The bathroom was all cool marble and soft lighting, a sanctuary within the corporate fortress. Helmi set her down gently on the counter beside the sink, the stone cold against her heated thighs. He didn’t step back, instead caging her between his arms, his spent cock, still glistening with their combined essence, brushing against her leg. His gaze was worshipful as he traced the curve of her cheek, then down her neck to where her pulse still hammered.

“Every time I saw you in the breakroom, or passing my office,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp, “I imagined you like this. Flushed. Undone. Mine.” He dipped his head, capturing her mouth in a deep, languid kiss that tasted of salt and sex. His hands moved to her breasts, cupping their fullness, his thumbs stroking over her sensitive nipples until they tightened into aching peaks. Breaking the kiss, he trailed his mouth downward, following the path his hands had taken. He took one nipple into his mouth, suckling deeply while his fingers plucked and rolled the other. The sharp, sweet sensation made her cry out, her fingers tangling in his hair to hold him there.

He worshipped her breasts until she was writhing, then continued his descent. His lips and tongue painted a hot, wet trail down her trembling abdomen, over the gentle swell of her belly, until he knelt on the plush bath mat before her. He hooked his hands behind her knees and gently pushed, opening her completely to his gaze. Nurul’s breath hitched, a wave of self-consciousness mingling with raw anticipation. The air was cool on her exposed, slick flesh. Helmi’s eyes darkened as he took her in—the swollen, glistening lips of her pussy, the delicate bud of her clit, all wet with his own release and her continuing arousal.

“So beautiful,” he breathed, the words a hot caress against her inner thigh. Then, without warning, he leaned in and licked a slow, flat stripe from her entrance all the way up to her clit. The sensation was electric, making her jolt and gasp. He hummed against her, the vibration traveling straight to her core. His tongue was relentless, exploring every fold, dipping inside her to taste their mingled flavors before focusing on her clit. He circled the tight nub with the tip of his tongue, then sucked it gently between his lips, applying just the right pressure. One of his hands came up to slide two fingers deep into her soaking channel, curling upward to find that sweet spot as his mouth worked her.

Nurul’s head fell back against the mirror with a soft thud. The dual assault was exquisite, overwhelming. Her hips began to move of their own accord, riding his face, seeking more friction, more depth. The wet, sucking sounds of his mouth on her pussy filled the tiled room, a lewd counterpoint to her ragged moans. She could feel another orgasm coiling, tighter and hotter than before, fueled by the intimacy of his submission, of him tasting himself inside her. “Helmi… I’m going to…” she choked out.

He redoubled his efforts, his fingers pumping in and out of her dripping cunt while his tongue flicked rapidly over her clit. The climax tore through her with shocking force. Her body bowed, a scream tearing from her throat as waves of pleasure radiated from her core, her inner muscles clenching rhythmically around his penetrating fingers. He drank from her, gentling his mouth but never stopping as she shuddered through the endless pulses, her thighs trembling against his shoulders.

When the last tremor subsided, he rose, his lips and chin glistening. He kissed her again, letting her taste herself on his tongue, the act profoundly possessive. She could feel his cock, now fully hard again, pressing insistently against her hip. Without breaking the kiss, he lifted her from the counter. She wrapped her legs around his waist, feeling the thick head of his erection nudge at her sensitive, well-used entrance. He pushed inside in one slow, inexorable thrust, filling her stretching walls once more. A broken sob escaped her; she was so exquisitely full, every nerve ending alight.

He carried her like that, her back against the cool tiles of the shower wall, her body impaled on his. He began to move, shallow rolls of his hips that gradually deepened into powerful, driving thrusts. The water from the rainfall showerhead above them hadn’t been turned on, leaving them in the humid dark, the only sounds their skin slapping together, their mingled groans, and the slick, wet noise of his cock plunging repeatedly into her soaked pussy. He fucked her with a desperate, claiming intensity, each stroke hitting her deepest places, the friction igniting fresh flames inside her.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he growled into her ear, his breath hot.

“You,” she gasped, nails scoring his back. “Only you.”

“Again.”

“You, Helmi… god, yes… you…”

His pace became punishing, frenzied. She could feel his balls slapping against her, could feel the way her own arousal coated his length with every withdrawal. The tight coil began to wind again, a third climax building from the sheer depth of his penetration and the raw, emotional confession hanging between them. He shifted his angle slightly, and the head of his cock began to grind directly against a spot that made her see stars. Her third orgasm crashed over her, a silent, breathless convulsion that locked her muscles and milked his cock with violent, rhythmic spasms.

With a ragged shout, he followed her over the edge, his thrusts becoming shallow, frantic jerks as he emptied another hot, pulsing release deep into her womb. She could feel every jet, the intimate heat spreading inside her, mixing with her own fluids. He held her there, pinned to the wall, his body trembling with the aftershocks, his face buried in the crook of her neck. They stayed like that until their breathing slowed, until his softening cock eventually slipped from her, followed by a slow trickle of their combined essence down her inner thigh.

He reached out, finally turning on the shower. Warm water cascaded over them, washing away the physical evidence but not the mark of what had transpired. He took a soft cloth and fragrant soap and began to wash her with a tenderness that contrasted starkly with their earlier ferocity. His hands moved over her breasts, between her thighs, cleansing her with a reverence that made her throat tighten. He was memorizing her, she realized, under this guise of practicality. When he was done, he turned her gently to wash her back, pressing a kiss between her shoulder blades.

After drying her with a plush towel, he wrapped her in his own discarded dress shirt, the fine cotton swallowing her frame, smelling deeply of him. He led her back into the office, now bathed in the first pale light of dawn bleeding through the blinds. He settled into his large executive chair and pulled her onto his lap, bundling her against his chest. She could feel the steady, strong beat of his heart against her cheek. Outside, the city was beginning to wake, but in this quiet space, wrapped in the scent of sex and him, there was only the fragile, terrifying hope of what they had begun, and the silent dread of the world—and James Song—waiting just beyond the door.

Veiled Desires: Forbidden Office Flames