My Babysitter

OfficeTension

Ethan Vale appeared at Flora’s desk at 9:47 a.m. with two coffees and a smile that belonged in a boardroom, not an HR office.

“Thought you could use this,” he said, setting the cup down with a little flourish. “Extra shot. You looked like you were fighting for your life in that last meeting.”

Flora glanced up from the spreadsheet she had been pretending to understand. Ethan was leaning against the edge of her desk, all tousled chestnut hair and easy charm. His gray-blue eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. He smelled like expensive cologne and fresh laundry.

“Thanks,” she said, accepting the cup. Their fingers brushed. He didn’t pull away immediately.

Across the open-plan floor, Matt’s office door stood wide open.

She could feel his gaze like a brand between her shoulder blades.

Ethan didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did and simply didn’t care. He stayed where he was, one hip propped on her desk, and launched into a story about the marketing team’s latest disaster. Flora laughed at the right moments, sipped her coffee, and tried not to look at the man watching them from thirty feet away.

Matt hadn’t said a word to her since last night. He had simply sent a single text at 7:14 a.m.

Matt:Wear the black skirt. No underwear. Be in my office at 6.

She had obeyed. The skirt sat high on her thighs, the fabric cool against bare skin every time she shifted. She kept her legs pressed together under the desk and tried to focus on Ethan’s story.

“You’re good at this,” Ethan said, nodding at her screen. “Most interns freeze when they see actual numbers. You just… dive in.”

“I fake it well,” she replied.

Ethan’s smile turned warmer. “I could mentor you. Officially. We could grab lunch, go over the reports together. My treat.”

The offer hung between them. Flora felt the weight of Matt’s stare intensify. She didn’t need to look to know he was gripping the arm of his chair.

“I’ll think about it,” she said lightly.

Ethan’s hand brushed her shoulder as he straightened—lingering, deliberate. “Let me know. I’m around.”

He walked away whistling.

Flora exhaled and risked a glance at Matt’s office.

He was still watching. Storm-gray eyes. Jaw tight. The eagle tattoo peeked above his open collar like a warning.

The rest of the day passed in slow increments of torture.

Every time Ethan stopped by her desk with a question or a joke, Matt’s door stayed open. Flora caught glimpses of him—leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled, expression carved from stone. Once, when Ethan made her laugh hard enough that she had to cover her mouth, Matt’s pen snapped in his hand.

By five-thirty the floor had emptied.

Flora stayed at her desk, pretending to work. Her pulse thrummed in her throat.

At exactly six, Matt’s voice cut through the quiet.

Matt:Conference room. Door locked. Skirt up.

Her pulse kicked hard.

The conference room was empty and gleaming, all dark wood and glass. Flora stepped inside, heart hammering. Matt followed a moment later, closing and locking the door with a quiet click. He didn’t speak at first. He simply crossed the room, crowded her back against the long table, and hooked one finger under her chin.

“You let him touch you again,” he said, voice low and rough.

“It was my shoulder.”

“Doesn’t matter. It was your shoulder or the strand of your hair or even the back of your wrist”

His hands slid down to her waist showly, then lower and more, bunching the black skirt up around her hips. Cool air kissed her bare skin giving her goosebumps. She hadn’t worn anything underneath, just like he’d ordered what she rebelliously wanted not to obey but her body acted otherwise and her mind followed. Matt’s eyes darkened when he saw her.

He lifted her onto the edge of the table and stepped between her spread thighs. One large hand cupped her breast through the thin blouse, thumb circling her n****e until it peaked. He worked the buttons open with impatient fingers, pushed the fabric aside, and lowered his mouth.

The first pull of his lips around her n****e made her gasp. He sucked hard, tongue flicking, teeth grazing just enough to sting. Flora’s hands flew to his shoulders. He moved to the other breast, sucking and biting until she felt the sharp pull of a mark forming—dark and possessive.

“Matt”

“Silence.” He bit down again, harder, then soothed the spot with his tongue. “I want you to feel this tomorrow when you sit at your desk. Every time you move, you’ll remember exactly who marked you.”

He straightened just enough to free himself from his slacks. His c**k was thick and heavy, already leaking at the tip. Instead of pushing inside, he pressed it between her folds, sliding the length of it along her slick heat in one slow, deliberate stroke. The head nudged her c**t with every pass. Flora’s breath was hitching with every stroke he was giving her.

Matt rocked his hips, f*****g the space between her thighs without entering her. The underside of his c**k dragged over her c**t again and again, the friction perfect and maddening. Every time she tried to tilt her hips for more, he pulled back just enough to deny her.

“Edging,” he murmured against her throat. “You don’t get to come until I say. Not after laughing for him all day.”

Flora whimpered, thighs trembling. He kept the rhythm steady—slow, controlled, cruel. Every few strokes he dipped his head to suck another mark onto her breast, teeth scraping, tongue soothing, until the pale skin was dotted with darkening bruises shaped like his mouth. She could feel each one throbbing in time with her heartbeat.

He slid his c**k faster now, the wet sound of it obscene in the quiet room. The head caught at her entrance on every pass but never pushed in. Flora’s hands fisted in his shirt. She was shaking, so close it hurt.

“Please,” she whispered.

Matt lifted his head. His eyes were black with hunger. “Say who you belong to.”

“You,” she breathed. “I belong to you.”

He rewarded her with a harder slide, grinding the head of his c**k directly against her c**t until stars burst behind her eyes. She was right on the edge, toes curling, when he stopped completely.

“Not yet.” He pressed a final, biting kiss to the darkest mark on her breast, then pulled back. “Tomorrow you tell Ethan no. No lunches. No mentoring. No touching. Or next time I won’t stop until you’re sobbing my name.”

Flora stayed on the table, skirt rucked up, breasts marked and aching, body strung tight with denied release. Matt tucked himself away with calm efficiency, then smoothed her blouse closed with surprising gentleness.

“Get dressed,” he said, voice still rough. “I’m driving you home.”

she gave him one annoyed Look mixed with the taste of anger and desperation.

Then she obeyed on unsteady legs, the ghost of his mouth and the slide of his c**k still burning between her thighs. As they left the conference room, she caught her reflection in the glass wall—flushed, marked, and unmistakably his. Throughout the drive she never looked at him because of the way he never let her come.