Forbidden Flames

Chapter Two

I can’t stop thinking about it. About him. About today.

I was sitting there at his desk pretending to fix the damn pitch deck, but my head was just… gone. Everywhere else but the screen. The office noise outside felt miles away, phones, people talking, keyboards but in here? In Marcus’s office? The air was so heavy I could barely breathe right. A whole month of this slow torture. Every glance that lasted too long. Every time his hand brushed mine passing a file. Every stupid innocent sentence that my brain turned straight into porn. And then last week, the shelf thing. Him reaching over me, body pressed tight against my ass, his c**k so hard I felt every inch like it was branded there. I’ve been ruined since.

My panties were wrecked before 10 a.m. Soaked. c**t pulsing every time I shifted. n*****s so hard they hurt against my bra. I kept crossing my legs trying to get some relief but it only made it worse, slickness sliding down my inner thighs, p***y clenching around nothing. God. I was disgusting. And I loved it.

He was just as bad. I caught him staring. Jaw tight. Eyes so dark. Like he was two seconds from snapping. I knew he’d been jerking off thinking about me too. I could feel it. Every night I’d go home and rub myself raw whispering his name, coming so hard my legs shook, but it never touched the ache. Never enough.

Then he just… stood up. Chair scraped loud. “You’ve been tense all morning,” he said, voice all gravel and restraint. Came around the desk. Behind me. “Shoulders look tight.”

I swallowed. Heart slamming. “It’s… been a long month.”

His hands landed on my shoulders warm, sure. Thumbs digging in exactly where I needed it. I sighed like an i***t, head dropping forward. At first it felt almost normal. Boss being nice to his overworked intern. But then he kept going. Deeper. Slower circles. And my body just… melted. A tiny moan slipped out before I could catch it.

“Better?” he asked, mouth suddenly way too close to my ear. Breath hot.

“Yes,” I whispered. Eyes closed. “Much better.”

He didn’t stop.

His thumbs slid lower. Along my shoulder blades. Then sideways. Brushing the sides of my arms. Grazing the curve of my t**s through my blouse. My breath caught. Was this still a massage? Or...? He lingered. Fingers spreading. Actually cupping the undersides now. I arched. Couldn’t help it. Pushed right into his palms. n*****s so tight they ached.

“Marcus…” Barely a sound. Needy. Scared. Wanting.

“Shh,” he said against my neck. “You’ve earned this. Let me take care of you.”

His hands moved forward slow, like he was giving me every chance to stop him. I didn’t. He cupped me fully. Palms hot through the fabric. Thumbs dragging lazy over my n*****s. I gasped. Back bowing. Heat rushing straight between my legs.

“These have been driving me f*****g crazy,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “Every blouse you wear. The way they push out when you lean over my desk…”

I moaned quiet, helpless. Hips rocking in the chair. He pinched lightly through the material. Rolled them. Tugged. Every pull yanked something deep in my belly. p***y fluttering. So wet I could feel it pooling under me.

“Does that feel good?” he asked, teeth grazing my earlobe.

“God yes,” I whimpered. “Don’t... don’t stop.”

He laughed low, dark, pleased. Then one hand slipped inside my blouse. Pushed my bra cup down. Cool air hit my n****e and it stiffened instantly. He palmed my bare breast. Squeezed. Thumb flicking the peak over and over. I cried out soft, broken. Thighs squeezing together. Another gush of wetness.

“You’re so f*****g responsive,” he growled. “I could do this all day.”

He freed the other one. Both hands now. Kneading. Pinching. Rolling in perfect rhythm. My head fell back against his chest. Breathing fast. Shallow. It felt so right. Like his hands had always belonged there. Every tug sent pleasure spiking straight to my c**t. I was throbbing. Aching. Empty.

“Marcus… please…”

“Please what?” He pinched harder. My hips jerked.

“More.” The word tore out. “I need more.”

His hand slid down. Under my skirt. Fingers brushing the edge of my panties, feeling how drenched they were.

“f**k,” he breathed. “You’re soaked.”

Because of him. Because he’d been playing with my t**s like they were his. Turning me into this dripping, desperate thing.

Then his phone rang.

The investor call.

I froze.

He didn’t.

“Answer it,” he said, voice like sin. One hand still rolling my n****e, the other dipping under the wet lace.

“Wh...what?”

“Answer. It.” His thumb found my c**t. Slow circles.

My hand shook grabbing the phone. Hit accept. Speaker. “H-hello?”

“Elena? Mark from Venture Partners. Ready for the pre-call?”

Marcus pushed two fingers inside me deep, curling. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. “Y-yes. Ready.”

Mark started talking numbers. Projections. Whatever. Marcus f****d me with his fingers steady, relentless. Thumb still circling my c**t. Other hand pinching my n****e in time with every thrust. I gripped the desk edge. Thighs trembling. Trying to speak like a normal person.

“The… Q4 numbers are solid…”

Mark asked something. Marcus added a third finger stretching me wide, hitting that spot. I shattered. Came so hard my vision blurred. Body jerking. Silent. Clamping around his fingers. Wetness flooding his hand. I squeezed my eyes shut. Forced out, “We’ll… adjust the deck.”

Call ended.

Phone clattered down. I slumped forward, panting.

He pulled his fingers out. Licked them clean slow, deliberate. Looking right at me.

“Good girl.”

I turned. Eyes wet. glassy. “Marcus…”

He kissed me then deep. Hungry. Claiming. Tongue in my mouth like he owned it.

“We’re not done,” he said against my lips.

And f**k… the day had barely started.

I still can’t believe I let him do that. All of it. Right there in his office. On a f*****g work call.

I’m shaking just writing this.

I want more.

God help me… I want everything.