The Corner Office

The annual Sterling & Associates holiday party was always the same glittering spectacle—crystal chandeliers, an open bar, and the kind of forced merriment that made everyone drink faster than they should. But this year was different. This year, I had a plan.

I'd been watching Sarah Chen for months. Not in some creepy, stalker way—though I suppose that line blurs when you're the CEO of a company and she's your Director of Marketing. But I'd noticed the way her pencil skirts hugged her hips just right, the way she'd bite her lower lip when she was concentrating on a campaign, and most importantly, I'd noticed the way she looked at me when she thought I wasn't paying attention.

She wanted me. She just didn't know how much I wanted her back.

"Marcus, you made it!" Sarah's voice cut through the jazz music and clinking glasses. She was standing near the bar in a dress that should have been illegal—a deep crimson number that plunged in the front and back, held up by the slimmest of straps. The fabric clung to her like a second skin, stopping mid-thigh and showing off legs that seemed to go on forever in her black stiletto heels.

"I wouldn't miss it," I said, accepting the whiskey she handed me. "You look stunning, by the way. That color suits you."

"Thank you." She smiled, but there was something nervous in her eyes. "David's running late. Some emergency at the hospital."

David. Her husband. The cardiac surgeon who worked eighty-hour weeks and probably hadn't given his wife a proper orgasm in years. I'd done my research. It wasn't stalking when it was strategic.

"That's too bad," I said, letting my gaze linger on her exposed collarbone. "I was hoping to meet him. I've heard so much."

"I'm sure he'll be here eventually." She took a long sip of her champagne, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. I imagined what that throat would feel like wrapped around my cock, and felt myself stir in my tailored trousers.

We made small talk for a while—quarterly projections, the new client we'd just landed, the weather. But the whole time, I was acutely aware of her body language. The way she leaned in when I spoke. The way her hand brushed my arm when she laughed. The way her nipples had hardened beneath that thin silk fabric, pressing against the material like they were begging to be touched.

"Come with me," I said suddenly, setting down my drink. "I want to show you something."

"What is it?"

"Something in my office. It's important."

She hesitated, glancing toward the entrance where guests were still arriving. "David might be here soon..."

"He's a grown man. He can text you. This will only take a minute."

I didn't wait for her answer. I started walking toward the elevators, knowing she'd follow. I could feel her presence behind me, the click of her heels on the marble floor, the faint scent of her perfume—jasmine and something darker, muskier.

The elevator doors closed behind us, and we were alone. I pressed the button for the thirty-second floor, watching the numbers climb.

"Marcus, what's this about?" Sarah asked, her voice slightly breathless. "You're being mysterious."

I turned to face her. The elevator was small, intimate. I took a step closer, invading her personal space, and watched her eyes widen.

"It's about us," I said quietly. "About what's been happening between us for the past six months."

"Nothing's been happening," she protested, but her voice lacked conviction.

"Really?" I reached out and traced a finger along her jawline, watching her shiver. "So you don't think about me when you're alone at night? You don't wonder what it would feel like to have my hands on you? My mouth?"

"Marcus..." Her breath hitched. "I'm married."

"I know." I leaned in, my lips brushing her ear. "That just makes it sweeter."

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. I took her hand and pulled her into the darkened hallway. My corner office was at the end, the city lights glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I unlocked the door and stepped inside, not bothering to turn on the lights.

"Come here," I commanded.

She walked in slowly, her heels sinking into the plush carpet. "This is crazy. We can't—"

"Close the door, Sarah."

She did. The click of the latch seemed impossibly loud in the silence.

"Lock it."

Her fingers trembled as she turned the deadbolt. When she turned back to me, I was sitting on the edge of my desk, my legs spread, my gaze fixed on her with an intensity that made her freeze.

"Take off your dress."

"What?"

"You heard me. Take it off. Slowly."

"Marcus, I can't—"

"You can," I interrupted, my voice firm. "And you will. Because you've been teasing me for months with those tight skirts and those blouses that show just enough cleavage to drive me crazy. You've been fantasizing about this moment, haven't you? Wondering what it would be like to be bent over my desk, to feel my cock inside you while the whole party goes on downstairs, completely unaware."

She was breathing hard now, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "This is wrong."

"Is it?" I stood up and walked toward her, stopping just inches away. I could feel the heat radiating from her body, could see the pulse fluttering in her throat. "Tell me you don't want this, Sarah. Tell me you haven't touched yourself thinking about me, and I'll let you walk out that door right now. No consequences. No repercussions."

I waited. The silence stretched between us, thick with tension.

"I can't," she whispered.

"Can't what?"

"I can't tell you that. Because it's true. God help me, it's true."

I smiled, slow and predatory. "Then take off the dress."

Her hands moved to the thin straps on her shoulders. She slid them down slowly, the silk catching on her hips before pooling at her feet. She stood before me in nothing but a black lace bra, matching thong, and those fuck-me heels, her skin glowing in the moonlight from the window.

"Jesus," I breathed. She was even more beautiful than I'd imagined—petite but curvy, with full breasts and a narrow waist that flared into hips made for gripping. "Turn around. Let me see you."

She rotated slowly, and I groaned at the sight of her ass, round and firm, barely covered by the scrap of lace. I couldn't wait any longer. I closed the distance between us in two strides and spun her around, crushing my mouth against hers.

She moaned into the kiss, her lips parting instantly to let my tongue slide inside. She tasted like champagne and desire, her hands fisting in my shirt as she pressed herself against me. I could feel her nipples hard against my chest, her hips grinding instinctively against my erection.

"Fuck, Sarah," I growled, breaking the kiss to trail my mouth down her throat. "Do you feel what you do to me?"

"Yes," she gasped as I sucked at the pulse point on her neck, surely leaving a mark. "Marcus, we have to be careful. If anyone finds out—"

"No one will find out," I promised, unhooking her bra with practiced ease. Her breasts spilled into my hands, heavy and perfect, her nipples dark and swollen. I lowered my head and took one into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the sensitive peak.

"Oh god," she cried out, her head falling back. Her fingers tangled in my hair, holding me against her. "That feels so good. Don't stop."

I switched to the other breast, sucking harder, grazing my teeth over the sensitive flesh. She was writhing now, her hips bucking against mine, seeking friction where she needed it most. I could feel how wet she was through her panties, the damp heat soaking through the lace.

I dropped to my knees in front of her, looking up at her flushed face. "Spread your legs."

"Here?"

"Now, Sarah."

She widened her stance, and I hooked my fingers in the sides of her thong, pulling it down her legs. She stepped out of it, and I was face-to-face with her pussy—smooth, glistening, and absolutely beautiful. I could smell her arousal, musky and sweet, and it made my mouth water.

"You're so fucking wet for me," I said, running a finger through her folds. She jerked at the contact, a whimper escaping her lips. "Is this all for me? Has your husband ever made you this wet?"

"N-no," she stammered as I circled her clit with my thumb. "Never like this."

"Good." I leaned in and dragged my tongue through her slit, tasting her for the first time. She cried out, her hands flying to my shoulders for support. I gripped her hips and pulled her closer, feasting on her like a starving man. I licked and sucked at her folds, circling her entrance with my tongue before plunging it inside.

"Oh fuck, Marcus! Right there, please, don't stop—"

I found her clit and sucked it into my mouth, flicking it rapidly with my tongue while I pushed two fingers inside her tight heat. She was so tight, so hot, her muscles fluttering around my digits as I worked them in and out.

"You're going to come for me," I told her, looking up at her dazed expression. "Right here, in my office, with my tongue in your pussy. And you're going to scream my name when you do."

"Yes, yes, please—"

I doubled my efforts, curling my fingers to find that spot inside her that made her knees buckle. When I felt her begin to tighten, her breath coming in short gasps, I sealed my mouth over her clit and sucked hard.

"Marcus! Oh god, Marcus!"

She came with a cry that echoed off the walls of my office, her body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her. I kept licking her gently, drawing out her orgasm until she was trembling, her legs barely holding her up.

I stood up and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, watching her try to catch her breath. Her hair was disheveled, her lipstick smeared, her eyes glazed with satisfaction. She looked thoroughly fucked, and I hadn't even been inside her yet.

"Turn around," I ordered, my voice rough with need. "Bend over the desk."

She obeyed without hesitation, bracing her hands on the polished wood and arching her back to present herself to me. The sight of her like that—naked, submissive, waiting for my cock—almost made me lose control right then.

I unbuckled my belt and freed my erection, stroking it as I admired the view. Her pussy was pink and swollen, dripping with her arousal, begging to be filled. I stepped up behind her and rubbed the head of my cock through her folds, coating myself in her wetness.

"Tell me you want this," I demanded, positioning myself at her entrance. "Tell me you want my cock."

"I want it," she moaned, pushing back against me. "Please, Marcus, I need you inside me. Fuck me. Fuck me hard."

I slammed into her in one brutal thrust, burying myself to the hilt. She screamed, her back arching as she adjusted to my size. I was big—thick and long—and I could feel her stretching around me, her walls gripping me like a vice.

"Fuck, you're tight," I groaned, pulling back and thrusting in again. "So fucking tight. Is this pussy hungry for me, Sarah? Has it been aching for my cock?"

"Yes," she whimpered, meeting my thrusts with her own. "God, yes. I've thought about this so many times. Please, don't stop. Fuck me, Marcus. Use me."

I grabbed her hips and began to pound into her, each thrust sending the desk scraping against the floor. The sound of our bodies slapping together filled the room, mixed with her moans and my grunts. She pushed back against me, taking me deeper, her breasts swaying with every impact.

"Touch yourself," I commanded. "I want to feel you come on my cock."

Her hand slid between her legs, and I felt her fingers brushing against my shaft as she rubbed her clit. The added sensation made me groan, my thrusts becoming erratic, desperate.

"That's it, baby," I encouraged, leaning over her to bite at her shoulder. "Make yourself come. Let me feel that tight little pussy squeeze my cock."

"Marcus, I'm close," she panted, her walls already beginning to flutter. "I'm going to come again. Don't stop, please don't stop—"

I reached around and pinched her nipple hard, twisting it between my fingers, and that was all it took. She shattered, her orgasm ripping through her with such force that her knees buckled. I held her up, continuing to thrust through her spasms, chasing my own release.

"Sarah," I groaned, feeling my balls tighten. "I'm going to come. I'm going to fill you up, mark you as mine. Is that what you want?"

"Yes," she cried out, her voice hoarse. "Come inside me, Marcus. Please, I need to feel you. I want your cum in me."

That was it. With a roar, I buried myself deep and exploded, pumping rope after rope of hot seed into her clenching pussy. It seemed to go on forever, my body jerking with each spurt, until I was spent, collapsing over her back, both of us breathing hard and sweating.

We stayed like that for a moment, joined together, my cock still twitching inside her. Then I slowly pulled out, watching my cum drip from her swollen folds, trickling down her thighs. The sight was obscene, primal, and it made me want to take her all over again.

"Fuck," I muttered, tucking myself back into my pants. "That was..."

"Incredible," she finished, turning around to face me. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed. She looked alive in a way I hadn't seen before. "I've never... David and I, we don't..."

"Don't what?"

"Don't do that. He doesn't... he doesn't make me feel like that."

I pulled her into my arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Then he's a fool."

We dressed in silence, the reality of what we'd done settling in. She smoothed her dress, fixed her hair in the reflection of the window, and reapplied her lipstick with shaking hands.

"Sarah," I said softly, catching her wrist as she turned toward the door. "This doesn't have to be a one-time thing."

She looked at me, her expression conflicted. "Marcus, I'm married. This was... this was a mistake."

"It didn't feel like a mistake," I countered. "It felt like exactly what we both needed."

"I need to think," she said, pulling her arm away. "I need to... I can't do this right now."

She left before I could stop her, the door clicking shut behind her. I stood there alone in my office, the scent of her still on my skin, and smiled. She'd be back. They always came back.

I gave her a week. Seven days of tortured silence at work, of her avoiding my eyes in meetings, of finding excuses not to be alone with me. But I could see the way she watched me when she thought I wasn't looking—the hunger in her gaze, the memory of what we'd shared playing across her features.

Then came the company retreat.

It was held at a luxury resort upstate, a weekend of team-building exercises and open bars. I watched Sarah throughout the first day, noting the way she laughed with her colleagues, the way she sipped her wine a little too quickly, the way her eyes kept finding mine across the room.

That night, I found her alone by the pool. She was wearing a white bikini that left little to the imagination, her dark hair wet from a swim, water droplets glistening on her skin.

"Mind if I join you?" I asked, lowering myself onto the lounge chair beside hers.

She didn't look at me. "You shouldn't be here, Marcus."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't stop thinking about you. About what we did." She finally turned her head, and I saw the tears in her eyes. "I cheated on my husband. I'm a terrible person."