Groping Myself Since You Won’t Do It For Me

I need to stop giving a fuck for people who don't even think of me.

K

She walked into the room with a kind of effortless confidence that made my chest tighten. Every step was calculated, heels striking the floor in sharp clicks, her pencil skirt perfectly sculpted against the curve of her hips. Her blouse clung in all the right places, the top button undone just enough to make my throat dry. But it was more than that. It was the way she held herself, as if the entire room existed for her convenience and nothing else.

There were others in the meeting, but I could not register a single face. My focus was locked on her. Her hand moved gracefully as she jotted notes, the curve of her wrist so precise it felt obscene. Every time she glanced up, my pulse kicked harder, and I could almost feel her against me without a single touch exchanged.

She was dangerous. The kind of woman who would ruin you, and you would thank her for it.

The meeting crawled on, and the fantasies came faster than logic could stop them. I imagined my fingers tangling in her hair, pressing her against the conference table, making her perfect little world shatter with the filth I wanted to pour into her mouth. Every part of her composure made me want to break it.

When the meeting ended, everyone else stood to leave. She gathered her things, slow and methodical, while my voice cut through the air.

Stay.

She turned to me, brow arching in mild curiosity, as if she already knew I was going to say something and was just waiting to be entertained.

I have an online class to attend, she said, voice smooth, unaffected.

Stay here, I told her, stepping closer. The room felt smaller the second I was in her space. Turn off your camera. Attend your class from this room.

There was no reason for her to agree, but something flickered in her eyes, something curious, something darker than she probably wanted me to see. Without a word, she sat back down, opened her laptop, and logged into her class.

The little green light on her camera disappeared. Her mic muted. I moved behind her chair, my palms finding her shoulders and sliding down her arms until my hands rested just under the curve of her waist.

You’ll keep your mic off, no matter what I do, I whispered against her ear.

She tensed for a split second, then leaned back just enough for me to know she would play along. My hands slid down her thighs, slowly pushing her knees apart, exposing her inch by inch beneath the table. Her skirt bunched at her hips, her skin warm against my palms, her breathing shallower with every inch of control I took from her.

Perfect, I whispered into her skin. Everything about you is fucking perfect.

Her fingers hovered over the keys, pretending to take notes, but her mind was no longer in that class. It was here, trapped between us, with my hands and my intentions. And we had only just begun.

Anonymous text: “I came looking for you, I want my money. This time your girlfriend bought you some time. You should thank her tomorrow, she’s going to be too sore for much anything today.”