**Giving Into Pleasure**

I wasn’t supposed to be here.

The bar was dim, smelling like spilled beer and cheap perfume, but none of that mattered because *she* was here. Sarah—my coworker, my secret fantasy, the woman who’d been teasing me for months with tight dresses and lingering touches. She was married. I was in a relationship. But right now, none of that mattered, because the way she was looking at me from across the table—lips wet from her drink, fingers tracing lazy circles on my thigh—was making my cock throb in my jeans.

“You’re staring,” she murmured, smirking.

“Can’t help it.” My voice was rough, already thick with want.

She leaned closer, her tits pushing against the neckline of her dress, and I caught the faintest hint of her perfume—something sweet, something dangerous. “What if someone sees us?”

I swallowed hard. That was the thrill, wasn’t it? The risk. The fact that we shouldn’t be doing this. But her fingers slid higher, grazing the outline of my cock through my pants, and I was done pretending.

“Fuck it,” I growled, grabbing her wrist and pulling her toward the bathroom.

The second the stall door locked behind us, her mouth crashed into mine, hot and hungry. My hands were everywhere—grabbing her ass, yanking down the straps of her dress until her tits spilled free, her nipples already hard against my palms. She moaned into my mouth, grinding against me, and I could feel the heat of her through her panties.

“God, I’ve wanted this for so long,” she panted, biting my lower lip.

I didn’t answer—just spun her around, pressing her against the wall and hiking up her dress. Her panties were soaked, the fabric clinging to her pussy, and when I traced a finger over her slit, she whimpered.

“You’re fucking dripping,” I muttered, jerking my cock free from my jeans.

She looked over her shoulder, eyes dark with lust. “Then do something about it.”

I didn’t hesitate. I yanked her panties to the side and shoved into her, balls-deep in one thrust. Her cunt was *soaking*, tight as hell, and she let out a broken cry as I started fucking her hard, my hips slamming into her ass with every stroke.

“Oh my *god*,” she gasped, her nails digging into the wall. “Fuck, yes—*harder*.”

I gripped her hips, pulling her back onto me, my cock plunging into her wet heat over and over. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the tiny stall, mixed with her desperate moans and the filthy, slick noise of her pussy taking me.

“You like this?” I growled, reaching around to rub her clit. “Fucking cheating on your husband with me?”

She shuddered, her walls clenching around me. “Y-Yes—*oh fuck*—don’t stop—”

I didn’t. I fucked her harder, dragging her back onto my cock, my balls slapping against her. Her breath came in sharp, ragged gasps, her whole body trembling, until suddenly she cried out, her pussy squeezing me like a vise as she came.

“Shit—*fuck*—” I groaned, my own orgasm ripping through me. I buried myself deep, pumping her full as she whimpered beneath me, her cunt milking every last drop.

For a second, we just stood there, panting, reality creeping back in. Then she turned, her lips curving into a wicked smile.

“We should do this again.”

And just like that, I knew I was fucked—because I *would* do this again.

No matter who it hurt.