Moan For Daddy: Erotica Short Story Collection

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her entire body desperate for the final release.

“Please,” she begged again, her voice weak and shaking.

He leaned forward over her back, his breath hot and ragged against her ear. “Come for me now, Claire.”

His words were all the permission and command she needed to send her over the edge. She climaxed violently, her body shuddering forcefully as he continued to thrust powerfully into her. He did not stop, drawing out her orgasm until she was only able to let out low whimpers, her body deeply sensitive but still craving the intense, rough movements.

“That is a very good girl,” he murmured. His voice was low and filled with immense satisfaction. He pulled out of her, and she whimpered instinctively at the abrupt loss of contact and fullness. His eyes locked onto hers from behind, and she felt a fresh, confused surge of heat spread between her legs.

He waited for a moment, resting his weight against her back, his breathing ragged and uneven. He gently released the silk tie binding her wrists. The moment she was free, she instinctively reached back and rested her hands on his chest, still steadying herself against the desk.

“Are you satisfied, Claire?” he asked, his voice returning to that low, commanding tone, but softer now.

She lifted her head from the desk surface, trying to steady her breathing. She turned her face slightly to see him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes heavy-lidded. “Yes, Nuel,” she breathed. The word felt honest and deeply satisfying on her tongue.

He chuckled softly. He stepped back, allowing her to straighten up fully. Her skirt was still pooled around her ankles, and her shirt was discarded on the floor. She stood before him, still naked from the waist down, her hair messy, looking entirely undone.

Nuel walked to the drawer she had first opened. He picked up the sleek black vibrator and placed it back among the other toys. He closed the drawer with a quiet, firm thunk. He turned to face her again, the cold, professional exterior almost instantly back in place, contrasting sharply with the raw intensity of the last few minutes.

“This stays here,” he said, gesturing toward the desk. “This office, what happened here, and what you know now, is for us alone. It is a strictly confidential matter, Claire. Do you understand what I am telling you?”

She walked slightly unsteadily toward where her clothes lay scattered on the rich marble floor. She bent to retrieve her skirt. The fabric felt cool in her hands. “I understand completely, Mr. Brown,” she said, her voice now gaining some of its professional composure back, though it still held a lingering tremble. She avoided using his first name again, recognizing the return to a professional boundary.

“Good,” he replied. He walked over to her, retrieving her blouse from the floor. He handed it to her. “I expect you to be in the office by seven in the morning. That report needs to be finalized before the board arrives.”

She took the blouse from him. Their fingers brushed, and a quick, subtle spark ran through her. Seven in the morning, she thought. Just like nothing happened. She knew this was the deal. This was how he operated, taking what he wanted, then demanding the return to absolute normal.

She began to pull her clothes back on, her movements slow and somewhat clumsy. As she fastened her bra strap and buttoned her blouse, she looked up at him. He watched her dressing with a neutral expression, but the residual darkness in his green eyes told her he was thinking about what they had just shared.

“The reports will be ready, Mr. Brown,” she confirmed, pulling her skirt up and fastening the clasp at her waist.

He simply nodded once. He walked to the door of the office and opened it, holding it for her.

Claire walked past him, stepping out of the office and back into the quiet, brightly lit hallway. She felt exposed, despite being fully clothed again. As she walked toward her own small office to gather her bag and coat, she could feel his eyes on her back the entire way.

When she reached her desk, she heard the heavy click of his office door locking behind her. She did not look back. She picked up her belongings, her movements now rushed. She needed to get out of the building.

The safe word is boardroom, she remembered him saying. She had not used it. She had desperately wanted to stay. She touched her lips with her fingertips, feeling the ghost of his mouth and the lingering soreness between her legs. She was his assistant, efficient and professional, but now she was also the keeper of his most private, dirty secret. And she knew, with a certainty that settled deep in her core, that this was far from over.

She finally reached the external elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor. As the doors slid closed, she caught her reflection in the polished brass. She looked like her usual, impeccably dressed self, but her eyes held a new, dangerous shine.