The Delivery

I knew he was straight the second I saw him. That thick wedding band digging into his finger, the way he adjusted his jeans when he thought no one was looking—like his dick was some fucking burden he had to rearrange every ten minutes.

We were supposed to be discussing logistics, some bullshit about a delayed shipment. But the way his eyes flicked to my mouth when I talked? Oh, he was curious.

I leaned back in my chair, stretching just enough to show a sliver of skin above my belt. “So, this package… stuck in transit, huh?”

He cleared his throat, shifted again. “Yeah. Needs… handling.”

I smirked. “Lucky for you, handling’s my specialty.”

The air got thicker. His knuckles whitened around his pen. Then—click—the office door locked behind us.

His tie was the first thing to go. Wrapped around my fist, I yanked him close, our lips crashing. He tasted like cheap coffee and guilt. “Fuck—” he gasped, but his hips were already grinding into mine.

I palmed him through his slacks. Jesus. Thick, straining, desperate. “This what you wanted when you kept ‘accidentally’ brushing my leg under the table?”

He didn’t answer. Just fumbled with his belt, hands shaking.

I dropped to my knees. His cock sprang free—fuck, uncut, leaking. I swallowed him whole, gagging as he hit the back of my throat. His moan was ragged. “I—I’m married—”

I pulled off with a wet pop. “And yet here you are.”

Bent over the conference table, his ass was tighter than I expected. I spit on my fingers, working him open while he panted into the wood. “Relax, papi. You’re gonna take it.”

One finger. Two. His hole fluttered, resisting. I slapped his thigh. “Open.”

He whimpered but spread wider.

I lined up, my dickhead nudging his rim. “Last chance to be a good husband.”

He pushed back.

I slammed in.

He came untouched, screaming into his sleeve, his cock painting the floor. I fucked him through it, my balls slapping his reddening cheeks. “Who owns this ass?”

“You”

I came deep, marking him inside.

As he zipped up, avoiding my eyes, I tossed him a wipe. “Next shipment’s on Thursday.”

His grin was filthy. “I’ll be delayed again.”