Forbidden Cravings in Therapy

Dr. Everett closed the leather-bound notebook on his lap and let his gaze rest on Carmen the way he had done every Thursday at four for the last seven months. Forty-two years old, dark hair silvering just at the temples, he sat in the low armchair that faced hers across the soft grey rug of his consulting room. The afternoon light through the half-drawn blinds painted slow bars across the carpet and across the long bare stretch of her thighs where her skirt had ridden up when she crossed her legs.

Carmen was twenty-eight, a project manager who spoke in precise sentences about deadlines and deliverables until the moment the door clicked shut behind her. Then the precision softened. She always arrived five minutes early, always in something that showed the clean line of her collarbones or the soft flex of her calves. Today it was a deep green blouse that gaped just enough when she leaned forward, and a charcoal skirt that stopped mid-thigh. She knew he noticed. She had told him so, three sessions ago, voice steady, eyes bright.

“I keep thinking about your mouth when I touch myself,” she had said then, no apology, only a faint flush across her cheeks. “Is that allowed?”

He had answered carefully, professionally, reminding her that attraction in the room was common and workable material. Inside he had felt the slow, heavy pull low in his gut that had only grown stronger since. He loved the way she worked—how she unpicked her own defenses with fierce honesty, how she laughed at herself when the insights landed, how she looked at him afterward as if he had given her something precious. He encouraged every inch of that courage. He told her she was sharp, resilient, worth the effort. He meant every word. And underneath the words the want kept simmering, electric and unspoken until she spoke it first.

Today she sat with one ankle hooked behind the other, heel bouncing once, twice. Her dark hair was gathered loosely at her nape; a few strands had slipped free and brushed the side of her neck. He watched the small motion of her throat when she swallowed.

“You said last week the nights were getting harder,” he said, voice low and even. “Tell me what’s been happening when you try to sleep.”

Carmen’s lips parted. She looked at his hands first—long fingers resting quiet on the notebook—then up to his face. “I lie there and I replay the things you say to me. The encouraging parts. The way your voice drops when you’re proud of something I’ve done. And then it slides. I start imagining you saying other things. Filthy things. I get so wet I have to push the sheets down and use my fingers. Sometimes I come saying your name. Sometimes I stop myself right at the edge because it feels like I’m stealing something that isn’t mine yet.”

The air between them thickened. Everett kept his posture open, ankles crossed, expression attentive, but his cock had begun to fill against the soft wool of his trousers. He did not shift. He simply held her gaze and let the heat show a fraction more than was wise.

“You’re not stealing,” he said. “You’re bringing the truth in here. That’s the work. And I’m glad you trust me with it.”

She laughed once, soft and shaky. “Glad. God, Everett—can I call you that in here today?—you sit there looking like every older-man fantasy I ever had and you tell me you’re glad I’m soaking my sheets over you. The age gap alone should make this ridiculous. You’re fourteen years older. You have that calm authority thing that makes me want to climb into your lap and misbehave until you correct me. I’ve been wet since I walked through the door. I can feel it every time I shift.”

He set the notebook aside on the side table. The small click of wood against wood sounded too loud. “I know,” he answered, and the admission hung bare between them. “I feel it too. Every session. The way you look at my mouth when I’m speaking. The way your breathing changes when I lean forward. I’ve wanted to put my hands on you for months—wanted to tell you how beautiful you are when you fight for yourself, and then show you with my mouth and my cock exactly how much I mean it. That desire doesn’t cancel the care. It sits right beside it. That’s the tension we’ve been holding.”

Carmen’s pupils were blown wide. She uncrossed her legs slowly, deliberately, letting the skirt ride higher. The shadowed crease at the top of her thighs was visible for half a second before she smoothed the fabric down again. “I like holding it with you,” she whispered. “I like that you don’t shut me down. I like that you keep encouraging me even when I’m dripping for my own therapist. It makes me feel… claimed already. Like you’re patient enough to wait until I break.”

He felt the words land low and hot. His pulse thudded in his throat, in his groin. He stayed seated, stayed measured, but his voice roughened. “I am patient. And I am not made of stone. Every time you walk in here looking like that, smelling like that light perfume you wear on your wrists, I have to remind myself that the hour is yours for the work, not for what I want to do to you against this chair.”

She breathed out a soft sound that was almost a moan. “Say more. Please. I need to hear how much you want it too. It’s the only thing that keeps me from crawling over there right now.”

Everett leaned forward, elbows on his knees, closing some of the careful professional distance. The movement pulled his trousers tighter; the thick ridge of his cock was unmistakable now if she looked, and she looked. “I want to lock that door,” he said quietly. “I want to pull you out of that chair and feel how wet you already are through your underwear. I want to kiss you until you forget every reason this is complicated. I want to hear you joke afterward the way you always do when something scares you, and then I want to make you stop joking because my mouth is between your legs. I have pictured it for months while you sit there being brave and brilliant and so fucking open with me. The encouragement I give you is real. The hunger underneath it is real too. Both things are true at once.”

Carmen’s hand drifted to her own knee, fingers pressing hard enough to leave brief white marks. Her chest rose and fell faster. “I can see you’re hard,” she said. “I’ve been watching the way you adjust when you think I’m looking at the clock. You’re not. You’re looking at my mouth. Same as I’m looking at the shape of you right now.”

“Yes.” No denial. Just the single word, heavy.

She smiled then—small, wicked, trembling at the edges with everything unspent. “Good. Keep looking. Keep telling me I’m doing the work well. Keep wanting me while you do it. I don’t want the tension to break yet. I want it to build until neither of us can breathe right. Until one of us finally does something stupid and perfect.”

The session clock on the shelf showed twelve minutes remaining. Neither of them glanced at it. Everett’s hands flexed once against his thighs; he imagined the give of her skin under those same hands, the sound she would make if he finally closed the gap and pulled her in. Carmen shifted again, pressing her thighs together hard enough that he saw the muscle jump. The air smelled of her perfume and the faint clean soap of his office and the sharper, secret scent of her arousal that he was almost certain he could catch when she moved.

“Next week,” she said, voice low, “I might not be able to sit still. I might come in here already touching myself in the elevator. Would you still encourage me then? Would you still tell me I’m brave while I soaked your chair?”

“I would,” he answered, and the truth of it scraped his throat raw. “I would tell you exactly how proud I am of every raw piece you bring me. And I would be hard the entire time, the same way I am right now, wanting to reward that bravery with my cock instead of just my words.”

Carmen’s eyes shone. She nodded once, slow, as if sealing something between them that had no name yet. The electric age-gap current—his measured forties restraint against her hungry late-twenties directness—crackled in the quiet room, unanswered, unfinished, already thicker than either of them could politely ignore much longer. The hour was almost up. The wanting was nowhere near done.

The following Thursday the light through the blinds was thinner, late-autumn grey that made the consulting room feel smaller, more private. Carmen arrived exactly on time, but the moment the door shut she did not sit. She stood in the middle of the soft grey rug with her coat still on, fingers knotted in the straps of her bag, breathing too fast. Everett rose halfway from his chair, notebook forgotten, the fourteen-year difference in their ages suddenly irrelevant beside the raw look on her face.

“I can’t do the careful version today,” she said, voice already cracking. “I tried all week. I touched myself every night the way I told you, saying your name, stopping at the edge because I wanted to save it for this room, and it just got worse. I feel like I’m drowning in it. You’re the only person who ever looks at me like I’m worth the wait and I can’t—”

The sentence broke. Tears spilled hard and sudden, streaking mascara down her cheeks. She dropped the bag. Everett closed the distance in three strides and pulled her into him, arms firm and protective around her back, one hand cradling the nape of her neck so her face pressed into the warm wool of his sweater. She smelled of the light perfume on her wrists and the salt of her tears. He held her tighter, chest solid against hers, no space left for anything but comfort.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured against her hair, the low calm of his voice vibrating through both of them. “You’re safe. Cry it out. I’m right here.”

Carmen shuddered, fists opening and closing against his sides. The sobs came in waves, then slowed. She stayed inside the circle of his arms until her breathing evened, until the worst of the shaking stopped. When she finally lifted her head her eyes were red but clear, and a small, shaky laugh escaped her.

“God, look at me. Full-grown project manager reduced to a puddle because her therapist has nice hands and that silver at his temples. Classic daddy-issues comedy special. Next I’ll be asking you to check under the bed for monsters.”

The joke landed soft between them. Everett’s mouth curved, still holding her. The press of her body against his—soft breasts, the slight give of her stomach, the heat of her thighs through the thin fabric of her skirt—sent fresh blood surging into his cock. She felt it too; he saw the exact moment her pupils dilated again, the flush climbing her throat. Arousal crashed back through her like a second wave, hotter for having been interrupted by tears. She rose onto her toes and kissed him.

It was not tentative. Her mouth opened under his at once, tongue sliding wet and eager, tasting the coffee he had drunk earlier and the deeper need underneath. Everett groaned into her, hands sliding down to grip her waist, then lower, cupping the curve of her ass through the charcoal skirt and hauling her flush against the thick ridge already straining his trousers. They both knew it was wrong—therapist and patient, the careful months of encouragement and honesty now crossing the line they had circled forever—yet neither pulled away. The kiss deepened, messy and hungry, teeth catching lips, her fingers spearing into his dark hair and tugging until he growled.

“This is so fucking wrong,” she whispered against his mouth between kisses, hips already rolling in small desperate circles that dragged the damp heat of her pussy along his clothed cock. “We shouldn’t—”

“I know.” His voice was rough gravel. He backed her toward the wide armchair without breaking the kiss, sat heavily, and pulled her astride his lap so her skirt rucked up around her hips. “We absolutely should not be doing this. You’re my patient. I’m supposed to keep you safe, not grind against you like a teenager.” His hands were already under the blouse, palms sliding over the lace of her bra, thumbs brushing stiff nipples until she whimpered. “But I can’t stop touching you. Tell me to stop and I will. Instantly.”

“Don’t you dare stop.” Carmen rocked harder, the thin barrier of her soaked panties dragging over the hot outline of him. She could feel every thick inch, the way the head flared when she pressed down just right. “Kiss me more. Put your hands everywhere. Just—god—we agree, right? No sex. We can make out like this, we can touch, but we don’t fuck. Not today. Even if I’m dying for it.”

“Agreed,” he rasped, though his cock jerked hard at the word fuck. “No penetration. We keep our clothes mostly on. We stop if either of us says so. Everything else is wanted—by me, by you. Say it.”

“I want this,” she breathed, kissing him again, deep and filthy. “I want your mouth and your hands and the feel of that cock rubbing me. I asked for the hug, I kissed you first, I’m grinding on you because I need it. Yes. Keep going.”

Their mouths crashed back together. Everett’s fingers found the front clasp of her bra and freed her breasts; he cupped them, rolled the peaks, then ducked his head to suck one into his mouth while she arched and moaned. Carmen’s hands worked frantically between them, tugging his sweater up enough to slide palms over the hard planes of his stomach, then lower to palm the heavy bulge in his trousers. She stroked him through the wool, squeezing the thick shaft, thumb circling the damp spot already spreading at the tip. He answered by shoving her panties aside with two fingers, not entering, just spreading her folds so the bare slick heat of her pussy kissed the fabric stretched over his cock. He rolled his hips upward in slow, deliberate strokes, letting the rigid length drag from clit to entrance and back again, soaking the front of his trousers with her.

“Feel how hard you make me,” he murmured against her nipple, teeth grazing. “Months of watching you be brave, encouraging every raw piece you brought me, and all I wanted was this—your wet cunt sliding on me, your jokes turning into those little gasps. Look at you, riding my lap like you own it. Fourteen years younger and already wrecking me.”

Carmen laughed breathlessly into his neck, then bit down when another slow stroke of his cock nudged her clit just right. “Daddy issues and all, apparently. Fuck, Everett—your cock feels massive even through clothes. Keep teasing me like that. I’m touching myself too—”

Her hand slipped between her own legs, two fingers finding her swollen clit and rubbing tight circles while he continued the filthy drag of his shaft against her open pussy. The dual sensation made her thighs shake. Slick sounds filled the quiet room, mixed with their ragged breathing and the wet slide of tongues. His free hand gripped her ass hard enough to leave marks, guiding the rhythm, holding her open so every upward thrust painted more of her wetness along his length. She could feel the heat of him, the pulse, the way he thickened further every time her fingers brushed both her clit and the covered head of his cock at once.

“We said no sex,” she reminded them both, voice breaking on a moan as he sucked harder at her breast. “Just this. Making out and grinding and my fingers and your cock teasing me until I can’t think. God, I’m so close already just from this.”

“Same,” he admitted, forehead pressed to hers, eyes dark. Their mouths met again, slower now but deeper, tasting every desperate sound. Hands roamed without pause—hers shoving into his open fly just enough to wrap bare fingers around the hot shaft and stroke him against her folds, his sliding two fingers alongside hers so they rubbed her clit together while the thick head of his cock kissed her entrance over and over without ever pushing inside. The agreement held by a thread of willpower neither wanted to break yet; the wanting only climbed higher with every denied thrust, every shared gasp, every filthy encouragement murmured between kisses.

Carmen’s free hand cupped his jaw, keeping his mouth on hers while her hips worked in frantic little circles. “Don’t stop encouraging me now,” she whispered. “Tell me I’m still doing the work. Tell me how proud you are while your cock is soaked with me.”

“You’re perfect,” Everett growled, voice wrecked. “Brave and honest and so fucking wet for the man who’s supposed to stay on the other side of the room. I’m proud of every second of this. Keep touching that pretty clit for me. Let me feel you shake.”

She did. Her fingers flew faster, his matching them, the broad head of his cock now sliding freely through her folds, tapping her entrance with every upward rock until her whole body tightened. The chair creaked. Afternoon light striped their tangled bodies. They kept kissing, kept agreeing in broken murmurs that they would not cross the final line today even as their hands grew more frantic, more claiming, the unfinished hunger coiling tighter and tighter between them with nowhere left to go but deeper into the next stolen minute.

Their mouths stayed locked, tongues sliding and tasting, while Carmen’s fingers worked her clit in frantic circles and Everett’s free hand kept her panties shoved aside so the bare heat of her cunt could kiss the fabric still trapping him. The agreement sat between every gasp—“no sex, not today”—yet her hips rolled harder, chasing the thick ridge that pulsed against her. She needed more of that heat, more of the man who had spent months telling her she was brave enough to bring every raw piece of herself into this room. Fourteen years and a professional line had never felt thinner.

Everett broke the kiss only long enough to drag his sweater higher and free the front of his trousers completely. The zipper hissed. He shoved the wool and cotton down just far enough that his cock sprang free—heavy, flushed dark at the head, already glistening where her earlier wetness had soaked through. Carmen’s eyes dropped; a broken sound left her throat. He was thicker than she had imagined on those lonely nights, the shaft veined and hot when she wrapped her fingers around it and guided the blunt head straight against her open pussy lips.

“Fuck—look at you,” she whispered, voice wrecked. “Still in your shirt, still half-dressed, and you’re painting me with that cock. We said we wouldn’t—”

“I know we shouldn’t.” His forehead pressed to hers, breath ragged. Both of them still clothed from the waist up—her green blouse open, bra hanging loose, his sweater shoved under his arms—yet the lower half of them had gone feral. He stroked the full length of his shaft up and down her soaked folds, slow and deliberate, letting the fat head catch on her clit then slide down to nudge her entrance without pushing in. Slick coated him in seconds. Carmen’s own fingers stayed busy, rubbing tight circles over her swollen bud while his cock teased every sensitive inch. “You’re my patient. This is the opposite of safe. Tell me to stop and I stop. Right now.”

“Don’t stop. Please don’t.” She rocked forward so the head notched against her opening again, the stretch a ghost of what she craved. “I’m touching myself because I need it. I’m begging because I want you inside me even though we both keep saying we can’t. Keep teasing me. Keep encouraging me while you do it.”

He did. Everett gripped her ass with one hand and used the other to hold his cock steady, dragging the thick shaft through her folds in long, filthy strokes. Every upward glide painted more of her cream along him; every downward one tapped her entrance until her thighs trembled. They kept kissing through it—messy, open-mouthed, the age-gap hunger crackling hotter because they both knew exactly how wrong it was. His free fingers joined hers on her clit, rubbing in tandem, the dual pressure making her moan loud enough that the sound bounced off the consulting-room walls.

“We shouldn’t go further,” he growled against her mouth, even as the head of his cock kissed her opening harder, the first inch threatening. “Christ, Carmen—you’re twenty-eight and dripping down my cock in my office chair. I’m forty-two and I’m about to lose every last scrap of control. Say it with me. We stop at teasing.”

“We stop at teasing,” she echoed, then immediately contradicted herself by grinding down until the blunt head stretched her just a fraction. “Except I need more. Please, Everett—fuck, your cock feels so good just like this. Keep stroking it on me while I rub my clit. I’m so close I can’t think.”

The teasing became unbearable. Her fingers flew faster. His shaft dragged wet and heavy through her lips again and again, the ridge of the head catching, the heat of him scorching. Both of them moaned the same broken refrain—“we shouldn’t, we can’t, this is so fucking wrong”—yet neither pulled away. Carmen’s free hand cupped his jaw, keeping his mouth on hers while she begged in short, desperate gasps. “Inside. Just the tip. Just for a second. I asked for the hug, I kissed you first, I’m the one pushing down on you. I want it. Please.”

The thread snapped.

Everett groaned like a man breaking, lined himself up properly, and thrust upward in one deep, claiming stroke. Carmen’s cry filled the room as he filled her—thick, relentless, stretching her open until she was seated fully on his cock, the head buried against her deepest point. For a heartbeat they stayed locked there, staring at each other, the reality of the penetration crashing through the last of their restraint. Then she started to move.

She rode him hard in the wide armchair, blouse still half-on, breasts bouncing with every drop of her hips. Everett’s hands clamped her waist, guiding the frantic rhythm, letting her take every inch exactly the way she wanted. The chair creaked under them. Wet sounds of her cunt swallowing him echoed between the kisses they couldn’t stop. She braced on his shoulders, thighs burning, and fucked herself down onto him while he thrust up to meet her, the dual motion slamming deep enough that her vision white-outed at the edges.

“Still shouldn’t,” she panted against his mouth, but she was smiling now, wild and free. “Still your patient and you’re still buried in me. God, you feel massive. Keep telling me I’m doing the work—keep fucking me like this while you say it.”

“You’re perfect,” he snarled, voice raw with pride and lust both. “Brave enough to take what you need. Riding your therapist’s cock like you own it. Fourteen years younger and you’ve ruined me. Take it harder.”

She did. When the angle in the chair wasn’t enough she scrambled off him only long enough for Everett to stand, spin her, and bend her over the edge of the heavy oak desk. Papers scattered. She planted her palms flat, ass presented, skirt still rucked around her waist, and looked back over her shoulder with pupils blown wide. “Yes—like that. Fuck me over your desk. I want it. I’m asking.”

He stepped in behind her, still mostly dressed from the waist up, cock glistening with her, and drove back inside in one long thrust that punched a moan out of both of them. One hand fisted in her dark hair; the other gripped her hip hard enough to bruise. He fucked her deep and steady at first, then harder, the slap of skin filling the quiet office, her soaked walls clutching him on every withdrawal. Carmen pushed back to meet every stroke, fingers sliding between her thighs again so she could rub her clit while he pounded her. The dual sensation—his thick cock splitting her open, her own fingers flying—had her shaking within minutes.

“We said no,” he groaned, bending over her back so his chest pressed her blouse, mouth at her ear. “We agreed. And now I’m balls-deep in my patient and I never want to stop. Come on my cock, Carmen. Let me feel you.”

“Don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—” She was almost sobbing with pleasure, the earlier tears long gone, replaced by pure need. “Harder. Fill me. I want to come with you. Please, Everett, I’m right there—”

He gave her everything. The desk shuddered. Her knuckles went white against the wood. He reached around, knocked her hand aside, and took over rubbing her clit himself—rough, perfect circles timed to the heavy thrusts that bottomed out inside her again and again. The tension that had built across months of sessions, across the hug and the joke and the first forbidden kiss, coiled tighter than either of them could hold.

Carmen came first with a sharp, broken cry, cunt spasming hard around him, walls milking his shaft in rhythmic waves. The feel of her climax ripped Everett’s control apart. He slammed deep one last time, buried to the hilt, and emptied himself inside her with a guttural groan that vibrated through both their bodies. Hot pulses flooded her, thick and endless; she pushed back to take every drop, still rubbing her clit through the aftershocks so her orgasm rolled on and on while he filled her. They stayed locked like that—her bent over the desk, him draped over her back, cock twitching through the last spurts—breathing hard, hearts slamming, the shared release loud and unrestrained in the private grey light of the consulting room.

Even as the pulses faded they kept moving in tiny, helpless rocks, reluctant to separate. Carmen’s voice came out wrecked and laughing all at once. “So much for no sex. Jesus, Everett… look at the mess we just made of your professional boundaries.”

He pressed a kiss to the damp nape of her neck, still buried inside her, still half-hard, the afterglow already sparking fresh want. His hand stroked down her side, possessive and tender both. Outside the half-drawn blinds the afternoon light had shifted; the session clock on the shelf had long since run out. Neither of them reached to check it. The door was locked. The wanting, somehow, had only deepened.

They stayed locked together over the desk for long minutes after the last pulse faded, Everett’s cock still buried deep and twitching inside Carmen’s fluttering cunt, her cream and his cum already starting to leak in slow, sticky trails down the insides of her thighs. She pushed back experimentally, grinding her ass into his hips so the thick shaft shifted against her sensitive walls, and a fresh little aftershock rippled through her. Everett’s hands stroked possessively along her sides, under the rumpled green blouse, thumbs brushing the undersides of her bare breasts while he pressed open-mouthed kisses to the damp nape of her neck.

“Fuck, that was everything,” Carmen whispered, voice hoarse from crying out. She flexed around him deliberately, milking the last softening inches. “Months of holding back and you just flooded me like you owned every drop. I can feel it dripping out already.”

Everett groaned low, hips giving one more lazy roll before he finally eased back. His cock slipped free with a wet sound, heavy and glistening, a thick rope of their mixed release stretching briefly between them before it broke and ran down her folds. He watched it for a second, dark eyes hungry, then helped her straighten. Carmen turned slowly, skirt still hiked, panties twisted uselessly aside, blouse hanging open so her tits rose and fell with every ragged breath. Everett tucked himself back into his trousers just enough to zip, the front already damp with her, then reached for her.

They fixed each other with careful hands. He buttoned her blouse from the bottom up, lingering to cup one breast and thumb the still-stiff nipple before covering it. She smoothed his sweater down over the hard planes of his stomach, palms sliding lower to give his half-hard cock a slow, filthy squeeze through the wool. Clothes settled. Hair finger-combed. The desk papers stayed scattered; neither cared. Breathless and glowing, cheeks flushed, they looked at each other in the thinning afternoon light.

Carmen rose onto her toes and kissed him once more—slow, tender, tongues tasting the salt of sweat and the residual tang of each other. Everett’s hands framed her face, thumbs stroking her cheekbones, pouring every ounce of the months-long hunger into the gentle press of his mouth. When they parted he kept his forehead against hers.

“I love you,” he said, voice raw and certain. “Not just the way you take my cock or the way you come screaming on it. I love how brave you are in here, how you fight for yourself, how you look at me like I’m worth the risk. I want you—every filthy, brilliant inch of you—outside these walls. Properly.”

Her smile was soft and wicked at once. “I love you too. And I want that. All of it.” She pressed closer so her soft belly brushed the ridge still tenting his trousers. “But we do this clean. I end therapy formally. Next session I walk in, we terminate the professional relationship on paper, I sign whatever you need, and then I’m just Carmen—twenty-eight, free, dripping for her forty-two-year-old man. No more patient. No more line. Just us.”

“Agreed.” Everett’s hands slid down to cup her ass hard, hauling her against him so she felt exactly how much he still wanted her. “The second that file closes you’re mine to date, to fuck, to wake up next to. I’ll take you somewhere good for dinner first—somewhere with low lights so I can slide my hand under the table and finger that messy cunt while you try to order wine. Then home. My bed. No desk, no clock, no limits. I want to eat you for hours and then bury this cock so deep you forget every reason we waited.”

Carmen laughed, breathless again, hips rolling once against the thick shape of him. “Schedule it. Tonight I’ll draft the termination email. Tomorrow we meet at seven—as adults who chose this, no therapy left between us. You can pick me up, walk me to the car with your hand on my lower back like a gentleman, and the second the door shuts you can shove your fingers in my mouth so I taste us again.”

“Seven o’clock,” he confirmed, eyes dark. “I’ll be hard the entire drive. And once you’re no longer my patient I’m going to remind you every night how proud I am—while I’m balls-deep and flooding that tight pussy all over again.”

They shared one last lingering look, clothes mostly righted, the scent of sex thick in the consulting room. Carmen gathered her bag, smoothed her skirt one final time over the wet mess still slick between her thighs, and moved toward the door. Everett unlocked it, held it open, the professional mask sliding back on only for the empty hallway beyond.

She paused on the threshold, glanced back over her shoulder, and gave him the filthiest little smile. “Don’t clean the desk yet. I want to smell us on it next time I walk in—just long enough to sign the papers and then climb on so you can pump another load straight into this cunt before our first real date.”