The red panties were riding up under my white top as I sat at the desk, trying to focus on papers I couldn t read. I was annoyed, actually annoyed, when he walked in—late, smelling of outside air, that white shirt of his wrinkled. I didn t look up at first, just shuffled documents, making him wait.
He crossed the room anyway, hands immediate on my shoulders, rough and knowing. I tried to shrug him off, maintain the irritation, but his fingers slid under my red panties, finding me soaked despite my mood. Embarrassingly so. He knew without asking.
I ended up on the desk, papers scattering, my white top shoved up while he drove into me from behind. I clutched the edge, knuckles white, making sounds I couldn t control. He turned me onto my back, folding my legs up so far my knees neared my ears, and I cried out because he filled me completely. The desk creaked beneath us, the red fabric of my panties torn and twisted around my ankle.
When he had fucked me raw, my thigh
