She had barely gotten to the office.
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The computer had only just come to life when she saw the message waiting for her. She had arrived later than she intended that morning, already feeling slightly behind, but whatever thoughts had been occupying her disappeared the moment she opened it.
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Sir.
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The first message contained several very encouraging photographs of him.
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She smiled, taking them in for perhaps a little longer than she should have, before the next message appeared.
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On my way.
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Panic.
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She had just gotten there. Nothing was ready. She was not ready.
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She moved quickly, getting everything done with the particular kind of efficiency that only came from knowing Sir was headed toward her. By the time he arrived, she was perched on the sofa as though she had been there waiting patiently all morning.
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He had no idea.
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When he walked through the door, he sauntered toward her with that maddening ease of his, making small talk as though his presence alone was not already dismantling her.
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That was the thing about him.
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He could simply be near her and something inside her shifted.
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She would listen to him speak and slowly lose track of what he was saying because she was too aware of how close he was. Too aware of his body. His voice. His hands. The anticipation of knowing that eventually he would stop talking and touch her.
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Those few minutes felt impossibly long.
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And then his hands found her breasts.
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He freed one from her dress and lowered his mouth to it, biting and sucking, alternating between tenderness and the sharper sting of his teeth. He left his marks behind with the familiarity of someone who knew exactly how she responded to him, then moved to the other breast and began again.
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But his mouth was only part of the torment.
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While his lips and teeth worked over her breasts, his hand disappeared beneath her dress, finding the place where she was already unbearably sensitive. His fingers teased her clit slowly, almost casually, as though he had no idea what he was doing to her.
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Of course, he knew.
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Part of her wanted to escape the sensation because every touch felt almost too intense. The other part wanted nothing more than to press herself harder against his hand, chasing the pleasure he kept giving and withholding.
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Her body betrayed whatever composure she had left.
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He continued touching her intimately, taking his time, learning every response as it passed across her body. She could feel herself slipping further away from the office, from the morning, from everything that existed beyond the sofa and the man touching her.
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Back and forth.
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His mouth on her breasts.
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His hand beneath her dress.
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Taking his time.
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Leaving evidence.
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By the time he finally withdrew his hand, she was already breathless and thoroughly dismantled.
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She disappeared a little more with every touch.
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Eventually, he stood and removed his clothes.
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She looked at him for only a moment before something playful overtook her. She pushed him backward onto the sofa, dropped to her knees in front of him, and began worshipping his cock.
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There was something almost devotional about being there.
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His pleasure became her focus.
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His moans told her what she needed to know as she took him into her mouth, giving herself over to him. At one point, he pulled himself from her lips and instructed her to kiss the length of his shaft, first one side and then the other, before allowing her to take him into her mouth again.
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His hands slid into her hair.
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Then the gentleness disappeared.
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He pushed her down onto his cock and began using her mouth, driving himself deep enough that she fought her gag reflex. Tears gathered in her eyes and slipped down her cheeks, but there was no distress in them. Her mind had narrowed to something beautifully simple.
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Sir’s pleasure.
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Nothing else mattered.
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When he finally released her, she remained kneeling between his legs, breathless, trying to recover.
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Waiting.
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She knew what she wanted next.
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His kiss.
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He made her wait for that too.
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And when he finally leaned down and kissed her, it felt as though neither of them could get enough of the other. She melted into him, hungry for his mouth even as he moved to her neck, his teeth closing gently against her skin before his lips found her ear.
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He breathed words against her.
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She knew he was speaking.
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She simply could no longer understand what he was saying.
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She had already begun slipping too far away.
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Somewhere between one breath and the next, she found herself on her back against the sofa beneath him.
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Sir took his time.
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He teased her with his cock until patience became impossible, brushing against her pussy without giving her what she wanted, listening as her breathing changed and her composure disappeared.
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She whimpered.
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Then begged.
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She wanted him inside her. Wanted the stretch of him. Wanted that first overwhelming moment when her body opened around his cock and seemed to recognize him.
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When he finally entered her, she wrapped around him as though her body had been made for precisely that purpose.
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For him.
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They moved together without hurry at first. Hard and soft. Fast and slow. His cock pulsing inside her while their hands traveled over every piece of skin they could reach. It was intense, but there was something else beneath the intensity.
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Connection.
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For a while, the rest of the world simply ceased to exist.
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Then Sir repositioned her.
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He put her on her knees on the sofa and entered her again from behind.
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Something changed.
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What had been deep and connecting became feral.
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Hungry.
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This was not about savoring anything. This was lust stripped of manners and restraint.
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Again, Sir spoke to her.
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Again, she heard his voice without understanding the words.
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She was too far into subspace to follow language anymore. Her world had been reduced to sensation. His hands. His body behind hers. The relentless movement of his cock inside her. The involuntary tightening of her pussy around him. The slickness of her own cum coating him and slipping between her thighs.
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He fucked her with the desperate hunger of a prisoner being served his last meal.
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And she surrendered to every second of it.
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When it was finally over, neither of them moved immediately.
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They stayed there for a moment, still connected, suspended in that strange little space between what they had just been and the ordinary people they would have to become again.
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Eventually, they untangled themselves.
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They cleaned up.
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He dressed.
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And somehow, impossibly, the small talk returned.
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Part of her participated in it. Another part of her was somewhere in outer space, still drifting through the remnants of subspace, content simply because Sir was there.
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Then it was time.
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He leaned toward her and kissed her forehead.
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Not roughly.
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Not possessively.
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Tenderly.
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With care.
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Such a small gesture after everything that had passed between them, yet somehow it reached a completely different place inside her.
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And then he was gone.
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The office became quiet again.
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There was always an ache when Sir left. Perhaps because she never knew exactly when she would have him again. There was no next Friday, no predictable date circled on a calendar, no certainty she could hold onto. There was only the space he left behind and the knowledge that she would wait until he returned to fill it again.
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She hated the waiting sometimes.
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She hated how much she missed him when he was gone.
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But this man?
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He was worth waiting for.
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