After Hours

The office was quiet. Lights dimmed. Only the soft hum of the air conditioner and the distant rattle of the city after dusk. Everyone had gone home hours ago.

Everyone but her.

Amelia sat at her desk, fingers trembling over the keyboard as she tried to finish the quarterly report. She was trying to focus, she really was -- but she could feel him watching.

Mr. Thorne. Her boss.

Tall, broad-shouldered, always in immaculate suits and silk ties that looked criminally good against his throat. He was a man who didn't speak unless he needed to. A man who ruled the floor with nothing but presence.

And she'd disobeyed him today.

Not in public -- she'd never be so bold. But earlier, when he brushed past her in the hallway and whispered, "No panties today, pet," she'd shaken her head, too flustered, too unsure.

She didn't expect him to notice. He always noticed.

And now, he was behind her.

"Stand up," came the low, growling voice.

She froze. Slowly, she rose, pushing the chair back with her thighs.

"Face the desk. Hands flat. Legs apart."

Heat bloomed in her cheeks, down her neck, all the way between her thighs. She obeyed -- heart racing, breath shallow.

He came up behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body, but not touching. Not yet.

"You've been squirming all day," he murmured in her ear, voice velvet-wrapped danger. "Holding it for me. Haven't you?"

She whimpered. "Yes, sir."

"I warned you what would happen if you disobeyed. And yet here you are. Wearing those pretty little lace things, testing me."

His fingers slid under her skirt, found the soaked-through lace, and yanked them down roughly, letting them dangle at her ankles.

Then -- nothing.

Just the sound of her breathing, the unbearable ache in her core, and the pressure in her bladder -- full, aching, trembling.

"I'm going to edge you until you can't think. Until your body begs to break. But you're not going to come, Amelia. And you're not going to let go. Not until I say."

She gasped when his fingers slid between her folds -- slow, skilled, unrelenting. He knew her too well by now, knew the precise way to circle her clit, how to drag his knuckles along her soaked slit without giving her what she craved.

Again. And again.

Each time she got close, he stopped. Made her whimper. Made her cry.

Her thighs shook. Her stomach clenched.

"Please, sir, I can't--"

"You can. You will."

He pulled her tighter against his body, letting her feel the hard press of his cock through his slacks. His voice dropped darker.

"You don't come until I say. You don't leak until I say. That control? That's mine."

He continued. Fingers slick and merciless. Her knees buckled, tears slipping free. Not from pain. From pleasure. From desperation. From the burning ache in her lower belly -- a cruel mix of release denied and the urge to let go.

Then -- he stopped.

Just stopped.

"On your knees."

She whimpered again, slowly sinking, her wetness running down her thighs. The cool floor was a shock to her heated skin. Her eyes flicked up -- and he was watching her, tie loosened, belt unbuckled.

His cock was thick, hard, veined. And he didn't let her touch it yet.

"Open your mouth. No hands."

She obeyed, lips parted, tears drying on her cheeks. When he pushed in, it was slow, deliberate. A claiming.

She choked around him. He groaned.

"Good girl," he breathed, threading his fingers into her hair. "Such a desperate little thing. Do you want to come?"

She nodded as best she could, drool slipping past her lips.

"Do you want to let go? Make a mess all over the floor?"

She moaned around him.

He pulled out. Let her gasp for air.

"Then beg."

She sobbed.

"Please, sir. I--I need to. I can't hold it anymore. I'll do anything. Just please let me come."

He took one step back, eyes gleaming. "Then do it. Both."

Her body didn't hesitate.

It crashed.

Pleasure surged through her in wild, uncontrollable waves, and at the same time, her bladder gave in. Heat rushed down her thighs as she shook, convulsing in surrender -- body trembling, crying out, lost in the ecstasy of finally, finally being allowed.

She collapsed forward on trembling arms.

Mr. Thorne crouched beside her, cupped her jaw, and kissed her cheek.

"Such a good girl," he whispered. "Mine."

And she was.

Completely.