I look up from my desk as she slips into the office, heels clicking softly against the floor. Familiar. Comfortable. She knows this space almost as well as I do—where I sit, when I'm busy, when I pretend not to be.
Rhea's punctual, always. She's my escape, my dirty little secret in this empire of shadows. Striding in like she owns the place, her tight skirt hugging those hips that drive me wild.
"Hey," she says, shutting the door behind her. "You disappeared."
"I've been occupied," I reply, not unkindly.
She walks closer, leaning against the edge of my desk, eyes scanning my face like she's checking for damage. "Married life already boring you?"
I smirk. "It's exactly what I expected."
That seems to satisfy her. She relaxes, the tension draining from her shoulders as if she'd been waiting for permission she didn't want to ask for.
"I figured you wouldn't suddenly become a saint," she says lightly.
I stand, straightening my sleeves. "I never said I would."
She smiles then—the same smile that's always come without complications or expectations. That's why she's here. That's why she's always been here.
"You okay?" she asks, quieter now.
I pause. Just a fraction. "I'm fine."
She doesn't push. She never does. Instead, she reaches for the chair opposite my desk and sits, crossing her legs. Comfortable. Present. Not demanding anything more than I'm willing to give.
"I'll stay for a bit," she says. Not a question.
I nod. "You can."
"I stand, rounding the desk, my cock already twitching. She's got that fire in her eyes, the kind that says she's ready to be fucked hard and fast.
Good,I'm ready too.
I grab her waist, pulling her against me, my mouth crashing onto hers. Our tongues tangle, rough and demanding, as my hands slide down to squeeze her ass.
She moans into the kiss, grinding her body against mine. I can feel the heat radiating from her pussy through her clothes.
My mind flickers for a second—Hera. My wife knows I stray, hell, she's turned a blind eye whenever I come home with the faint scent of women on me. But this? Rhea's different.
She's not just a one-night fuck; she's a habit I can't kick.
What would Hera think if she knew how often I bury myself in this woman right here in my office? Would she picture it like I do sometimes—me pounding away while she sits at home, sipping wine and pretending everything's fine?
I shove the thought aside, focusing on Rhea. I spin her around, bending her over the desk.
Papers scatter, but who gives a shit? My fingers yank up her skirt, exposing her lace thong. I rip it aside, not bothering with finesse. She's wet already, her pussy glistening as I spread her legs wider.
"You want this cock?" I growl, unzipping my pants. My dick springs free, hard and throbbing.
"Fuck yes," she gasps, arching her back.
I don't wait. I thrust into her, deep and brutal, filling her tight heat in one go.
She cries out, her walls clenching around me like a vice. I grip her hips, slamming in again, the slap of skin on skin echoing off the walls. Each pound drives me deeper, her ass jiggling with the force. No tenderness here—just raw, animal need. I fuck her like I own her, because in this moment, I do.
But as I watch my cock disappear into her over and over, Hera creeps back into my head. She suspects the affairs, sure, but does she imagine the details?
Me like this, grunting as I rail another woman on the very desk where I sign death warrants?
My mind races back to our moment together last night,when we poured our hearts out. The way she leaned on me as she cried, the was I held her hand.
No it can't possibly be.
I focus back on Rhea.
I reach around, my fingers finding her clit, rubbing hard circles while I keep thrusting.
She bucks against me, her body trembling. "Harder, Alex," she begs, and I oblige, my hips snapping forward with punishing rhythm. Sweat beads on my forehead, my balls tightening as I chase release.
Her pussy pulses around me, milking my dick, and she shatters first—screaming my name as she cums, her juices soaking us both.
That pushes me over. I pull out just in time, stroking myself furiously over her back.
Hot spurts of cum land on her skin, marking her. I collapse against the desk, breathing heavy, watching her pant. It's over as quick as it started—no cuddling, no sweet words. Just satisfaction.
Rhea straightens up, smirking as she adjusts her skirt.
"Until next time," she says, slipping out the door like a ghost.
I zip up, sinking back into my chair. Alone now, the office feels emptier. Hera's face flashes in my mind again.
The office settles again, filled with the low hum of the city and the unspoken understanding between us. This is easy. Controlled. Exactly the kind of distraction I allow myself.
And yet—somewhere in the back of my mind, uninvited, a different image intrudes.
Hera on the couch last night. Quiet. Unguarded. Crying.
I push the thought away as I adjust myself and step out of the office. Heading to a bar to meet up with the boys.
———
The bar is loud in the way I like—dim lights, low music, the clink of glasses cutting through conversation like punctuation. It's private, tucked away from the parts of the city that ask too many questions. My kind of place.
Luca is already there, lounging like he owns the booth. Matteo sits across from him, calm as ever, nursing a drink. A couple of our friends hover nearby, familiar faces from business and blood-adjacent loyalties.
Luca lifts his glass when he sees me. "Look who finally escaped married life."
I slide into the seat beside him, shrugging off my jacket. "I escaped dinner. That's about it."
Matteo arches an eyebrow. "That bad already?"
I take the drink pushed toward me and take a slow sip. "It's… quiet."
Luca laughs. "That's worse than bad."
One of the others leans forward, curiosity written all over his face. "So tell us—are you actually planning to fall in love with her?"
I snort. "Love?"
"Hey," Luca says, grinning. "Stranger things have happened. People change. Marriage changes people."
"Marriage changes appearances," I correct. "Nothing else."
Matteo studies me carefully. "And Hera?"
I pause. Just briefly. "She's not what I expected."
"That sounds dangerous," Luca says.
"She's sharp," I continue. "Too sharp to be ignored. Too independent to be controlled."
Luca whistles. "Sounds like a problem."
"Sounds like a challenge," someone else adds.
I shrug. "She doesn't want romance. Neither do I. We're aligned there."
Luca leans back, smirk fading into something more serious. "And your… other situation?"
I know what he means. Everyone does.
"She exists," I say evenly.
"That's it?" Luca presses. "No guilt? No complications?"
I meet his gaze. "I don't do guilt. And complications are manageable."
Matteo exhales quietly. "Careful. Your father won't like loose ends."
That gets my attention.
"My father," I say slowly, "likes control. He doesn't care how clean my life is—as long as it looks clean."
Luca scoffs. "You say that like you don't still feel him breathing down your neck."
I don't respond immediately. I swirl the ice in my glass, watching it crack and shift.
"He expects heirs," Matteo says calmly. "Stability. Loyalty. A legacy that doesn't embarrass him."
"Which is exactly why Hera exists in this picture," I reply. "She fits the image. Power. Class. Silence—when she chooses it."
Luca snorts. "She doesn't strike me as the silent type."
"No," I admit. "She isn't."
There's a brief pause before the conversation shifts, naturally, inevitably, to business.
"The shipment next week," Matteo says, lowering his voice. "We need tighter oversight. There's chatter."
"I'll handle it," I say. "No mistakes."
Luca nods. "Good. Because marriage or not, the moment people think you're distracted—"
"—they get bold," I finish. "I know."
I lean back, taking another drink, letting the noise of the bar wash over me.
Someone laughs loudly at another table. Music changes. Life goes on.
"You ever think," Luca says suddenly, quieter now, "that this marriage might actually mess you up?"
I glance at him. "In what way?"
"In the way that makes things… harder to control."
I think of Hera's voice when she finally stopped pretending she was fine. The way she didn't ask for anything—just spoke.
"I don't plan on letting it," I say.
But as I take another sip, I can't help wondering if plans have ever truly worked in my favor.