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.