⚠️ Content Warning: Sexually Explicit
Nicole woke the morning after Adrian’s house with a headache that sat behind her eyes.
She remembered enough to know he had driven her home. She did not remember getting out of the car, walking through the house, or pulling back the covers.
She sat on the edge of her bed and touched the back of her neck where his thumb had traced that slow, final line. The skin felt normal. Nothing hurt or was out of place. But her body carried a heaviness that didn’t match, a dense, waterlogged feeling, as if the red light had pulled her deeper than her body knew how to come back from.
She got dressed and drove to Bloomwell with the windows down, letting the wind strip away whatever clung to her from the night before.
Around eleven-thirty, Nicole looked up and found Adrian standing at the end of the aisle speaking to someone from Payroll. He nodded at whatever they said, then turned slightly and caught her watching. He didn’t smile. He held her gaze for a second too long then looked away. It shot down her spine so quickly that she sat up in her chair.
By 5:15, most of A12 had emptied out. Chairs were pushed in. Computer monitors went dark one by one. Nicole stayed at her desk, stretching out work past the point of stretching. She was barely reading anymore.
At 5:43, Adrian passed her desk on his way back from the breakroom.
He slowed. “You’re still here.”
Nicole glanced up. “Trying to catch up.”
His mouth shifted into a small smile. “Mm.”
He kept walking.
Nicole watched him close his office door before she pushed back her chair and stood.
Adrian sat behind his desk, his jacket discarded, and his sleeves rolled high on his forearms. He smirked when she walked in, watching her with that same steady attention he’d given her all day.
“Come here,” he said, voice low enough that it barely crossed his lips.
She crossed the carpet and stopped in front of him. He pushed his chair back, his hands settling on her hips. His thumb moved over the seam of her skirt before guiding her backward until her thighs met the edge of the desk. “Sit.”
She did. He leaned back in his chair, eyes tracing up her legs. “Lift up your skirt for me.”
She gathered the hem, inch by inch, until the fabric bunched at her waist. His gaze stayed there, unhurried, taking in the simple black cotton underwear she wore, already damp at the center.
He looked up at her.
“Touch yourself.”
Her fingers slipped beneath the waistband. She found herself already slick, the first touch of her own fingertips pulling a soft sound from her throat.
The frosted glass window beside them looked out onto the darkening campus, the parking lot with its red, glowing security lamps, and the highway beyond. Anyone walking outside could look and see their silhouettes, her skirt high over her lap and fingers between her legs, while he watched from the shadows of his desk.
She circled lightly at first, then pressed firmer, the rhythm building under the weight of his stare.
When her eyes opened again, he was already standing. He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her head up. His thumb brushed her lower lip, parting it. He leaned in and let a slow, warm strand of spit fall directly on her tongue. “Swallow it,” he murmured.
She held still, letting it pool there, the taste of him sharp and intimate, before she swallowed it down looking him dead in the eyes.
Adrian stepped closer between her legs, pressing her hips open.
His hands moved without pause. He tugged her blouse free from the waistband of her skirt. The buttons gave way in quiet pops across the carpet. He hooked fingers under the edge of her underwear and tore the seam with a quick, deliberate rip.
Their foreheads remained pressed together, breaths mingling in the charged space between them. His gaze locked onto hers, dark and unreadable, but beneath them, hungry.
He shoved his pants down just enough and rubbed the blunt head of his cock along her slit, coating himself with her.
“Let me come inside you?”
The question, crude and tender at once, moved through her in a swift wave. Her back straightened up. She shook her head in a tiny, frantic motion.
He was silent. A slow exhale ghosted across her lips. “You’re not on birth control?”
She was. The pill packet was in her bathroom cabinet, a daily ritual. But something in the way he asked, the raw edge beneath the words, made her pause.
He chuckled softly. “Alright… ” The word dragged.
His posture hardened, his hands tensed on her hips. Irritation rippled off him, but he didn’t push.
“Alright… “ he said, again. “Guess I’ll just have to fuck the attitude out of you instead.”
He reached into his pocket. She heard the tear of foil, the efficient, clinical sounds.
“Put it on for me?”
She rolled it down his length as he watched her.
When she finished, he leaned in and kissed her again. His teeth caught her lower lip, a brief, warning bite.
“Come here,” he murmured, his voice rough. He took her hand, pulling her off the desk and toward the window.
The city lights blurred beyond the glass, her palms flattening against it as he tugged what was left of her underwear down until it fell to her ankles. The boundary between them and the world outside felt razor-thin. The proximity of it all made her skin prickle, the feeling alien and electric. Her reflection stared back at her in the window, wide-eyed and flushed, framed by the golden halo of sunset.
The chill beneath her fingertips seeped into her skin, a shocking contrast to the heat pooling between her legs. He stepped close, his body aligning with hers from shoulder to heel.
“Everyone wants this,” he murmured, his lips grazing the sensitive skin below her ear. “They see you in the hallway, that tiny skirt hugging your ass, and they’re imagining exactly what I’m doing to you right now.”
The sound of his pants slipping down, the rustle of fabric, the blunt head of his cock nudging against her entrance. He pushed in, a slow, inexorable invasion that made her gasp, her forehead falling against the glass with a soft thump. He held still, letting her adjust, letting her feel the absurdity of their position, her pressed against a window, half-naked, in front of Bloomwell’s empty parking lot.
Then he moved.
Each thrust rocked her forward, her breath fogging the pane in quick pulses. The city stretched out in front of them, indifferent, while inside the only sounds were the wet slide of skin, the low exhale he gave when she clenched around him, and the faint creak of the window frame taking their weight.
Her palms squeaked against the glass.
She let out a gasp.
“Come on my cock,” he breathed, his voice guttural. His hand left her waist and slid around to her neck, tightening. “Do it. Right here. Where anyone could see you.”
The orgasm rushed from her core to her fingertips, to her toes. Her body spasmed around his cock, her palms pressing hard enough against the glass that she thought it might break.
“Fuck.” His rhythm fractured into broken thrusts. His forehead dropped between her shoulder blades, his own release hitting him, his hips stuttering against her as he muffled a groan against her spine.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their breathing and the distant hum of the highway. He stayed inside her, his weight heavy and warm, his hands splayed possessively over her stomach.
“Good girl.”
Rita, that was well done—enticing, riveting, exciting! Loved the breath on the glass moment and the temptation of onlookers seeing her. Oooh, did I just reveal my kink?😂