Try To Be Good

The sunlight was warm on her bare legs before her eyes even opened. Autumn stretched slowly beneath the sheets, dragging her palm across the cool space beside her--expecting to find warm skin, the solid weight of him, the lazy morning kisses he always started her day with. But he wasn't there.

Her brows pulled together as she blinked into the light. She was wearing one of his old T-shirts, soft and worn, hanging just barely past her thighs. No panties. Her skin still hummed faintly from last night--he'd taken his time with her, slow and deep until she'd curled her toes and clung to him, boneless and glowing. She'd fallen asleep wrapped around him. And now? Gone. She pushed the sheet back and padded out of the bedroom, half asleep and already aching. She needed him again. No reason, no pretense. Just needed.

The apartment was quiet except for the faint sound of his voice. She rounded the corner into the living room and found him exactly where she expected--at the dining table, laptop open, glasses perched low on his nose, messy hair half-tamed by his fingers. He was shirtless. Just gray sweatpants and that lean, cut torso she knew by heart. Headphones in, talking softly, eyes flicking between his screen and whatever document he was typing. Her stomach twisted at the sight of him. It wasn't fair, how easily he could make her want him just by existing.

He looked up. Paused. His gaze dropped from her face to her bare thighs, to the hem of his shirt riding dangerously high on her hips. Then--just like that--his eyes were back on the screen. No smile. No "come here, baby." Just a tiny twitch of his mouth and a quick mute-click.

"Morning," he murmured, eyes flicking briefly back to her. "Didn't want to wake you."

"You didn't." She tilted her head. "No kiss?"

He leaned back and pulled one of the earbuds out. "Babe, I've got three meetings this morning. Two presentations due by noon. Another big meeting this afternoon. I'm really up against it today." He reached out, tugged her hand gently, and pulled her down for a quick kiss to the forehead. "Can you be good?"

She stared at him. Her body was already buzzing, needy and impatient, and he was giving her a forehead kiss?

He had the audacity to smile, just slightly. "Autumn."

"Define good," she whispered against his mouth, lips brushing his lower lip.

His hand found her hip and squeezed. But instead of pulling her in, he nudged her gently back.

"Tempt me later," he murmured, then leaned forward to unmute himself and go back to his screen. "You know I want to. But I really can't right now."

Her mouth parted. Stunned. Betrayed. And then something in her shifted.

"Oh," she said softly, stepping back. "Okay."

She turned around without another word, walked calmly back into the bedroom, and closed the door behind her.

By the time she sat down at her easel, her pulse was already racing--and not because of the painting. If he thought she was going to be the one suffering through this morning... Then Ryan Hale had another thing coming. Because she was about to ruin his entire workday.

*******

Autumn took her time getting ready. She didn't throw on one of her paint-stained oversized hoodies like usual. Instead, she opened the drawer where she kept the soft white shirt she never wore outside the bedroom--thin as tissue, nearly translucent, especially without a bra underneath. She slid it on, then stepped into a pair of lace panties, high-cut and barely-there, the pale fabric doing absolutely nothing to hide the curve of her ass or the heat between her legs. She didn't bother with anything else. Her hair was loose, falling in long waves down her back, the way Ryan always liked it. Always asked to touch it. Pull it.

She padded barefoot into the living room and stood in the doorway just long enough to feel his eyes on her. He didn't look up right away. But she saw the pause in his typing. The way he stilled. She crossed the room without a word, her steps quiet on the hardwood. The small corner near the windows--usually her painting space--was already sun-drenched. She reached up to pull the curtains open wider, giving him a full view of her from where he sat. Then she bent over to adjust the angle of her easel. Slowly. Let the shirt fall forward. Let the hem ride up. Let him see. She didn't say anything. Didn't look at him.

She dipped her brush into water and began sketching lines onto the canvas, humming softly to herself, as if nothing about this was unusual. She could feel the weight of his gaze. Even if he was pretending to concentrate. Minutes passed. She kept painting, every now and then lifting her arms overhead to stretch, knowing how the fabric clung when it shifted. The first drops of paint splattered across her thighs. She made no move to wipe them off. Still--nothing.

No footsteps behind her. No growl in her ear. No hands at her waist. She turned slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him over her shoulder. Ryan was still at the table, jaw clenched, fingers moving rapidly over the keyboard. But his eyes flicked up--just once--then snapped back to the screen. He was trying. Trying so hard to be good. Her mouth curled. She picked up another brush, dipped it lazily into a darker color, and arched her back just enough as she reached toward the top of the canvas. The shirt lifted again, dragging slowly over the curve of her ass.

Nothing. Oh, he was going to break. But not yet. She glanced at the clock. Still two more hours until his lunch break. Plenty of time to drive him insane.

Ryan had disappeared into the bedroom a little before noon, murmuring something about getting dressed for his big client meeting. Autumn barely acknowledged him--too focused on her painting, or at least pretending to be. But the moment the door clicked shut, she set the brush down and made her move. Her second shower of the day was hot, steamy, indulgent. She took her time. Shaved. Conditioned. Let the water trail slowly down her breasts, her thighs. She knew exactly what she wanted to do--and exactly how she wanted to look doing it.

She stepped out glowing, warm and clean and humming with intent. Ten minutes later, her reflection stared back at her from the vanity mirror: long, tousled hair, smooth skin, lips slightly glossed, lashes curled. She wore a set of black lingerie--thin straps, sheer lace, the kind she only brought out when she wanted Ryan desperate. The bra was barely there. The panties were a whisper of mesh. A garter belt hung low on her hips, framing her curves like a challenge. She smelled faintly of his cologne--one quick spray on her inner thighs, just to be mean.

When she stepped out of the bedroom and into the hallway, she heard his voice again--low and calm, professional, rehearsed. He was already in his meeting. She walked toward the living room slowly, every step deliberate. And there he was. Hair combed. Tie knotted. Shirt crisp and white and perfectly fitted. Sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hands moved as he talked, gesturing with quiet authority, his jaw tight in that way that always made her ache. He looked so good it was criminal. She bit her lip and kept walking.

He didn't notice her at first--not fully--until she crossed into his peripheral vision and sat down calmly on the couch. That got him. His voice stuttered for a half-second. Barely. But she saw it. She curled one leg up under her, opened her laptop on her thighs, and started typing. Like nothing was happening. Like she wasn't in the most sinful thing she owned, practically glowing, lips parted like she hadn't been thinking about him all morning. She didn't look at him. But she could feel the tension hit the room like static.

His voice continued, smooth again, a touch lower than before. He didn't turn his head. Not even once. But his grip on the mouse tightened. She crossed one leg over the other slowly, letting the garter strap shift just a little. Clicked something on her screen. Then reached up lazily to scratch at her collarbone, dragging her fingers over the lace edge of her bra. Still nothing. Her eyes flicked up, just for a second. He was staring straight ahead, jaw clenched, lips pressed tightly together as he nodded at something on-screen. God, he was fighting it.

Her lips curled into the faintest smile. Time to push harder.

Autumn didn't even glance at him as she slipped her hand between her thighs. Not this time. She spread her legs just enough to give herself access. The lace was already soaked--she could feel it clinging. Her fingers slid over it, slow and taunting. She let her head fall back against the couch cushion, lips parting on a quiet, breathy moan.

"Ryan..."

She said his name like it was a secret. Like it hurt to keep it in. He froze. From across the room, his gaze snapped to her. Full-body stillness. Only the slight rise and fall of his chest gave him away.

He turned back to his screen, voice slightly tighter now. "Let's circle back to those projections in Q4. I think--"

His voice broke. A pause. She let out another moan, this time higher. Needier.

"God, Ryan... I can't stop thinking about you..."

That did it.

He turned back to his laptop. "Apologies, I'm going to step away for five minutes. Let's reconvene at one twenty-five."

Click. Mute. He stood slowly, deliberately, and rounded the table with the kind of energy that made her pulse pound. Autumn looked up at him, smug and flushed and entirely too proud of herself.

"You really couldn't wait?" he asked, voice low, dangerous.

"You made me wait," she whispered, fingers still pressed to the damp lace between her thighs. "All morning."

He grabbed her by the wrist, tugging her hand away, then reached for her waist and lifted her off the couch like she weighed nothing.

"Get over here."

He dropped into his desk chair and pulled her down onto his lap, straddling him. She could feel him beneath her--hard and thick through his suit pants, his tie slightly askew, sleeves rolled to the elbows like a man who'd just snapped.

"You wanna come that bad?" he murmured against her ear, already grinding her down against him. "Then do it."

She gasped. Her panties dragged roughly over the sharp line of his belt, the thick shape of his cock pressing right against her clit. "Oh my god--Ryan--"

"Ride me."

"Fuck, but--your pants--"

"I said ride me." His hands grabbed her hips and moved her, slow and controlled, the fabric between them only making it worse--too much friction, not enough give.

She whimpered, hips starting to move on their own, desperate to chase it. "You're so fucking hard--"

"You've been teasing me all day," he growled, mouth brushing the shell of her ear. "Wearing nothing. Bending over. Moaning my name like you didn't know what you were doing."

Her body bucked. His hand flew to the back of her neck and held her there, foreheads nearly touching, eyes locked.

"You wanted this," he rasped. "So take it."

She moved harder--faster--rubbing herself against the thick heat beneath the fabric, gasping with every pass. The friction was maddening. The lace was soaked. His pants were dark with it. Her breath hitched. She was close. So close it hurt.

"Say it," he growled. "Say you need it."

"I--I need you--Ryan, please--"

"Rub that pretty little pussy on me until you come, baby. Let me feel it."

She let go with a cry, head thrown back, hips jerking against him. Her entire body trembled as she came, her orgasm hitting hard and fast, her fingers digging into his shoulders as her breath stuttered out of her in hot, broken gasps.

He kept her moving through it, made her ride it out, one hand still firm on her waist, the other fisted in her hair.

"Fuck," he groaned against her throat. "That's my girl."

She sagged against him, lips parted, panting. But she could feel it. He was still hard. Still throbbing under her.

"Five minutes are up," he muttered, voice dark and ragged.

She blinked at him, barely coherent. He smirked, hands sliding down to her ass.

"You think that was your victory?" he said, lifting her off his lap. "You just started the game."

********

Autumn was laid on the couch when she heard his voice drop back into professional mode. Something clipped. Calm. Completely at odds with the way her body still trembled from what he'd just done to her. She lay there in nothing but black lace, legs spread, skin flushed, one hand lazily trailing down her thigh as she listened to the final minutes of his call. The aftershocks were still rolling through her. Her pulse hadn't settled. Her panties were a wreck. His pants were probably worse. She smiled to herself. Smug. Spent. Satisfied. The game was over. She'd won.

"... thank you. I'll follow up by end of day."

Click. The line went dead. She didn't even open her eyes. Until she heard his chair scrape back. She blinked. Lifted her head. Ryan was standing. Tie loosened, shirt wrinkled, pants still tented. His eyes were on her. And they were dark.

"Ryan?"

He didn't answer. Just walked toward her with slow, controlled steps. His jaw was tight. His fists clenched at his sides.

"... You okay?" she asked, the grin tugging at her lips.

He reached the couch. Grabbed her ankle. And yanked her down the cushion with one smooth, ruthless pull.

"Okay," she gasped, breath hitching. "Hi."

"You think you won?" he growled, dragging her up by the waist. "You really think you could spend all morning teasing me, touching yourself, moaning my name while I'm on a call and just lie there like you're done?"

Her laugh died in her throat. Because he was pulling her across the room now, one hand gripping her ass, the other fisted in her hair. He turned her toward the desk. Pushed her forward over the edge. Bent. Completely exposed. She barely had time to brace herself, palms flat on the wood, before he kicked her legs apart and dropped to his knees behind her. Then-- His tongue.

"Oh--fuck--" she cried out, head snapping back.

He licked her through the soaked lace first, slow and maddening, tasting the mess she'd made on his lap. Then he hooked one finger under the fabric and pulled it aside, baring her completely. And devoured her. No mercy. No warning. His mouth locked on her clit, tongue flicking fast and hard, the kind of pressure he knew would destroy her. His fingers dug into the backs of her thighs, holding her open, keeping her right where he wanted her.

"Ryan--Ryan--I just--" She couldn't think. Could barely stand.

He pulled back with a growl. "Yeah. You just came. Over my suit pants."

He stood. She heard the sound of a belt unbuckling. A zipper pulled down.

"Now it's my turn."

And then he was inside her. All at once. No teasing. No pause. Just one deep, relentless thrust that filled her completely and made her cry out, her hands scrabbling for grip on the desk.

"Oh my God--"

He slammed into her again, hips snapping forward, one hand gripping her waist while the other flattened between her shoulder blades, pressing her down.

"This what you wanted?" he growled, breath hot against her ear. "You wanted to ruin my day? Distract me? Be my filthy little problem?"

"Yes," she gasped, already breaking apart. "Yes, Ryan, I--fuck--"

He didn't stop. He fucked her like she was never getting off that desk. Like he'd been building toward this all morning and now there was nothing holding him back.

The sound of skin on skin echoed in the room. His belt clinking faintly as his pants hung open. Her moans--his name--punctuating every ruthless thrust. Her thighs were shaking. Her voice raw. And still, he kept going.

"You wore that for me?" he hissed, one hand sliding around to cup her breast, fingers twisting her nipple through the lace. "You shaved, perfumed yourself, strutted around like you didn't know what you were doing?"

"I wanted you to snap," she moaned. "I wanted this--"

"Yeah?" He pulled out suddenly--just long enough to yank her panties all the way down and toss them aside--then slammed back in, harder than before. "Then take it. Take every fucking inch."

She came again so fast she didn't have time to warn him--just shattered, mouth open in a silent scream, body locking around him like she couldn't bear to let go.

"Fuck--fuck, baby," he groaned, losing his rhythm as her walls clamped down.

He gritted his teeth, held her tight, and spilled inside her in long, hard pulses, buried so deep she could feel the heat of it fill her. They stayed like that for a moment--both trembling, breathless, ruined. Then finally, he pulled out slowly, panting. Her legs buckled. He caught her before she hit the desk, wrapped his arms around her waist, and kissed her shoulder gently.

"Next time," he murmured, still breathless, "try that during my lunch break."

********

The apartment was quiet again. Ryan had redressed in record time. His shirt was back on, his tie was loosely re-knotted, hair a little wild but still passable. He looked respectable on camera, even if the flush hadn't quite left his cheeks. Autumn had cleaned herself up, too. Sort of. She wore nothing but one of his button-downs--left open at the top, long enough to brush her thighs. No bra. No panties. Her lips still pink and kiss-swollen. Her skin warm from the aftermath.

She was pretending to read something on her phone as he set up his next call. Ryan sat down at the desk again, straightening his posture, fingers flying across the keyboard. His voice was calmer now. Measured.

"I've updated the backend to reflect the new analytics. You'll see some gains in week-over-week conversions."

Autumn watched him for a moment. Then slowly stood. Walked across the room barefoot.

He didn't notice her at first. Not until she sank gracefully to her knees beside his chair. His jaw locked. He didn't look at her. Not yet. But his fingers paused over the keys. She smirked, lips brushing his thigh as she reached up and ran her hand over the zipper of his slacks.

He unmuted himself. "Yeah, that makes sense. If we're adjusting for bounce rate, that would shift the curve."

She kissed the inside of his thigh, slow and warm. Then popped the button on his pants.

He didn't stop her. Couldn't. His only move was to scoot his chair closer to the desk--hiding her. She smiled and pulled the zipper down. Tugged his pants and briefs just low enough to free him. He was already getting hard again. God, he really had been holding back. She kissed the tip first--light, teasing. Then licked slowly along the underside of his cock, letting her tongue drag from base to crown while her hand wrapped around him. His hips jerked, barely. But he held still. Somehow.

"We've seen stronger engagement on mobile," he said, voice slightly rougher. "If we streamline the onboarding flow... it should carry over."

She took him into her mouth. Just the head. Then deeper. Slow, steady pressure. Wet heat. Tongue working in circles as she sucked gently, deliberately. She looked up at him from under the desk, eyes wide and dark with satisfaction. He didn't look down. But he shifted slightly. Jaw clenched. One hand fisting hard on the desk.

"Sorry--uh, could you repeat that last question?"

She moaned softly around him, letting the vibration hum along his cock.

He stifled a curse. Covered it with a cough. "Sorry, just... dry throat."

Her hand pumped the base of him while her mouth worked the top, taking more of him each time she slid down. Her lips were wet and swollen, and she didn't stop--didn't slow--just kept sucking him deeper, faster, her nails lightly scratching his thigh through the fabric. His breathing was getting harder to control. So was his composure.

One of his hands slipped down beneath the desk, tangling in her hair, gripping it tight. Not pulling her away--just grounding himself.

"Mm--yeah," he managed, voice low and strained. "Let's flag that for follow-up in the notes."

Her mouth picked up pace. She swirled her tongue around the tip, hollowed her cheeks, and sucked until she felt him throb in her throat.

"Autumn," he hissed under his breath, barely audible.

She looked up, lips stretched around him, eyes blazing with heat. He was close. So close. And he still had to talk.

"I think we should--should pivot the... m-messaging strategy--" His voice cracked. Just a little. She swallowed him down one last time, slow and deep, lips sealed tight around the base, moaning like she could come from this alone. He exploded in her mouth. Hot. Hard. His hand jerked in her hair as he came, spilling across her tongue while he somehow kept his face stoic above the desk. She swallowed it all. Licked him clean. Tucked him away with a smug, sinful smile.

And then--cool as anything--she stood, walked past him, and flopped back down on the couch with her phone like nothing had happened. He stared straight ahead. Tried to breathe. And unmuted himself.

"... Yeah. Sorry. Slight technical glitch on my end. Let's keep going."

*******

Autumn didn't look at him as she stood from the couch. Didn't have to. She could feel his eyes on her. She stretched slowly--arms overhead, the thin cotton shirt riding up over her bare thighs--then let her hands fall back to her sides with a sigh of exaggerated innocence. Ryan was still at the desk. Still in the meeting. Still trying to remember how to breathe. She walked toward the bedroom without a word, hips swaying with each step, the hem of his shirt brushing the curve of her ass. Just before she reached the door, she paused. Glanced over her shoulder. Met his eyes. And smiled. A slow, wicked, dangerous smile. Then she lifted her hand in a casual little wave--see you soon--and disappeared into the bedroom.

He heard the soft shuffle of her bare feet on the hardwood. Then silence. Then- The rustle of fabric. He couldn't see her anymore. But he heard it. The low whisper of buttons slipping open. The shift of fabric as it slid off bare skin. Then, deliberately, the soft thud of the shirt hitting the floor. He gripped the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles whitened. She was naked now. In their bedroom. Waiting for him. No words. No call. No commands.

Just a challenge, thrown behind her like a match tossed onto gasoline. And she knew it. Ryan sat frozen, a faint ringing in his ears, trying to focus on whatever the hell someone on the call was saying. His tie felt like a noose.

He cleared his throat. "Excuse me," he said, standing so suddenly his chair scraped back hard. "Something's come up. I'll have to circle back."

He didn't even wait for the reply. The laptop slammed shut. His footsteps were already storming down the hallway. Because if she thought that was enough to satisfy him...? She had no idea what she'd just started.

*******

Ryan didn't knock. Didn't call her name. He shoved the bedroom door open like he owned the space--because he did--and stopped cold. Autumn was stretched across the bed. Completely naked. One hand behind her head, her hair splayed across the pillow in soft, lazy waves. The other? Between her legs. Two fingers buried inside her. Moving slowly. Warming herself up like he was just a bonus she could enjoy later. Her hips lifted slightly with each curl of her hand, eyes fluttering shut, mouth parted. She looked so blissed out, so fucking pleased with herself.

He didn't say a word. Didn't need to. Her eyes opened the moment she felt him there--his shadow crossing the room. She looked up at him and smiled.

"Thought you might need help relaxing," she murmured, dragging her fingers out of herself with a wet sound and holding them there between her legs. "But since you were taking so long..."

He crossed the room in three strides.

"You wanted to be wrecked?" he growled, voice low and dark. "You're about to forget your own name."

Before she could answer, his hand was at her throat--just enough pressure to tilt her head back and hold her in place. His mouth crashed down onto hers, deep and bruising, tongue sweeping past her lips like he needed to taste every sound she'd made without him.

"You don't get to touch what's mine," he hissed against her mouth. "You wait for me."

"I was waiting," she whispered, breathless. "But I got bored--"

He shoved her thighs apart, stepped between them, and dragged her to the edge of the bed.

"You think this is a game?"

She gasped as he grabbed her legs and yanked her down until her ass was barely on the mattress, her heels hanging off the edge. He dropped to his knees and devoured her without warning. Tongue rough and hungry, no teasing this time--just full, wet licks that made her cry out, her hands flying to his hair. Her thighs clamped around his head. He shoved them open wider.

"Take it," he growled, fingers digging into her hips. "Every fucking second of it."

She writhed. Moaned. Came fast and hard, her body already oversensitized from everything he'd done to her earlier. But he didn't stop. He kept licking her through it--relentless, messy, letting her ride his mouth until she was begging.

"Ryan--fuck--please, I need you inside--"

He stood in one fluid motion, yanked his belt open, shoved his slacks and boxers down just far enough. Then he was inside her. Deep. Hard. All the way in one thrust that made her eyes roll back.

She screamed. He clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Shut up," he growled, hips slamming into her. "You don't get to scream after teasing me through a whole fucking meeting."

He dragged her legs over his shoulders, folded her in half, and pounded into her, her slick walls clenching tight around him. She was sobbing now--his name, her own moans, the sound of skin against skin filling the room.

"I should make you count," he hissed, fucking her deeper. "Every time you acted up today. Every time you walked past me in that see-through shirt. Every time you bent over."

Her nails clawed at the sheets. She couldn't answer. She could barely breathe.

"Say you're sorry."

She gasped, "I'm sorry--fuck, Ryan--I'm sorry--"

He growled and fucked her harder, one hand gripping her jaw, forcing her to look at him.

"You wanted me to snap?"

She nodded frantically.

"You got it."

He fucked her until she couldn't form words, until her moans were broken and raw, her body trembling, every orgasm blurring into the next until she didn't know where one ended and another began.

When he finally came, it was with a deep groan, his forehead pressed to hers, his entire body shuddering as he spilled into her. He held her there. Buried deep. Breathless. Ruined.

Her fingers curled weakly around his shoulders. "So... I take it you liked my presentation."

He laughed once. Ragged. Rough. Then kissed her again, slower this time.

"You start shit like that again during a workday," he murmured, "you'd better block out your whole schedule."