The Heat Behind Her At The Social
# The Grind The bass from the speakers thumped through the polished concrete floor of the converted loft space, a steady pulse that vibrated up through Cassie’s heels. The monthly social was in full, chaotic swing. Glassy-eyed colleagues c
Chapter 1
The bass from the speakers thumped through the polished concrete floor of the converted loft space, a steady pulse that vibrated up through Cassie’s heels. The monthly social was in full, chaotic swing. Glassy-eyed colleagues clustered around high tables, laughter too loud, voices competing with the synth-heavy track the junior analysts had chosen. She leaned against a pillar, her third glass of something strong and clear held loosely in her hand. The cool condensation felt good against her palm, a small anchor in the warm, thick air.
Across the room, she saw Jenna, her head thrown back in a shriek of laughter, and Krista, who was gesturing wildly with a half-eaten canapé. They were just as gone as she was, maybe more. A pleasant numbness had settled into her limbs, a welcome quieting of the usual internal monologue about spreadsheets and school runs. She closed her eyes for a second, letting the noise wash over her.
The first touch was a pressure, not a hand. A solid, undeniable presence fitted itself against her back. The music swallowed the sound of his approach. Heat bloomed where his torso met her spine. He was tall—she could feel the difference in their height—and built. The firm ridge of his belt buckle pressed into the small of her back.
Then, he moved.
A slow, deliberate rotation of his hips ground the hard line of his erection against the curve of her ass, right through the thin fabric of her pencil skirt. Her breath hitched, caught somewhere between her throat and her lungs. The glass in her hand trembled. She didn’t turn. She didn’t pull away. A shocking, liquid warmth pooled low in her belly, a direct current from the point of contact.
His hand slid around her rib cage, palm broad and hot even through her silk blouse. It didn’t stop. It moved upward with deliberate, claiming intent until his fingers closed over the swell of her breast. He gave a soft, possessive squeeze, his thumb finding the peak of her nipple and rubbing it into a tight, aching bead. A small, helpless sound escaped her lips, lost to the music.
That was the permission he seemed to need. His other hand drifted from her hip, fingers skating over the taut fabric of her skirt before slipping beneath the hem. The touch of his skin on her bare thigh was an electric shock. His fingers were warm, slightly rough, and they moved upward with a devastating lack of haste, tracing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.
Cassie’s head fell back against his shoulder. Her eyes were still closed. All she could feel was the relentless, grinding pressure against her backside, the skilled kneading of her breast, and the terrifying, thrilling promise of that wandering hand inching higher. The raw, extreme reality of it—here, in the open, surrounded by her clueless colleagues—sent a violent, delicious shiver through her. She was drenched, the slick evidence of her arousal a secret only he and the dark, welcoming space under her skirt knew.
His lips brushed the shell of her ear, his voice a low rasp that cut through the music. “See how you move for me?” he murmured, his breath hot. “Your body’s telling me everything your mouth won’t.”
Chapter 2
His words were a hot brand on her skin. The grinding, groping anonymity of the crowd was one thing, but this was different. This was a command.
His hand left her breast, snaked down to clasp her wrist. Without a word, he pulled her away from the pillar, weaving through the pulsing bodies. Jenna’s blurry face flashed by, a question in her eyes, but Cassie just shook her head, a weak smile on her lips. He shouldered open a heavy door marked ‘Conference Room B’, the noise of the party cutting off to a dull throb as it swung shut behind them.
The room was dark, lit only by the orange glow of the city through floor-to-ceiling windows. A long, polished table reflected the light.
He turned to face her, his features finally clear in the gloom. He was younger than her, maybe by ten years, all sharp jaw and intent eyes. He didn’t speak. He simply unbuckled his belt, the click of the fastener loud in the quiet. The zipper’s rasp was deliberate.
“You looked so hungry out there,” he said, his voice low and steady, no trace of the music left in it. “All that squirming against me. You want this, don’t you?”
Cassie’s throat was dry. Her pulse hammered in her ears. The liquid heat between her legs was a throbbing ache. She didn’t answer with words. Her knees hit the soft carpet, the action smooth and instinctive. She looked up at him, her red hair falling around her shoulders.
“Good girl,” he murmured, wrapping his fingers in her hair.
He was already hard, his cock springing free. She leaned forward, her lips parting. The first touch of her tongue to his heated skin drew a sharp hiss from him. She took him into her mouth, slowly, her world narrowing to the taste of him, the salt and musk, the solid, velvety weight on her tongue.
“Fuck yeah,” he groaned, his hips giving a slight jerk. “Just like that. Use that pretty mouth.”
She obeyed, finding a rhythm, one hand braced on his thigh, the other cupping his balls. The obscene, wet sounds filled the dark office. His grip in her hair tightened, guiding her pace, urging her deeper.
“You’re a natural,” he panted, his voice rough. “Sucking cock like a married woman starved for it. Does your husband know how much of a slut you are?”
The filthy words, so raw and extreme, sent a shockwave through her. She moaned around him, the vibration making him curse. She was drowning in it, the submission, the debasement, the glorious, secret sin of it. Her own need was a second heartbeat, frantic and ignored. This was for him. Her reward was the tightening of his muscles, the ragged edge in his breath.
“Gonna come,” he warned, his thighs tensing. “Swallow it. Take every drop.”
His climax hit him, a sharp, guttural cry tearing from his throat. Heat flooded her mouth, thick and bitter. She drank him down, her own body clenching in a silent, sympathetic spasm of need. He shuddered, his grip on her hair finally easing as he softened in her mouth.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing. He gently pulled her to her feet. Her knees were weak.
“Now,” he said, wiping his thumb across her wet lips, his eyes dark and satisfied. “Let’s see about that other ache.”
Chapter 3
“Let’s see about that other ache.”
His words were a low promise that coiled in her gut. He guided her by the shoulders, turning her away from him. The polished expanse of the conference table gleamed in the city’s orange glow. His hands settled on her hips, his touch firm and proprietary.
“Bend over,” he commanded, his voice rough. “Put your hands flat on the table.”
A shiver of pure anticipation raced through her. Cassie obeyed, the cool glass smooth under her palms. She felt him gather the fabric of her skirt, pushing it up over the curve of her ass. The air kissed her exposed skin. She was exposed, presented, her soaked panties the only barrier.
“Look at you,” he murmured, hooking his thumbs in the lace at her hips. He didn’t peel them down slowly; he ripped them to the side with a sharp tear of fabric. The sound was obscene. “So fucking wet for it already. Tell me you want it.”
“I want it,” she gasped, the words ripped from her. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please… fuck me.”
A low, approving growl was her only answer. She heard the rustle of his pants, then the blunt, hot pressure of his cock against her slick opening. He didn’t tease. He didn’t push in slowly. He drove into her with one long, devastating stroke, filling her completely.
“Fuck!” she cried out, her fingers splaying against the glass. He was thick, stretching her, the sudden fullness a shock of perfect friction.
“That’s it,” he grunted, his hands locking onto her hips, fingers biting into her flesh. He set a brutal, punishing pace from the start, each thrust slamming her into the table’s edge. “Take it. Your married little cunt was made for this.”
The filthy talk lit a fuse inside her. “Yes!” she moaned, pushing back against him, meeting every drive. The table rattled with their rhythm. She was mindless, reduced to sensation: the slap of skin, the scrape of his belt buckle, the raw, wet sounds of their joining.
“Gonna come all over this pretty ass,” he panted, his rhythm becoming erratic, frantic. “You want that? Want me to fill you up?”
“Yes, God, yes!” she begged, her own climax coiling tight, a white-hot spring ready to snap.
His control shattered. With a raw, guttural shout, he plunged deep and held, his body rigid against hers. Heat flooded her core as he came, pulse after pulse, his groan vibrating through her back. The feel of it, the utter claiming, tipped her over the edge. Her own orgasm tore through her, a silent scream tearing from her throat as she clenched around him, waves of pleasure wiping her mind blank.
For long moments, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing mingling with the distant thump of the bass. He slowly softened inside her, his weight heavy and warm against her back. Gently, he pulled out, his hands smoothing her skirt down.
He turned her around, his eyes dark and sated. He wiped a thumb across her damp cheek. “Now you can go back to your friends,” he said, his voice a soft rasp. “You’ll feel me for days.”