The clock says midday, but my body doesn’t care. My thoughts wander straight to him—how his hand would slide up my thigh under the table, fingers pressing just enough to make me gasp, teasing until I’m wet and aching. I imagine him pulling me close, grinding against me, the thick outline of his cock impossible to ignore. His breath at my ear, whispering what he’s about to do—bending me forward, filling me so deep that all I can do is clutch the edge of the desk and bite back moans.

Even here, with the sunlight streaming in, I can feel him. The way he grips my hair, the sting of his belt when I’ve earned it, the way he fucks me until I’m shaking, until I’m marked all over again as his. Midday or midnight, he’s in my head, making me throb with need and reminding me that my body will never stop craving him.

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