. Not going anywhere.” My laugh came out breathless. “Literally can’t.”

Nearly an hour. That’s how long the knot held us. Time blurred into the wet, filthy rhythm of his micro-thrusts and the slow drip of excess seed leaking past the seal down my thighs in sticky rivulets. Every few minutes another orgasm rolled through me—smaller, shivery things that left me whimpering and fluttering around the impossible girth. Marcus whispered filthy praise against my skin the whole time: how perfect I felt locked around him, how the moon sang in his blood watching me take it, how he’d never knot anyone else again if I kept milking him like this. I confessed right back between gasps—how I’d edged myself raw last night picturing exactly this stretch, how the fluorescent hum of the empty office would forever smell like sex and pine and us.

His hands never stopped moving—gentle now, mapping my ribs, thumbs circling my nipples until they peaked again, palm sliding down to rub slow circles over my swollen clit. The dual sensation kept me hovering, oversensitive and greedy. When a distant elevator dinged somewhere floors below we both froze, laughing breathlessly into each other’s skin, the threat of discovery only making my cunt squeeze harder around the lock.

“Night shift’s early,” he muttered, fangs grazing the nape of my neck in a soft claiming bite that sent another aftershock rippling through me. “Guess they’ll get a show if they try this floor.”

“Let them. I’m not unlocking until this monster decides to behave.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating straight into my core, and gave one last locked grind that made my eyes roll. Then, finally—slowly—the pressure eased. The swollen base softened by degrees, still massive but no longer iron-hard. Cum flooded out in a hot rush the second the seal broke, soaking the table edge, my thighs, the front of his open slacks. I whimpered at the sudden emptiness even as he carefully eased free, cock glistening and still half-hard, the knot a heavy, shiny reminder of what we’d done.

Marcus turned me gently, lifted me like I weighed nothing, and sat back in the rolling chair with me straddling his lap face-to-face this time. His mouth found mine in a kiss that started tender—slow drags of tongue, the faint copper tang of restraint gone now—and deepened until we were both breathing hard again. Hands framed my face. Claws fully retracted. He kissed the corner of my mouth, my jaw, the fluttering pulse at my throat.

“You okay?” Soft. Careful. Completely at odds with the animal who’d just bred me across the conference table.

“Better than okay.” I nuzzled into his neck, breathing that wild scent now mixed with sex and sweat. “Sore in the best way. Full. Happy.” My fingers traced the still-visible veins along his cock where it rested heavy between us. “And already wondering when I can have it again.”

He huffed a laugh and kissed me deeper, one hand rubbing soothing circles at the base of my spine while the other reached for the box of tissues someone had abandoned beside the forgotten legal pad. We cleaned each other with surprising care—wiping sticky thighs, gentling over my puffy entrance, dabbing the mess from the polished wood. Every pass of the tissue turned into another lingering kiss, another murmured thank-you against damp skin. I buttoned his shirt with clumsy fingers; he smoothed my skirt down and helped me into what was left of my blouse, laughing when a stray claw snagged a button and popped it free.

“Office looks like a crime scene,” I said, surveying the cum-streaked table, the shredded panties in the corner, the legal pad now sporting a perfect butt-print.

“Our crime scene.” He stood, tucked himself away with a wince that turned into a wicked grin, and grabbed a stack of paper towels from the sideboard. Together we wiped the table until it gleamed under the harsh lights, righted the chairs, cracked a window to let the rain-scented night air chase out the thick musk of sex. I found disinfectant wipes in the cabinet and we worked side by side, shoulders brushing, trading soft smiles and the occasional filthy reminder—“right here is where you screamed for my knot”—that kept heat low in my belly.

When the room finally looked almost professional again, Marcus caught my wrist and pulled me in. The kiss this time was pure aftercare: slow, deep, full of the tenderness that only comes after you’ve been locked together for an hour pumping each other full of everything you have. His forehead rested against mine.

“Next full moon,” he said, voice still rough but steady. “I want to take you on a proper date first. Dinner. Somewhere with actual candles, not fluorescent bulbs. Then… whatever comes after. Knot-filled nights. Willing ones. As many as you’ll give me.”

My heart did something stupid and soft in my chest. I rose on my toes and kissed him again, tasting the promise. “Yes. God, yes. I’ll clear my calendar for every full moon from now on. And the nights in between. Desk, copier, supply closet—I’m in.”

His smile flashed fangs and pure joy. “Good. Because I’m already counting the days.”

We gathered our things, flipped off the lights, and walked to the elevator hand-in-hand like any other late-working couple—except for the delicious ache between my legs and the way his free hand kept flexing like it missed my hip. The doors slid shut. I leaned into his side, confessional honesty still pouring out of me even now.

“I’ve never told anyone this,” I whispered against his shoulder, “but I think I’m going to need a standing desk after tonight. My ass may never forgive that table.”

Marcus barked a laugh so loud it echoed in the empty car, pulled me closer, and pressed a final kiss to my hair. “Worth it. Next time we’ll bring a cushion. Or just do it on the floor like animals.”