She knew people saw her as “the married woman in the office,” the one who moved through the halls with practiced composure. What they didn’t see — or what she hoped they didn’t — was the quiet ache she carried beneath it. Loneliness had a way of settling into her bones, becoming part of her posture, her silence, her smile.

And then there was him.

Marcus was fifteen years younger, still figuring out his life, still tethered to someone he cared about. She should have kept her distance. She told herself she would. But the truth was simpler and far more dangerous: he made her feel something she hadn’t felt in years.

Every morning, she caught the way his eyes flicked toward her — quick, then guilty, then lingering just a little too long. She didn’t need to flirt loudly or boldly. A soft comment, a held glance, a question that brushed too close to personal… that was enough. She could feel the effect she had on him, and she hated how much she liked knowing it.

She never pushed him toward anything physical. She pushed him toward awareness. Toward imagining. Toward wanting. And she felt the wanting in herself too, growing in the quiet spaces between them.

The day he came back from lunch — warmer, looser, his guard softened — she saw it instantly. Something in him had shifted. Something in her answered.

She didn’t plan the words. They simply rose up, quiet and certain.

“Come with me.”

She walked ahead of him, pulse steady but breath unsteady, leading him to the small storage room no one ever used. When the door closed behind them, the air changed. She felt it. She knew he did too.

She stepped onto the ladder, reaching for a box she didn’t need, aware of his presence behind her like a hand on her spine. When she looked back over her shoulder and saw the way he was watching her — open, unguarded, hungry in a way he didn’t yet understand — something inside her tightened.

“Are you going to help,” she murmured, “or just stare?”

She heard her own voice and barely recognized it. Low. Warm. A door she’d never opened for him before.

When he moved closer, she felt the heat of him before she felt anything else. She didn’t step away. She didn’t want to. She braced herself on the ladder, breath catching despite her best efforts to stay composed.

His touch under her skirt and up her thighs — tentative at first, then more certain — sent a shiver through her she couldn’t hide. She stayed still, letting the moment swell around them, letting him feel her response without words. It was wrong. It was reckless. It was also the first time in a long time she felt undeniably alive. He felt her wetness through the nylon fabric and soft moans arising from her mouth.

"Is this what you wanted, Diane?" he whispered.

"I can tell you love it."

When she finally stepped down from the ladder, her legs weren’t entirely steady. He moved toward her without hesitation, and she let him. When he kissed her, all the months of tension snapped into something fierce and consuming. She kissed him back with the same urgency, her hands pulling him closer, needing the contact more than she’d ever admit aloud. She felt his hardness grinding into her and his hand caressing her breasts - hard nipples and her round ass. It was what she craved from him but she wanted more.

But the thin walls, the risk, the reality pressing in from the hallway — it all crashed back too quickly.

“Not here,” she whispered, breathless.

She led him to the old vault room, the one she always had the key to. When the door shut behind them, the silence felt like a confession.

She turned to him, letting him see everything she’d been holding back — the want, the loneliness, the surrender she’d fought for months.

“Now,” she breathed.

What followed wasn’t planned. It wasn’t careful. It was two people finally giving in to something they’d been circling for far too long — a collision of need, emotion, and months of unspoken longing. It was messy and overwhelming and impossible to take back.

He kissed her; he felt her curves, his fingers under her skirt, coaxing more juices from her nether region. She reached out and unbuckled his pants and reached in for the hard shaft she had only dreamed of holding. He moaned and grunted as she kneeled and savored his leaking manhood. But she needed more and so did he.

He pulled her up, picked up her skir,t pushed her nylons below her entrance, bent her over and slid into her welcoming parted lips. She orgasmed within a few minutes as he plowed in and out. She continued to push back and coaxed him to cum inside her. When he was ready, he pulled her hair, kissed her deeply and pounded until they both reached their peaks of pleasure.

When it was over, she stood there in the dim light, his seed seeping out, down her thighs, heart still racing, trying to understand what she’d allowed… and what it meant that she hadn’t stopped him. That she hadn’t wanted to.