I spot her the moment I walk into the conference hall at the company’s annual Christmas party which is now in full swing, air heavy with cinnamon and pine. Red and green lights reflect on the polished floor; a soft hum of a classic Bing Crosby tune floats above the chatter of coworkers. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her, Tara, with that wavy chestnut hair cascading over a shimmering silver dress, a polite smile as she nods at some empty conversation. She is a woman I had met at a bar almost a month ago. After an hour of talking and listening about her frustration with her men not committing, we went to a nearby hotel, fucking for hours of amazing sex. I never heard from her again as she gave me a bogus number. I checked my phone to verify it was her as I took an impromptu video of her sucking on my cock before nervously noticing I was recording. She had the same small, thorny rose tat near her clavicle.
She’s got her arm linked through Greg of all people. Biggest asshole at work, who talks over me in meetings and lords his recent promotion over everyone. He’s showing off a sparkling diamond ring on her finger to colleagues, grinning like he just acquired a prize. They’re engaged. I feel a flash of something burn in my chest. Jealousy? Spite? Maybe both. I swallow a gulp of wine and make my way over.
As I approach, Tara’s eyes flick in my direction. Those coffee-brown irises widen, a subtle parting of her lips, but then her face composes itself. Greg, oblivious, waves a hand at me. “Hey, Mister Workaholic himself!” with a toothy grin. I force a smile and Tara says nothing, her gaze sliding off me and back to the floor nervously. Greg is babbling on about some deal he closed.
I’m only interested in the way Tara is standing, shoulders tense beneath that dress, as if she’s fighting the urge to look at me. I wait until Greg’s attention shifts to someone else, always scanning for a bigger audience. I lean in closer to her. She smells like vanilla and spices.
“Thanks for the number,” I say softly, keeping my tone low.
She just murmurs, “I’m engaged now, and I am happy as you can see.” Her voice is steady, but there’s nervous tension.
I pull out my phone and turn the screen toward her. It’s the 15-second clip—her sucking out every stream of my seed before looking up with those big eyes. I see the flush creeping along her neck. She glances around quickly, making sure no one else is watching.
“Delete that,” she hisses, trying to keep her voice even.
I cock an eyebrow. “Sure. After we talk. Let’s step away?”
With a stiff nod, she excuses herself to “freshen up,” and tells Greg she isn’t feeling too well and needs ten to twenty minutes. I drift away, looping around the room until we meet near the hallway that leads to spare offices and rooms. The Christmas party’s noise grows faint.
The moment we’re alone, her guard drops. “What do you want?” she asks, arms folded firmly. She looks defiant; her breathing is shallow. She flashes her tits. “Is that good enough?”
I hold her gaze. “I want it all off now.”
Her jaw tightens. “What we did was a mistake. I’m happy with Greg. Now, let me go.”
I lean in, placing a hand against the wall near her hip. I run my finger lightly down her arm, feeling her shiver. The way she’s looking at me now—lips parted, pupils dilated—makes it clear she remembers that night.
She doesn’t say no. Instead, she licks her lips and steps back toward the darkened office door. “Ten minutes,” she says, voice barely above a whisper, eyes already blazing with anger and desire.
In the quiet room, the hum of the party is gone. I lock the door. Only the faint glow from a streetlamp outside filters through the window blinds. Her body molds to mine as I slide my hand around her waist, pulling her closer. Our mouths meet, and it’s hot, urgent, forbidden. I’m already rock-hard against her thigh.
We move quickly, impatiently. Her dress hikes up around her hips, revealing lacy underwear that I push aside. Her breath hitches as my fingers slip between her legs, finding her already slick and ready. The desk is right there, and I lift her onto it, kissing down her neck as she murmurs my name, low and desperate. We lose ourselves in that moment—her gasps, the subtle creak of the furniture, the static of distant laughter just beyond the hall.
It’s intense and lingering, building until she’s biting her lower lip to keep from crying out. I feel her tighten around me, and she comes undone, a pulse of heat and tension snap between us. I’m still not done and bend her over forcefully. She feels my cock enter her virgin ass (I know this from our first meeting) and gasps. I tell her Greg can be the second guy to have it for their wedding night after I deposit a huge load deep in her. I pull her panties up, smack her ass, then turn her around. On her knees, she makes out with my balls before I rub my cum covered head all over her lips like lip gloss before she sucked out the remaining dew. “Make sure you give Greg a big kiss for me.” She looks up and nods in compliance.
A minute later, she smooths her dress, checks her hair in the dark reflection of the window. I unlock the door, and she slips out, returning to the party, the ring on her finger gleaming.
Across the room, she approaches Greg. She tilts her face up after seeing me nod and kisses him on the mouth with some tongue under the mistletoe. “You’re welcome, Greg.”
