Janet's marriage was doomed already and now it all broke apart. Her choice of freedom might have gone far too much and the night out only made it worse. She left the home and went away to spend some time off, thinking about her life's choices. While her husband, Jacob and their son were left in agony.
Jacob had always been the picture of loyalty. Always wearing polished suits, perfect posture hiding behind the quiet sadness of a man holding too much inside. After Janet left, something in him cracked. Not publicly. Not where Ben or anyone else could see. But behind that smile he wore at work and the reports he filed on time, a storm brewed.
An Irish saw it. She was his boss and his highschool batchmate.
She wasn't the type to stay unnoticed, with her tall, striking, blonde hair that curled at the tips and confidence that flew through her eyes didn't ask for permission. Irish was everything the corporate world secretly desired: capable, magnetic, and just a little dangerous.
She had watched Jacob for weeks. After all, she had known him since highschool. Rumor has it that at a time, Jacob had a crush on her but was dumped.
But ever since they met again, she began to see Jacob through a different angle. The way he barely met anyone's eyes anymore. The faint ring mark still burned into the skin of his finger. She didn't say anything, just wanted to let him heal on his own. But deep down She wanted to pull him apart, just to see what lived beneath that cold, loyal exterior.
One day, when the office emptied out for lunch, and the hallway lights dimmed under the hum of Friday quietness, she made her move.
"Jacob?" Her voice lilted over the intercom. "Can you come to my office for a quick review?"
He hesitated, then walked in, his expression was neutral. "Yes, Irish?"
She was by her desk, glasses low on her nose, blouse too snug to be accidental. She handed him a report, but her fingers lingered on his.
"I admire how focused you've stayed," she said, stepping in just a little too close. "Even after what happened between you and Janet."
Jacob stiffened. "That's personal."
Irish smiled. "It's also real. And I like reality."
There was a pause in his breath. Heavy but alive.
She stepped in closer, chest brushing against his arm. Her hand moved up his tie, loosening it slowly. She whispered softly. "You don't have to be the strong one all the time, you know."
"Is this appropriate?" he asked, though his voice betrayed him—husky, laced with want.
"No," she whispered, slipping her hand to the back of his neck, pulling him down into a kiss. "But neither is desire."
Jacob pushed her back. Then left her office. She grinned her teeth, thinking "how she was rejected"
Jacob was on his way down when he felt something hard pushing its way out from his underwear. It felt strong and he couldn't contain it. It was hungry and wanted to be fed and he knew what could satisfy its hunger.
Without thinking much he went back in and grabbed her by her waist, kissing her hard, months of restraint shattering in a heartbeat. She gasped as he lifted her onto the desk, pushing papers aside without care. She wrapped her legs around him instinctively, skirt riding up as he pressed against her.
His hands were firm, his mouth devouring hers as though he needed her to breathe. Biting her lips with each move. Irish's blouse came undone with a sharp pull, her bra pushed aside as he trailed kisses down her chest. She moaned, fingers digging into his hair.
"Lock the door," she breathed.
He did that with one hand still on her thighs, eyes dark with hunger.
She pulled him back with a growl, unbuckling his belt, hand slipping inside, stroking his already hardened meat with slow but powerful rhythm. Jacob groaned as she licked it hard and round. Then took out a condom, covering the fine meat in latex.
Jacob pulled her up, unwrapping her underwear in an intense move. It was torn but who cares!
In seconds, he was inside her—fast, deep, unapologetic. He was screwing her like nuts and bolts. Tightening it with each thrust, each stroke of the silken haze.
The desk creaked under them. Her heels hit the floor with a dull thud. Their bodies moved with a rhythm that was primal, fierce, and urgent. She wanted to scream but he held her mouth shut.
Irish whispered his name again and again, her voice breaking, lost in the chaos of office blinds and sunlight streaming in through the tinted windows. She never felt such immense joy and drive in a long time. Resulting in a climatic shudder, holding him tightly, her mouth pressed against his shoulder.
Jacob followed soon after, burying his face in her neck, breath ragged, heart pounding like war drums.
They stayed there clutching on one another for a brief moment—bodies tangled, breath slowing, sweat cooling.
"This doesn't make anything simple," he murmured.
"No," she whispered, brushing his lips. "But sometimes… simple is overrated."
They both laughed at their wild moments. Will it continue or was it just a spree, only time will tell