You weren’t supposed to see this. The office door was cracked just enough—thick thighs spread over a leather chair, blouse undone, bra unhooked. She’s riding his cock like it’s payday and he’s not paying taxes on it. Chair squeaks under her weight as she leans back, tits bouncing free while he grabs them hard enough to leave marks. No lube needed here—just raw, wet slaps of skin against skin in a room where someone could walk in any second. Her hair gets tangled in his fingers when he flips her onto the desk, papers scattering like confessions mid-thrust. ‘Quiet,’ she whispers—but neither of them gives a damn about that either.
