My Wife Showed Up at the Office Past Midnight

The tapping of your shoe against the floor was the only sound left on the floor. At that hour the offices were dead, the hallway lights off, the other desks swallowed by that bluish dimness that comes in from the street. Only your lamp was still on, and only you were still there, sunk into the same chair you’d been in for almost twelve hours.

Your neck ached with a dull, constant pain. Your eyes burned from staring at the screen. It was the usual overtime, the kind that had become routine over the last few weeks, and you were starting to hate it with a new clarity.

You thought about Daniela, about how little you’d seen her. You thought about your daughter, about the fact that you hadn’t kissed her awake in three days. Too much sacrifice for a project no one was ever going to fully thank you for.

Weeks had gone by since the last time you’d touched her calmly, without one of you collapsing halfway there. The desire was still there, intact, but routine had buried it under reports and endless meetings. Sometimes, in the middle of the day, you’d catch yourself remembering the weight of her body against yours and have to shake your head to get back to the screen.

You had the phone in your hand, ready to call and say you’d be late again, when you heard a noise in the hallway. Slow footsteps on the carpet.

—Marta? Is that you? —you called to the floor receptionist, assuming she’d come back for something she’d forgotten.

No one answered. The doorknob turned slowly, and in the doorway appeared a silhouette you knew better than any other. Your wife’s.

—What are you doing here? —you said, springing to your feet—. I was just about to call you. Is something wrong?

—Nothing, my love —she said, stepping in and closing the door behind her with a soft click—. Everything’s fine at home. I just felt lonely. I missed you too much.

She came toward you with a walk that was anything but casual. Slow, feline, calculated, as if she’d practiced every step in the elevator.

—And I missed you —you admitted—. Forgive me for working so much lately. I swear this will be over soon.

You offered her your lap almost by reflex, as you had so many nights on the sofa at home. Daniela settled onto your legs, slipped an arm around your neck, and brought her mouth to yours. The kiss was long, wet, the kind that leaves you breathless and speechless. She smelled like her usual perfume and something else too, a purpose you recognized, and it made you feel an immediate pull in your groin.

—Don’t worry about the girl —she whispered against your ear—. I left her with my sister. I figured you could use a little stress relief.

While she talked, her hand slid down your chest, over your abdomen, until it settled on your pants. She stroked you through the fabric, slowly, feeling you swell beneath her fingers.

—Daniela! —you yanked her hand away nervously—. Are you crazy? There are cameras.

—Don’t worry about that —she smiled without moving an inch—. I disconnected them before coming up. I told security I was bringing you dinner. And at this hour no one’s going to show up.

That was when you really looked at her for the first time. The coat she was wearing was half unbuttoned, and between the lapels peeked a black lingerie corset, fitted tight, with laces crossing her belly. The one that drove you crazy and that she only brought out on special occasions.

You held back a groan. You gave the camera in the corner one last glance, praying that whatever she’d done had worked, with no time or desire to check.

To hell with it, you thought.

You lifted her off your lap and set her on the edge of your desk, pushing the keyboard and a couple of folders aside with a shove. You finished unbuttoning her coat and let it slide from her shoulders. Under the corset she wore nothing else. Nothing.

—I came prepared —she said, biting her lip.

Her pussy was shaved, smooth, perfect, just the way you liked it. You spread her legs with both hands and knelt in front of the desk without a second thought. You buried your face between her thighs and gave her a long lick, bottom to top, tasting her whole. She was wet, and her taste hit you with that salty, warm mixture you knew by heart.

—Yes, like that, fuck —she moaned, closing her fingers in your hair—. Lick it all.

She started rubbing herself against your mouth, setting the pace herself, using you for her pleasure. You loved when she did that, when she forgot everything and let herself go as if no one could see her. You punished her clit with the tip of your tongue, in circles, slowly at first and faster after, until you felt her thighs beginning to tremble on both sides of your face.

Your cock was hard as a rock, pressed tight against your fly, begging to come out. You stood up, unbuttoned your pants, and pulled them down just enough. Daniela was watching you from the desk with shining eyes, her legs still open, waiting.

You grabbed her by the hair and threw her head back while you drove into her in one hard thrust. She let out a rough cry that bounced off the empty office walls.

—Slowly —she gasped, though she smiled as she said it.

But there was no slowly tonight. She was hot, dripping, clamping around you as if her life depended on every stroke. You pushed her until she was lying back on the desk and started moving with urgency, without mercy, letting all the tension built up over the last few weeks pour out in every hip thrust.

—Feel me —you told her in her ear, not stopping—. Feel how much I want you.

She wrapped her legs around your hips and started moving with you, searching for you, meeting every push. You pulled one breast out of the corset and bit her nipple, and that little sting drew a surprised yelp from her that quickly turned into a deeper moan. She slid one hand between her legs and started rubbing her clit without taking her eyes off you.

—I’m close —she warned, her voice breaking—. Don’t stop, please.

You didn’t stop. You increased the pace until you felt her writhing beneath you, until she arched over the wood and came with a long cry, the kind you hadn’t heard from her in a long time. You silenced her with your mouth, kissing her deeply, swallowing her orgasm, her sweat, the shudder still racing through her body.

You stayed still for a moment, inside her, catching your breath. The entire office smelled like sex, and somehow that made everything even more intense, more forbidden.

—From behind —she asked between gasps, her eyes still closed—. I want you to fuck my ass.

—Are you sure?

She nodded, and that gesture was all you needed. You lifted her off the desk, turned her around, and bent her over the edge, with her palms braced on the wood. You settled in behind her and spread her ass cheeks with your thumbs.

—Relax —you told her with a growl—. Let me in.

And she did. She took a deep breath and loosened just enough for you to start pushing. You thought it would be hard, but between the lube you had on you and how badly she wanted it, you slid in slowly, all the way to the hilt. Daniela held her breath, fingers digging into the edge of the desk. You gave her a few seconds to get used to it, stroking her back, before gripping her hips firmly and starting to move.

—Like that, don’t stop —she moaned, pushing back to take you in.

The sound of your ragged breathing and the creaking furniture were the only things filling the floor. You were thrusting harder and harder, deeper and deeper, feeling the end drawing near.

When you were just about to explode, she suddenly pulled away, shoved you back down into the chair, and climbed on top of you, facing away. She rode you like a wild horsewoman, with her hands on your knees, setting a rhythm that left you defenseless. You could do nothing but grab her breasts with both hands and let go, emptying yourself inside her with a muffled groan against the nape of her neck.

You were both left panting, her collapsed against your chest, you with your face buried in her hair. The chair creaked under your combined weight. Outside, the city carried on indifferent, oblivious to what had just happened in a dark office on the twelfth floor.

At last Daniela stood up, turned, and kissed you long on the lips, this time without hurry.

—Get dressed —she said, picking up the coat from the floor and tossing it over her shoulders—. We’re going home.

—Give me a minute —you answered, still out of breath, watching her gather her things with an idiot smile on your face.

—And if you behave in the car —she added, winking from the doorway—, there might be a second round when we get there.

You turned off the lamp. For the first time in weeks, you didn’t care about leaving work half done.