Office Desk Fucks the Married Wife

The city lights twinkled like scattered diamonds through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the thirty-second floor as Emily Hargrove smoothed her tight charcoal pencil skirt for the third time. At twenty-eight, the curvy blonde assistant had long ago perfected the art of looking professional while still turning heads. Tonight, however, the office was nearly empty. Only the low hum of the air conditioning and the occasional click of her heels broke the silence.

Marcus Washington sat behind his massive oak desk, reviewing the quarterly reports she had prepared. At forty-two, the tall, powerfully built Black executive radiated the kind of commanding presence that made junior staff nervous and female staff… something else entirely. His crisp white shirt stretched across broad shoulders and a chest that spoke of disciplined weight training. The deep timbre of his voice had always sent a secret shiver down Emily’s spine, one she had tried for two years to ignore.

“These numbers are flawless, Emily,” he said, leaning back in his leather chair. His dark eyes lifted from the pages and traveled slowly over her body. “But then again, so are you.”

The compliment landed heavily between them. Emily felt heat bloom across her cheeks. She stood beside the desk, close enough to smell his expensive cologne and the warm, masculine scent beneath it.

“Thank you, Mr. Washington.”

“Marcus,” he corrected, voice dropping an octave. “We’ve worked late together too many nights for formalities.” His gaze lingered openly on the way her full breasts strained against the pearl buttons of her cream blouse, then drifted down to the curve of her hips wrapped in that snug skirt. “That skirt should be illegal. The way it hugs your ass when you walk past my door every morning has been distracting me for months.”

Emily’s breath caught. She should have been offended. She should have made an excuse and left. Instead, the neglected ache between her thighs flared hotter than it had in years.

“My husband hasn’t touched me in six months,” she whispered, the confession slipping out before she could stop it. “He barely looks at me anymore. I… I didn’t realize how obvious it was that I’m starving.”

Marcus rose from his chair, all six-foot-three of solid muscle. He moved around the desk with predatory grace until he stood directly in front of her. The heat radiating from his body made her nipples tighten painfully against her lace bra.