Chapter 7: The First Fuck

Emily Harper’s fingers trembled on the wheel as she guided the SUV into the far corner of the lot at five-twenty, the late sun already low enough to cast everything in molten amber. Jake sat in back, headphones locked in place, thumbs scrolling without a glance her way. She had stood in her bathroom mirror that morning and made the choice without hesitation: a fluttery sundress in soft peach cotton that skimmed the tops of her thighs and offered no barriers underneath. No bra, no panties—just the thin fabric brushing bare skin with every movement, already keeping her slick and swollen all day long. The knowledge that this was the afternoon they would finally cross the last line had kept her thighs damp and her nipples tight against the dress since breakfast.

She stepped out, the warm breeze lifting the hem just enough to kiss the curve of her ass. The empty hallway swallowed her sandals in soft whispers. Late sunlight sliced through the blinds ahead, painting long warm stripes across the linoleum that shifted like liquid gold with every step. Her pulse beat low and heavy between her legs, a constant thrum that made her walk a little slower, savoring the ache. I’m a mother waiting for her son outside, the thought flashed, sharp and guilty. But I’ve never needed to be filled like this.

The office door opened before she could knock. Mark stood there, tall and solid, door locking behind her the instant it closed. No greeting, no pretense about Jake. Their mouths crashed together—devouring, open, tongues sliding deep and urgent. His hands dove straight under the sundress, gripping the bare cheeks of her ass and yanking her against the thick, rigid bulge already straining his slacks. Emily moaned into his kiss, shameless, grinding her bare, soaked folds against him so he could feel exactly how ready she was.

He lifted her onto the edge of the desk in one smooth motion. The cool wood pressed against her palms as she braced herself, the sundress bunching around her waist. Mark dropped briefly to his knees, spreading her thighs wide, and dragged his tongue through her drenched folds in long, hungry strokes. She shook, fingers threading into his salt-and-pepper hair, the wet heat of his mouth pulling a broken gasp from her throat. But she didn’t want his tongue now. Not tonight.