Fiesta de la oficina: liberación

The office was buzzing like a stirred-up hornet's nest—the clink of glasses, laughter, the dull thump of bass from the speakers. I stood at the bar, gripping a glass of ice-cold whiskey, watching her out of the corner of my eye. Lena, my wife, in that stupid red dress she'd worn just to spite me—it hugged her hips so tight it made my mouth go dry. She was laughing with some guy from sales, throwing her head back, baring her neck.

Three weeks of cold silence. Three weeks of sleeping at opposite ends of the bed, only speaking about mundane shit. And now she was looking at me over her shoulder, and in her eyes danced not just the party lights, but something dark and familiar. A challenge. She slowly licked her lips, and I knew this wasn't a game.

"You're staring at my wife," a voice said near my ear. It was Sergei, her coworker, a good-natured fat guy. "Jealous?"

"Yep," I grunted, not taking my eyes off her. "Going to go claim what's mine."

I set down my glass and moved toward her, weaving between tables. The music got louder, the air thicker. Lena watched me come, didn't back away, just smiled wider, more eager.

"Hey," I said, stopping right in front of her. Her perfume—vanilla and something sharp—hit me like a shot. "Dance?"

"Can you?" She raised an eyebrow.

"With you? I'll learn."

I put my palm on her bare back. Her skin was hot, silky, and she shivered under my touch. We weren't dancing, just standing there swaying to the beat, and I could feel her tits pressing against my shirt. Her hands slid up to my shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric.

"You're driving me crazy," I whispered in her ear, my lips almost brushing her lobe.

"Your own fault," she breathed. "Three weeks. I thought you didn't want me anymore."

"I do. So bad I'd fuck you right here on this table."

Lena let out a soft laugh, but it died when I pulled her against me, letting her feel exactly how serious I was. She jerked, but didn't pull away—pressed in closer instead.

"The bathroom at the end of the hall," she said, her voice shaky. "It locks."

We walked without touching, but the air between us crackled. I pushed the door open, let her go in first, and clicked the lock. The tile was cold, the light harsh, but I didn't give a shit. I spun her around, slammed her against the wall, and crushed my mouth to hers. It wasn't a kiss—it was a hungry, angry assault. Lena gave as good as she got, biting my lower lip, raking her nails down my back.

"I hate you," she gasped into my mouth.

"I know," I said, yanking the strap of her dress off her shoulder. "In a minute, you're gonna love me."

She moaned when I grabbed her tits, running my thumb over her hard nipple. The fabric of her dress slid down, baring her body. I dropped to my knees, breathing in her scent, and dragged my tongue across her stomach, lower, to the lace of her panties, already soaked.

"Don't you dare—" she started, but I'd already pulled them down.

I kissed her thigh, bit it gently, feeling her tremble. Then I covered her clit with my mouth, and she fisted her hands in my hair, arching.

"God... yes... like that..." she moaned, spreading her legs wider.

I licked her, slow and teasing, until she started grinding against my face, begging. Her fingers twisted in my hair, her breath ragged. I pushed two fingers inside her, feeling how tight and hot she was, and she screamed, coming in my mouth, her whole body shuddering.

I stood up, unbuckling my pants. My cock ached, ready to explode. I turned her to face the wall, lifted her ass.

"Now," I whispered, running the head along her slick folds.

"Fucking do it," she said, glancing back, impatience burning in her eyes. "Fuck me."

I slammed in with one thrust, deep, all the way. Lena groaned, pressing her forehead against the tile. I froze for a second, feeling her clench around me, then started to move—slow, pulling out almost all the way before driving back in, savoring every inch.

"Faster," she demanded.

I sped up, slapping my palms against her ass. The sound of the smacks mixed with her moans and my ragged breathing. I leaned over, pressing my chest to her back, and whispered:

"You're mine. Always have been."

"Yours," she breathed. "Only yours."

I straightened up, grabbed her hips, and set a hard, pounding rhythm. Lena cried out with every thrust, and I could feel the climax building, fire rising from the base of my spine.

"I'm gonna come," I warned.

"Inside," she said, squeezing me even tighter. "I want to feel it."

That was the last straw. I exploded, flooding her with deep, powerful spurts, and she moaned, coming with me, clenching so hard my vision went dark.

We stood there, gasping, pressed together. Cold tile, harsh light, the smell of sex and sweat. Lena slowly straightened up, fixed her dress, and I saw her smiling in the mirror.

"Well," she said, smoothing her hair. "Let's go back before they notice we're gone."

In the morning, I woke up to the smell of coffee. Lena sat in the kitchen wearing my shirt, a mug in her hands, watching me over the rim. Those same lights still danced in her eyes.

"Good morning," she said, laughter in her voice.

"Morning," I said, walking over, taking the mug from her, setting it on the table, and kissing her neck. "You know, your office party is a pretty solid tradition."

She laughed softly and pulled me into her arms.