You know that feeling when you’re the last one in the office?
Everything’s too quiet. The hum of the AC sounds louder. The printer you swear nobody uses during the day suddenly clunks like it’s alive just to freak you out. It’s lonely — until it’s not.
I never planned on fucking a coworker. It sounds messy, right? And it is. But sometimes messy is exactly what you need when you’ve been staring at spreadsheets for ten hours straight and your brain’s gone soft.
It started with Jamie. Of course it did. Jamie — the one with the sleeves rolled up just enough to show off his forearms, the little smirk like he’s got a secret he wants you to beg for. He was older than me, not by much, but enough that he carried himself like he knew how this would play out before I even did.
We’d been the last two in the office all week. Long nights, pizza boxes, half-bored flirting. He’d stand behind me when I printed things, just a little too close — close enough I could feel the heat off him, close enough I swear he did it on purpose.
That Friday, I was exhausted. Makeup smudged, blouse wrinkled, pretending I could finish this presentation if I just stayed another hour. Jamie leaned against my desk, arms folded, watching me like he was waiting for something — or deciding if I’d break first.
I did.
Or maybe we both did. I can’t tell you who leaned in first. All I know is my mouth was on his and my back was pressed up against the file cabinet so fast it clanged loud enough I thought we’d get caught right then and there.
I should’ve cared. I didn’t.
He kissed like he was starving. Hands under my blouse, warm palms flat on my stomach, pushing higher. I felt his belt buckle press into my thigh and my knees almost gave out. He laughed against my neck — low, mean, in that way that says “You want this? Prove it.”
So I did.
He turned me around, bent me over my own desk like I was just another file to sort through. Papers fluttered to the floor — I’d pick them up later, if I even remembered. My skirt was around my waist, panties tugged down halfway. No finesse. No gentle ask. Just his hand fisted in my hair, his other hand sliding between my thighs to feel how ready I already was for something I’d pretended I didn’t want all week.
The first push made me bite my lip so hard I tasted blood. I probably should’ve stayed quiet. The cleaning crew could’ve walked in. The security cameras might’ve caught a glimpse of my bare ass and Jamie’s hips slamming into me while I tried not to scream.
But honestly? The risk just made it better.
He fucked me like I was a problem he needed to solve fast — rough, deep, one hand over my mouth now because I was making too much noise. I could feel my pulse in my ears. The printer next to us hummed like it wanted to join in. My hands slipped on the edge of the desk, nails scraping wood while my whole body tightened around him.
It didn’t last long — it couldn’t. Too fast, too desperate. He growled something I couldn’t hear over my own heartbeat. I felt him stiffen behind me and that was it — I came so hard I nearly knocked over my coffee mug on the floor.
When it was over, we didn’t say much. I pulled my panties back up, smoothed my skirt like that would erase the mess we’d just made. He tucked himself in, gave me that smirk again, like “Don’t pretend you didn’t love every second.” Because I did.
I still do, every time I stay late. Just in case.
