Boss Seduces Grant's Wife Petra

Petra smoothed the black dress over her hips and tried not to stare at the man who signed her husband’s paychecks. Emmett’s house sat above the city like it had been built to make guests feel smaller, all warm stone and glass and a driveway long enough that the hired valet had time to learn your name. At twenty-eight she still got a little breathless walking into rooms like this, especially in a dress cut to show the curve of her waist and the generous swell of her breasts. Grant, thirty and already loosening his tie, kissed her cheek and called the place incredible. She smiled for him. Her pulse was doing something else entirely.

Emmett met them at the door. Forty-five, silver at the temples, shoulders filling a charcoal shirt with the sleeves rolled once. His hand closed around hers a second longer than polite, and the heat of it traveled straight up her arm.

“Petra,” he said, voice low and unhurried. “You look dangerous tonight.”

“Behave,” she said, and heard how thin the warning sounded.

Grant laughed, oblivious, already turning toward the noise of the party. Colleagues drifted through the great room with plates and glasses. Yolanda, from accounting, waved Grant over with a question about a client file she’d left in her bag. Petra watched her husband go, cheerful and unconcerned, and felt Emmett’s attention settle on her like a hand at the small of her back.

Dinner was long and bright. Candlelight. Good food. Emmett at the head of the table, telling a story that made everyone lean in, and every so often his eyes found Petra’s and held. She crossed her legs under the linen and felt the slick ache start between them. She had felt it before, in elevators and conference rooms, that charged silence when he stood too close and she didn’t step away. Tonight the dress was thinner. Tonight Grant was laughing at something Yolanda said three seats down and not looking at his wife at all.

After dessert Emmett stood. “Grant, Yolanda wanted your take on the Henderson numbers. My office off the hall has the printouts. Petra, if you’re bored of shop talk, the study’s quieter. Better whiskey, worse gossip.”

Grant squeezed Petra’s shoulder. “You mind, babe? Ten minutes.”

“Go,” she said. Her voice came out steady. Her thighs did not.

She followed Emmett down a corridor lined with art she didn’t register. The study was all oak and leather and a wall of books, a wide desk facing tall windows that looked over the dark garden. He shut the door. The latch clicked, soft and final. Somewhere behind them, Grant’s voice rose and fell, harmless, talking numbers with Yolanda. Petra’s skin prickled.

“You’ve been watching me all night,” Emmett said.

“You’ve been making it easy.”

He crossed the room without rushing. Up close he smelled like cedar and clean skin. “That dress is a problem. I spent the salad course imagining how it would look on my floor.”

Heat flooded her face and lower, deeper. “You’re my husband’s boss.”

“And you’re a grown woman who hasn’t looked away once.” His knuckles brushed the outside of her arm, a slow drag from elbow to shoulder. “Tell me to stop and I will. I want to hear you say it if that’s what you want.”

She didn’t say it. Her breath snagged. “You’re very sure of yourself.”

“I’m sure of this.” His palm settled at her waist, thumb stroking the silk. “The way you shift in your chair when I talk. The way your mouth goes soft. You’ve wanted my hands on you longer than tonight.”

“Grant’s right down the hall.”

“Grant is explaining a spreadsheet to Yolanda and won’t notice if the house catches fire.” Emmett’s other hand lifted, fingertips tracing the line of her collarbone, then lower, skimming the top of her breast through the dress. “I’m not him. I’m not going to be careful with you unless you ask me to be.”

Her nipples tightened so fast it almost hurt. She leaned into the touch before she decided to. “I don’t want careful.”

“Say what you do want.”

The words came out shaky and clear. “I want you. I’ve wanted you. God, Emmett, I want you to touch me.”

Something in his face went hungry and pleased. He backed her into the bookshelf, the spines hard against her shoulder blades, and kissed her like he’d been waiting through every meeting and every dinner to do it. His mouth was firm, insistent, tongue sliding against hers until she opened and moaned into him. One big hand cupped her ass and hauled her hips flush to his. The thick ridge of his cock pressed her belly through his pants, and she ground against it without shame, the dress riding up her thighs.

“That’s it,” he muttered against her mouth. “Use me. Let me feel how badly you need it.”

She fisted his shirt. “Please.”

He kissed her harder, teeth catching her lower lip, then her throat, sucking a mark just under her jaw where her hair might hide it and might not. His hand slipped under the hem, found the damp silk of her panties, and stroked her through them until her knees threatened to give.

“Soaked,” he said, almost wondering. “And I haven’t even gotten you out of these.”

“Then get me out of them.”

He spun her, walked her to the desk, and bent her over the broad oak top with a steady pressure between her shoulders. Papers shifted. A pen rolled and clicked to the floor. Petra braced her palms on the wood, ass tipped up, dress bunched at her waist. Cool air hit the backs of her thighs. Emmett dragged her panties down to her knees and left them there, a dark band binding her legs just enough to make her feel filthy and kept.

“Look at you,” he said. His fingers parted her, slow and deliberate, and she heard how wet she was when he stroked through her folds. “Pink and shining. This pretty cunt’s been waiting for me all through dinner.”

“Yes.” She pushed back onto his hand. Two fingers slid in easy, thick, curling until her breath broke. “Don’t tease. I need you inside me.”

“You sure?” He worked his fingers deeper, thumb circling her clit, and she whimpered. “Once I start, I’m going to fuck you like I own this. Hard. On my desk. While your husband talks shop down the hall.”

“I’m sure. I want it. Fuck me, Emmett. Please fuck me.”

His belt whispered. Zipper. Then the blunt, hot head of his cock nudged her entrance, thicker than his fingers, and he gripped her hip with one hand and pushed in with one long, relentless stroke. Petra’s mouth fell open. He filled her completely, stretching her, the head kissing deep enough that her toes curled in her heels. She was so wet he sank to the root without pausing, balls flush to her ass, and the sound she made was helpless and loud before she bit it back.

“Quiet,” he said, amused and rough, and drew almost all the way out before driving back in. “Or don’t. I like hearing you.”

He set a hard pace from the first thrust. The desk edge bit her hips. Each stroke shoved her forward and hauled her back onto him, the wet slap of their bodies obscene in the quiet study. Petra clawed at the oak, breasts swaying in the low neckline, nipples dragging the wood through thin fabric. Emmett’s hand slid up her spine and fisted in her hair, not cruel, just sure, arching her so he could sink even deeper.

“Tight,” he growled. “Christ, Petra. You take me like you were made for it.”

“Harder.” She was already close, the angle brutal and perfect, his cock stroking that swollen spot inside her with every thrust. “Don’t hold back. I can take it.”

He gave her what she asked for. Hips snapping, grip bruising on her waist, he fucked her in deep, punishing strokes that made the desk creak and her vision spark. She came with a choked cry, cunt clenching around him in rhythmic pulses, slick flooding down her thighs. He didn’t stop. He fucked her through it, groaning when she fluttered and squeezed, chasing his own pleasure in the aftershocks until she was gasping and oversensitive and still pushing back for more.

“Up,” he said, voice wrecked. He pulled out, and she whimpered at the emptiness. Strong hands turned her, lifted her as if she weighed nothing, and set her on the edge of the desk. Her panties finally dropped to one heel. He shoved her dress higher, spread her knees wide, and looked down at her swollen, glistening pussy with open hunger. “Lie back. I want to watch your face while I ruin you.”

She did. The oak was cool under her shoulder blades. Emmett hooked her legs over his forearms, lined up, and thrust back in to the hilt. The new angle stole her breath. He was so deep she felt him in her stomach, and when he started to move it was slower for three strokes, savoring, then hard again, the kind of fucking that jolted her whole body. Her breasts bounced. He yanked the neckline down and closed his mouth over one nipple, sucking hard while his cock pounded into her, and she cried out his name before she could stop herself.

“Emmett—oh God—right there—”

“I know.” He licked the stiff peak, then the other, teeth grazing. “You’re dripping down my cock. Listen to it.”

She could. Every thrust was a wet, filthy sound. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clawed his back through his shirt, nails digging, needing an anchor. He kissed her mouth, messy and deep, swallowing her moans, and kept driving into her like the party outside the door didn’t exist. Her second orgasm built faster, meaner, coiled tight behind her clit where his pelvis ground against her with each plunge.

“I’m going to come again,” she panted. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“Come on my cock,” he said against her lips. “Soak me. Show me how much you needed this.”

She shattered, back arching off the desk, thighs shaking around his hips, a broken moan torn out of her as she pulsed and gushed around him. Emmett cursed, thrusts going ragged, but he pulled out before he finished, breathing hard, cock slick and angry-red and shining with her.

“Not yet,” he said. “One more. I want you standing. I want you looking at the dark while I take you.”

He helped her off the desk on unsteady legs, turned her toward the tall window, and bent her forward with her palms on the cool glass. The garden was black beyond their reflections. Petra saw herself flushed and wrecked, dress ruined around her waist, breasts bare, and behind her Emmett, tall and intent, guiding his cock back to her entrance. He pushed in slow this time, inch by inch, until she was full again and whimpering, forehead nearly touching the glass.

Then he gripped her hips with both hands and fucked her standing, deep and relentless, the standing press of his body pinning her to the window. Her breasts swayed. Her breath fogged the pane. Each thrust slapped his hips against her ass and drove a helpless sound from her throat.

“Hear that?” he said, low and filthy at her ear. “That greedy little cunt sucking me in. You’re wetter for me than you’ve ever been for him. Aren’t you.”

“Yes.” Shame and lust tangled and burned. She didn’t care. “Yes. Wetter. Harder. God, you fuck me better.”

“Say it properly.”

“I’m wetter for you than for my husband.” The words made her clench, and he groaned and slammed deeper. “He doesn’t fuck me like this. He doesn’t fill me like this. I wanted your cock. I still want it. Don’t you dare be gentle.”

“Good girl.” His hand slid around and found her clit, rubbing rough circles while he pounded into her from behind. “Take it. Take every inch. This is what you came here for, bent over in my house with your panties on the floor and your husband down the hall, getting stuffed full of my cock.”

“Yes—yes—Emmett—”

She came a third time with her mouth open against the glass, silent and shaking, legs nearly giving out. Emmett’s rhythm broke. He buried himself to the root, cursed her name, and came hard, thick pulses of heat flooding her, hips jerking as he emptied himself deep inside her cunt. She felt every spurt, the hot rush, the way he held her pinned and grinding while he finished, milking himself in her until he was spent and she was overflowing around him.

For a moment there was only breathing, harsh and shared. Then he eased out. A warm trickle slid down her inner thigh. Petra’s reflection looked stunned and glowing, lipstick gone, hair a mess. Emmett’s hands gentled for half a second on her hips, then he turned her and kissed her, possessive and deep, one palm cupping the back of her neck like he was staking a claim he had no intention of giving back.

“Straighten up,” he murmured against her mouth. “He’s going to walk in here any minute and I want him to see his pretty wife looking satisfied and have no idea why.”

She found her panties, stepped into them, and felt his cum soak the silk immediately. The dress went down. She fixed the neckline, smoothed her hair with shaking hands, and couldn’t stop the small, ruined smile that kept tugging at her mouth. Her pussy throbbed, used and full, thighs sticky. Emmett tucked himself away, belt quiet, and looked at her like he was already planning the next time.

Footsteps in the hall. Grant’s voice, bright and ordinary. “Petra? You in here? Yolanda finally let me go.”

The door opened. Grant stepped in, tie loose, smiling at both of them with complete, easy trust. “Sorry that took forever. Emmett, your whiskey collection is dangerous. Babe, you ready to head out? You look… flushed. Study too warm?”

“A little,” Petra said. Her voice was hoarse. She hoped he heard dinner and wine in it.

Emmett’s hand brushed the small of her back as he passed her a glass of water she didn’t need, fingers lingering one stolen second. “She’s been excellent company,” he said mildly. “You’re a lucky man, Grant.”

Grant beamed, oblivious, already talking about the drive home. Petra stood with her husband’s boss’s cum leaking into her panties and smiled at her husband like nothing in the room smelled like sex. Emmett met her eyes over Grant’s shoulder, mouth curved, and she clenched around the mess he’d left in her, greedy and aching, already wanting him to bend her over that desk again and fuck another load into her married cunt before the night was done.