The air in his corner office was cold, but the heat between them was volcanic. Lena had stayed late, knowing he would too. Mr. Thorne looked up from his desk, his gaze predatory. "Lock the door," he commanded, his voice a low growl.

She obeyed, her heels clicking on the polished floor. Before she could turn, his hands were on her, spinning her to face the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city lights. His palm pressed flat against her lower back, bending her over the sleek mahogany desk. "You've been teasing me all week, Lena," he muttered, his other hand hiking up her tight pencil skirt. The sound of the fabric straining was loud in the quiet room.

His fingers found her soaked panties. "Fuck, you're dripping," he grunted, hooking his fingers into the lace and tearing them aside. The cool air hit her wet slit, making her clit throb. He didn't use his fingers to tease her—he used the thick, blunt head of his cock, already freed from his trousers and rock-hard. He rubbed it through her slick folds, coating his shaft in her juices. The sensation was maddening; the smooth, hot crown of his dick nudging her swollen clit, then dragging down to press against her tight hole.

"You want this cock buried in your cunt, don't you?" he demanded, his voice rough. He wasn't asking. He was stating a fact. She could only moan, pushing her ass back against him. "Answer me."

"Yes! Please, fuck me," she begged, the words torn from her.

With a brutal thrust, he sheathed his entire length inside