The office was quiet after five, the usual hum of keyboards and phones replaced by the low click of high heels on marble. Camille adjusted her blouse as she walked back to her desk, a slight smirk tugging at her lips. She knew exactly what she was doing — how her hips swayed in that tight pencil skirt, how her white shirt clung just enough to hint at the curve of her breasts beneath. And she knew Spencer was watching.

He always watched.

From behind the sleek glass of his corner office, Spencer sat back in his leather chair, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, forearms resting casually on the arms. At fifty-four, he was all the things younger men weren't — composed, confident, and utterly unapologetic in the way his eyes lingered. Especially when they lingered on her.

Camille leaned over her desk just a little too far, pretending to organize papers. Her cleavage dipped low, framed perfectly by her open blouse. She didn’t need to look to know his eyes were locked on her.

"You’re going to give the cleaning staff a heart attack, dressing like that after hours," Spencer's voice drawled from behind her, deep and smooth.

She straightened slowly and turned, biting her lip. "Didn’t realize you were still here, Mr. Wolfe."

He stood and crossed the room with a casual confidence that sent heat coiling low in her belly. “You did,” he said, eyes raking over her body. “And you’re not wearing a bra.”

She raised a brow, feigning innocence. “Maybe I was just hot.”

He stopped in front of her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. “Is that right?” His green eyes locked on hers, daring her.

“Very hot,” she whispered.

Spencer’s hand reached out, thumb brushing lightly over her bottom lip, then down her jaw, slow and deliberate. “I’ve been patient with you, Camille.”

“I know,” she said breathlessly.

He tilted her chin up. “But patience runs out.”

Then he kissed her — hard, claiming, his hand tangling in her jet-black hair. She gasped, and he took the opportunity to deepen it, his tongue sliding into her mouth as his other hand found the curve of her ass, pulling her tight against the hard line of his body.

Camille moaned into his mouth, pressing into him. She could feel the thick bulge of his cock straining against his trousers, and it only made her wetter.

He pulled away just enough to growl, “On the desk. Now.”

She turned, heart pounding, and leaned over her own desk. Papers scattered as her palms braced on the cool surface. Spencer stepped behind her, lifting her skirt with a firm hand, exposing the lace of her thong.

“Jesus, Camille…” he murmured, dragging his fingers over the round curve of her ass, then between her thighs.

“You’re soaked,” he said, voice dark and low.

“Do something about it,” she challenged, looking over her shoulder.

He didn’t hesitate. Her thong was pushed aside and his fingers found her slit, stroking through the slick heat. She whimpered, biting her lip as he teased her opening.

“You’ve been teasing me for months,” he said, undoing his belt with one hand while still rubbing her with the other. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”

She only moaned louder, pushing back against his hand.

Then she heard it — the sound of his zipper, the deep grunt as he freed himself. And then the head of his cock pressing against her entrance — thick, hot, and massive.

“You sure you can take it all?” he murmured.

“Try me,” she said.

With one thrust, he buried himself inside her, stretching her around his thick length. Camille cried out, knuckles white on the edge of the desk, back arching. He didn’t pause — he set a pace, hard and deep, slamming into her over and over as she gasped and begged.

The office filled with the sound of skin on skin, her moans mixing with his grunts, the desk creaking beneath them. He grabbed her hips, slamming into her harder. Her breasts bounced with each thrust, her hair falling over her face as she lost herself in the rhythm of it.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, leaning over her, mouth to her ear. “So fucking tight.”

“Harder,” she gasped. “Fuck me harder, Spencer.”

And he did.

Camille's body trembled, legs quivering as Spencer’s cock slammed into her again and again. Her cheek was pressed to the smooth desk surface, her mouth open in a constant, desperate moan. Every thrust drove deeper, reaching places inside her no one else ever had. She was stretched around him, deliciously full, lost in the sensation of being completely taken.

“Such a tight little pussy,” he growled in her ear, his hand sliding up her back and tangling in her hair, gripping it firmly to arch her body toward him. “You were made for this, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” she gasped, her voice high and breathless. “God, yes…”

“Good girl,” he murmured, and something about the way he said it — low, possessive, commanding — made her clench around him. “Taking me so well. Letting me fuck you like this. My perfect little secretary.”

Camille whimpered, her walls fluttering around his thick shaft. Her knees buckled, but his strong hands caught her hips, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. He was relentless — pounding into her with controlled, brutal rhythm, his grip firm, his dominance total. And yet even in the rawness of it, his voice was thick with praise.

“Such a sweet, obedient girl,” he said between ragged breaths. “You tease all day long and now look at you — bent over your desk, dripping, begging for my cock.”

“Yes, Spencer—please, please don’t stop…”

Her body was on fire, nerves alight, the knot in her stomach tightening with every thrust. His hand slid beneath her, fingers finding her clit and rubbing hard circles, syncing with his thrusts. The combination undid her. Her entire body tensed, thighs shaking, vision going white at the edges.

“Oh—oh fuck—Spencer, I’m gonna—”

“Cum for me,” he commanded. “Let me feel you fall apart on my cock.”

She screamed his name as her orgasm ripped through her, wave after wave crashing over her body. Her pussy clenched around him, milking him, convulsing with pleasure as he fucked her through it. Her body was boneless, shaking, helpless beneath him — and she loved it.

“God, Camille,” he groaned, voice tight. “You’re squeezing me so fucking tight—”

His rhythm stuttered, thrusts growing more erratic, more desperate. He grunted low in his throat, grabbed her hips in both hands, and slammed into her hard, burying himself to the hilt as he came. She could feel it — the hot rush of his release deep inside her, thick and intense, as he held her there, still trembling from her own climax.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Just heavy breathing. Skin against skin.

Then Spencer leaned over her, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder.

“You were perfect,” he whispered, voice husky but warm. “Such a good girl.”

Camille smiled against the desk, still panting, still dazed.

And in that quiet aftermath, her body marked by his, her mind spinning in a haze of endorphins and praise, she knew one thing for certain.

She was his now — and she wanted more.