Behind closed doors
The conference was drawing to a close. The hall was noisy—some were discussing the final presentations, others were already packing up. Alena stood by the wall, clutching a notebook, and secretly watched him—her boss.
Andrei Sergeevich. Cold, composed, unapproachable. But from the moment she joined the department, she had felt his gaze on her more often than workplace etiquette allowed.
He approached her unexpectedly. Leaned closer to her ear and whispered:
— In one minute—second floor, the far restroom. No questions.
She didn't answer. Just nodded. Her heart began to pound wildly.
The restroom was quiet. Alena had barely
closed the door behind her when he was beside her. Her back hit the tiled wall. His hand rested on her throat, without pressure—just a reminder of who was in charge here.— I… — she tried to say something, but he interrupted.
— Quiet. I do the talking here.
He turned her around, pressed her against the wall. Lifted her skirt. His fingers confidently traced the inside of her thigh, sending a shiver through her.
— You wanted me to take you like a subordinate. Without tenderness. Just power. Right?
She didn't answer—only gasped when he pulled her underwear down.
He entered her sharply. One hand held her hair, the other pinned her to the wall, controlling every movement.
— One more sound—and everyone downstairs will find out just how obedient you really are.
His thrusts were deep, confident, and in that rhythm—she was losing control. He felt it and just smirked:
— Just a little more. Hold on, girl.
Ten minutes later, they descended back to the conference hall. He—as always, composed, with a slight smirk. She—with flushed cheeks, but a confident stride. Only the two of them knew what had happened between those walls.