Chapter Text

Part 1 — After Hours

The email arrived at 20:14. The subject line had been left blank. Just two lines in the body.

My office. Now.
Don’t make me come find you.

Marie had been avoiding him all day, burying herself in spreadsheets and status calls.

Two weeks ago, she had tried to end it. Though she wasn’t sure how to end something she had never wanted to start. 

Joshka hadn’t liked that she’d tried. Had told her that he would be the one to end things. 

Because he was the managing director on her case and he had the promotion file with her name on it. 

The office was empty by now, the Tram passing by the window and the distant elevator dings the only sounds remaining. The last case team had left for the Munich Hofbräuhaus half an hour ago. 

More and more of the little green dots next to the smiling faces of her colleagues in slack turned grey and orange. Everyone else was already heading into the weekend.

She stared at the screen until the words blurred. She could leave. She could walk out the revolving doors, catch the U-Bahn and be done for the night. 

But she knew she had no choice. Not if she wanted a career in consulting. 

No matter what happened, she would try to keep things professional. Strictly business.

She locked her screen and stood. 

Joshka’s office was behind the coffee corner where all the other partner offices were. Except all the other partners had long since left.

The light from his office spilled onto the wooden floorboards, slightly dimmed by the frosted glass panels.

It was all part of the office style concept. Soft tones. Plants everywhere. Real wood and decorative moss on the walls. 

Some days it felt like a cruel joke—the closest most of them got to nature.

She knocked on his door twice and pushed it open without stepping in fully.

He didn’t look up from his screen at first, fingers flying across the keyboard. The soft clack of the keys was the only sound between them as he made her wait.

“You wanted to see me?” she finally said, voice smaller than she’d intended.

Only then did he glance up, leaning back in his chair with that easy smile. “Close the door.”

Her hand lingered on the cool glass panel. “I won’t be long. My roommate’s expecting me for dinner.”

The lie sounded weak, even to her own ears.

“The door, Marie,” he repeated.

She took a deep breath and gently closed the door. The click reverberated through the glass.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the chair by the small desk. 

She stayed standing, arms wrapped around herself. “I just came to tell you—”

“You’ve been avoiding me all week.” He turned his chair and folded his hands behind his head. “Texts ignored, meetings rescheduled. It’s starting to feel personal, Marie.”

“It’s not,” she lied, staring at the logo of his sweater vest to avoid his gaze. “I’ve just been busy. Swamped, really.”

“Busy,” he echoed.

“I finished the revisions. Everything’s marked up for the SteerCo on Monday,” she said, trying to change the subject. 

He got up, crossed the room in three strides and before she could stop him, he grabbed her wrist.

With an iron grip he yanked her towards his desk. Struggling felt pointless but she had to try. She pulled at her wrist, feet stumbling once.  

But he was stronger, dragging her over the carpet like it was nothing. 

“Let go.” Her voice cracked and she hated herself for it.

Her free hand pushed at his chest but he caught that wrist too, pinning both behind her back in one smooth motion. Her back arched under the sudden strain in her shoulders, knees buckling once.

She twisted, but his body caged her from behind, chest to her back. His broad frame left no escape. 

He pushed her forward until her hips met the edge of the desk. 

One of the glass awards on his desk rattled but didn’t fall over. Business Group Public Sector - Partner of the Year 2024

“I said no,” she hissed. “Get off me.”

He pressed closer, his hips pushing into hers from behind. 

“You said a lot of things.” His mouth was at her ear. “You said you’d report me. You said you’d quit.” 

She could smell the expensive aftershave that clung to him. 

His grip on her wrists tightened. “But you’re still here.”

Her hips dug painfully into the edge of the desk. The award shifted again. 

“Because you’re blackmailing me.” She tried to free her arms but he pushed them harder against her back, forcing the arch further.

“Am I?” He sounded almost amused. “Or do you just enjoy this too much to walk away?”

Heat flooded her cheeks, she swallowed. “That’s not fair. You’re my boss. This could ruin me.”

He let go of her wrists, instead circling her with his arms from behind, one on her hip, one over her breast.

“Could,” he agreed, pulling her flush against his chest. “But it hasn’t. And it won’t, as long as you play nice.” 

He pressed closer, the shape of his hard cock pressing into her from behind.

His hand found the buttons of her blouse, fumbling them open. “The promotion’s coming up. You’ll want someone to have your back. Don’t you?”

She tried to twist away.

His hand slid under her blouse and into her soft lace bra, cupping her breast almost gently. He let out a deep moan, his breath hot at her neck. His fingers squeezed her nipple once before circling teasingly. 

Her nipples hardened under his touch, heat flooding through her chest. She tried to hold still, keep her breath even and her body locked.

But a soft whimper escaped her despite herself. 

“Please…” she breathed.

“Please what?” He nipped at her earlobe. “Please stop? Or please more?”

She bucked against him, trying to throw him off balance. Her elbow collided with his side. He didn’t budge. Instead he used her momentum to bend her forward onto the desk until her cheek pressed to the cool surface. 

One hand came up to her neck, pushing her face down.

The award finally fell over with a thud. A pen rolled to the floor.

He pressed against her, the hard length of him evident through his pants. “You’re soaked already. Admit it.”

His other hand started teasing the hem of her skirt, and a traitorous shiver ran through her.

“That’s not—” Her protest died when he shoved her skirt up in one rough motion.

Cool air hit her thighs. She squeezed them together instinctively.

He pushed the skirt up fully, bunching it at her waist, exposing the lace of her panties. His fingers brushed the sensitive skin of her inner thigh before he yanked down her pantyhose.

She bit her lip, cheek resting against the cool wood of the desk. His fingers found the edge of her panties, tugging them aside with infuriating slowness.

“Open.” He wedged a knee between hers to force them apart. 

“No.”

His shoe kicked against hers. 

He pushed her foot aside before his knee drove between her thighs again, spreading her legs. 

“Better,” he grunted.

His fingers cupped her ass-cheeks, squeezing twice, then his palm slapped down. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed sharp in the small office.

She winced, hips shifting away from his touch but his weight pinned her to the spot. Her skin burned with a lingering heat where he had hit her. 

His hand slid higher, hooked the edge of her underwear, and yanked it down in one fluid motion. Moments later his touch returned, tracing heat up her skin, parting her wet folds.

Without warning he pressed two fingers inside her, rough and deep. 

A sharp cry broke from her throat. Her body acted on instinct, clenching tight against the sudden intrusion.

“Wet,” he observed, almost clinically. 

“That’s not—that doesn’t mean—”

“It means,” he curled his fingers, stroking her clit slowly, “your body knows who it belongs to.”

Her hips jerked back into him despite herself. She whimpered, thigh trembling involuntarily. 

He groaned like she’d just proven something to him, the sound raw and satisfied. 

“See?” he whispered, triumphant. “You know you need this as much as I do.” 

He pulled his finger back, casually smearing her wetness over her ass before she heard the shift of his clothing and the zipper of his pants.

“Joshka—” she tried. But she already knew it didn’t matter.

His breathing had grown harder, he shifted once, adjusting his stance, one hand gripping her hip to tilt her into position. 

The blunt head of his cock pressed at her entrance from behind. He teased once, brushing through her folds, smearing her own wetness over his tip.

With a low grunt he pushed in slowly, letting her feel every inch. She tried to relax but he was too thick, pressing into her until the burn deepened—his cock stretching her until she thought she’d break. 

Every inch he sank deeper made it worse. Made her more and more aware of exactly how much of him was inside her, filling her past comfort.

She cried out, the mix of pain and pleasure overwhelming.

“Shh,” he said almost gently. “Just take it.”

Her body clenched around him again, involuntarily, to accommodate his size. He groaned like that was exactly what he’d wanted.

“That’s it,” he grunted, voice rough, and pushed the last few inches in one thrust.

He bottomed out with a low groan, hips now flush against her ass, impaling her fully. 

There was no room left, just the thick weight of him. His cock pressed against something deep inside of her. Heat pooled like liquid in her core, spreading fast. 

She gasped and squirmed, trying to adjust to the impossible fullness of it. He was too deep. Too big. It was like he was splitting her open.

He held her there, one hand holding her down onto the desk, the other gripping her hips. 

She tried to move. He answered by pressing deeper.

And then he started thrusting. Slowly. Fully. His hips snapped flush against her ass every time he bottomed out.

Tears pricked her eyes. “Please,” she choked out.

“You feel that?” he growled, slowly picking up pace. “That’s what happens when you try to run. I still fuck you. Every. Damn. Time.” Each word was punctuated by a deep thrust, driving her hard against the desk. His hand stayed on her back, the other gripping her hip hard enough to bruise.

She sobbed, cheek pressed to the desk, trying to twist away. He held her down harder, forearm across her upper back now, keeping her pinned while he drove into her relentlessly.

“Stop fighting,” he murmured. “You’ll only make it hurt more.”

His hips met her ass with punishing force as he kept thrusting, stretching her until her legs trembled. 

“I hate you,” she gasped between sobs.

Every thrust forced the air out of her in sharp, pained bursts. He took her with hard, relentless strokes, until her breath came apart.

When her body started to tremble from exhaustion and overstimulation, he sped up. His grip in her hair tightened, pressing her down onto the desk harder.

His cock drew another clench out of her. And then she was grinding back into him before she could stop herself, swallowing down the whimper at how good it felt to be filled by him so completely.

“You’ll come,” he said flatly. “Whether you want to or not.”

He adjusted his stance, grinding against her again and again, relentlessly driving into her. 

Slowly now, his hand shifted from her hip down between her legs until his index finger found her clit with precision. The slow relentless circle sent sparks down her spine until her hips twitched against him in a helpless plea for more.

It became too much too fast. The friction of his cock paired with the coaxing tease of his fingers circling her most sensitive spot. 

His grunts became more primal every time her hips twitched, as if encouraged by her slow unravel under his touch.

He kept driving into her while his fingers tore pleasure out of her with terrifying skill. 

And under the feeling of being taken fully, bent over a desk, she could feel the heat gather in her stomach. Her body chased the sensation of him while her mind screamed no no no—

She moaned helplessly before biting her lip. She didn’t want to. Not for him. Not like this.

Her body betrayed her with a sudden, violent clench. A broken cry tore out of her as the orgasm ripped through her in waves, sharp and humiliating—intense enough that for a moment her mind went blank. 

She tightened around him, the pleasure driving through her like lightning and she hated how good it felt, hated that he'd made her—

“That’s it,” he said, driving into her again, his fingers never stopping. It dragged out the orgasm until she could feel her legs twitch, heat blooming through her. 

She winced, hips bucking against him—her body demanding more of him.

He grunted in approval, picked up the pace for a few thrusts and buried himself in her with a low groan, spilling inside her while she whimpered beneath him. Heat flooded her as his cock twitched against her clenching walls. Grunting low he pressed even deeper before finally collapsing on top of her.

For a long minute he stayed there, breathing against her neck, still hard inside her. 

His weight finally lifted. The slow drag of him finally pulling out sent another wave of heat through her overstimulated nerves. She winced, tilting her hips at the sudden emptiness. 

The moment he stepped back fully, her hands shot down, scrambling to pull her panties back up.

She could feel his release between her legs now mixed with her own wetness, dripping down—a sticky mess reminding her of what he’d done.

Nails brushed her thighs as she yanked her underwear back in place. All she could feel was the sudden absence of heat and the shame pooling between her legs. 

Her tights were torn. She didn’t care. 

With hands that still trembled she fought to push her skirt back over her trembling knees.

She turned without looking at him. Instead she eyed the monitor. She didn’t want to see his cock. Or his face. 

She wanted out. A shower. Something to wash off the smell of his aftershave and his cum.

He smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “See? Not so bad now, was it?.”

She forced herself to nod. A last tear dropped from the corner of her eyes like a traitor. 

She could still feel the aftershock, heat pulsing through her. She clenched around nothing one last time.

Her eyes settled on the glass award. Part of her wanted to grab it and smash it. Or hit him over the head with it.

He tucked his cock back into his boxers and pulled up his pants with a satisfied grunt before he stepped back to the desk.

He pushed the award upright again using just his index finger and shifted it back to its place again. Next to the wedding photo of him and his wife. The perfect couple, happy and smiling. 

She’d met the woman at the summer event. A nice and gentle blonde.

“Monday,” he said quietly. “Same time. Don’t make me send another email. And get me the supply chain forecast.”

She blinked, ignoring the heat between her legs. Her cheek stung. The skin in her neck burned where he’d gripped too hard.

With unsteady legs she stepped to the door. It took her two attempts to press the handle down and open it. 

He was leaning back in his chair, relaxed again. Like he hadn’t just—

She closed the door softly. Behind the frosted glass he was likely returning to his routine, satiated and satisfied.

Absence greeted her in the hallway of the mercifully deserted office. 

In the coffee corner, the small fridge buzzed in the dark. The glow of the blue display of the coffeemaker reflected eerily off the polished marble countertops.

She fought the urge to wash her hands. Or anything just yet. 

On unsteady legs she stumbled past the copyroom and front desk. Past the conference rooms and down the winding staircase. Twice her legs simply refused to obey, sending her knees colliding with the hardwood floors. 

But she got up every time. 

The washroom on the first floor was dark when she pushed inside. Lights flickered alive with a click as she yanked the tap open. Water sprayed across her arms. The cold did nothing to numb the trembling in her limbs.

On Monday he expected her in his office again. 

She already knew she wouldn’t be allowed to say no.