You Waited Too Long

You waited too long.

That's what you'll tell yourself--like it was just bad timing. Like you missed some magical window where I might've said yes, if only you'd had the balls to ask.

But that window never existed.

There was never a version of reality where I let you touch me.

Not when you sat in that pathetic little office across the lot, staring through your tinted window while I walked to my car in tight skirts and heels.

Not when you fumbled over your words just to say good morning.

Not when you offered to fix my printer.

Not even when you bought me that coffee I never asked for.

You were never a contender.

And I know that kills you now.

Because you just found out, didn't you?

That I've fucked nearly every man in your building.

All your coworkers.

Every loud, cocky, careless man you ever tried to feel superior to.

I let them all have me.

Except you.

You never even came close.

You didn't know at first.

You thought you were the clever one, staying quiet.

You thought I was saving you.

That maybe I liked you better.

That I was building to something special.

God, that's adorable.

But the truth?

You were a joke. A useful joke.

Because someone has to be last.

Someone has to be the one left out.

The one they all laugh about after they've cum inside me.

And I chose you.

You heard them eventually.

In the breakroom.

At happy hour.

Or maybe you just saw the way they looked at me, the way they smirked when you showed up.

You put it together.

Too late, of course.

But it clicked.

That's why Derrick always called me "Queen of the Office."

Why Marcus would wink when he asked how my "meetings" were.

Why your boss always seemed so relaxed after our 3 p. m. check-ins.

You confronted me, remember?

You actually had the nerve to stop me in the parking lot and ask if it was true.

I didn't lie.

I didn't even flinch.

I just tilted my head and said,

"Which part?"

You froze.

Your throat clicked when you swallowed.

I think you were hoping I'd laugh, or deny it, or maybe touch your arm and whisper something reassuring.

Instead, I stepped closer, leaned in, and said,

"Every. Single. One."

Then I got in my car and left you there.

Hard.

Hurt.

Humiliated.

And now?

Now you're unraveling.

I can feel it.

You try not to look at me, but your eyes always find my legs.

You try to keep your voice steady when you speak, but your breath catches every time I say your name.

You don't even try to hide the flush in your cheeks anymore.

They all see it.

They love it.

You made yourself the joke, but I made you the punchline.

I let them tell you stories.

I encouraged it.

How I moaned.

How I rode them.

How I whispered filthy things with my tongue against their ears.

They describe me in detail--loudly, crudely, unapologetically.

They talk about how I looked when I came.

How I sounded.

How I begged.

And they watch your reaction like it's dessert.

Because it is.

You're the one who gets hard and does nothing.

You're the one who listens and pretends to laugh along while your cock presses painfully against your slacks.

You're the one who still hopes I'll change my mind.

But I won't.

And I never will.

You weren't forgotten, pet.

You were denied.

Deliberately.

Permanently.

Because I wanted one. Just one. To stay untouched.

To stay aching.

To carry every story like a brand across your brain.

You weren't passed over.

You were chosen--for exactly this.

You want to know what really makes me wet?

Not the cocks. Not the power. Not even the attention.

It's you.

Sitting across from me.

Suffering in silence.

Knowing they all had me.

Knowing you never will.

It's that little twitch in your jaw when I mention names you know too well.

It's the way you flinch when I say, "last night."

It's watching you bite your lip when I show up to work flushed and freshly fucked.

That's your role now.

Not the man who gets me.

The man who gets wrecked by never getting me.

So sit there.

Look pretty in your useless little button-up.

Pretend it doesn't kill you to hear their laughter echo down the hall.

You'll never be part of the story.

You'll always be the lesson.