Temptation In The Office

***Warning a little bit steamy****. If you don't like steamy scenes you can skip. 

Third person pov

Louis slumped back in his chair, the day's stress melting away as his mind wandered to forbidden places. 

The cool breeze from the open window did little to calm the fire burning beneath his skin, igniting with each flicker of his subconscious. 

He closed his eyes, letting the heavy silence of the room draw him deeper into the grip of an all-too-familiar fantasy.

In his mind, Priscilla was there—her sultry figure illuminated by the dim glow of candlelight, every curve accentuated.

She wore that wicked smile, the one that always promised trouble. Louis's breath hitched as she leaned closer, her fingers dancing over his chest, her lips grazing his ear with a tease that sent shivers down his spine. 

He could feel her, so real, so close, the heat of her body melding with his. She climbed into his lap, hips grinding slow, deliberate, the friction unbearable. 

The soft fabric of her dress slid against his skin, each movement a tantalizing torture that made his control unravel. Louis's hands roamed up her back, pulling her closer, his breath ragged as Priscilla's voice filled the room, each moan sweet and sinful.

"Louis," she gasped, her voice like velvet, soft yet commanding. "I know you want this." She moved faster, the pace intoxicating, pushing him toward a point of no return. "You've always wanted me."

Louis's own groan echoed in response, a deep, guttural sound ripped from his throat, his body reacting instinctively to the dream's twisted allure. "Priscilla…" he groaned, almost a plea, almost a confession, his grip tightening as he lost himself in the overwhelming sensation of her touch. 

She threw her head back, laughing—a sound so alluring and cruel it made his heart pound. "Say my name," she demanded, her voice breathy and commanding. "Say it, Louis."

"Priscilla!" The moan was desperate, a raw, needy sound that broke through the silence of his office, pulling him further into the fantasy. 

He could feel the tension building, could hear his own ragged breathing, and hers—breathy, relentless, pushing him to the edge. His body tensed as the pressure mounted, every nerve ending on fire, every muscle drawn taut.

"Priscilla!" he cried out again, his voice filled with both desire and torment, the fantasy so vivid it felt almost real. His breath caught, and his back arched as he neared the brink, lost in the dream's merciless grip—

—and then, it shattered.

The groan still lingered on his lips as Louis jolted awake, eyes flying open to the glaring reality of his office. His chest heaved, the lingering echoes of the dream still throbbing through his veins. But it wasn't just the intensity of the fantasy that stunned him into silence; it was the sight waiting for him at the door.

Priscilla stood there, arms crossed, a crooked smile playing on her lips. Her hair was tousled, her eyes glazed with a hint of intoxication, and she looked every bit the wicked temptress he had just been fantasizing about. Except this time, it was real. She was real.

"Enjoying yourself?" she sneered, her words dripping with mock amusement. She swayed slightly, the telltale signs of alcohol evident in her unsteady stance. Her gaze swept over him, lingering on his disheveled appearance and the unmistakable flush of heat on his cheeks.

Louis stiffened, scrambling to regain his composure, but the heat of the dream still clung to him, mingling with the sharp bite of embarrassment.

 He cleared his throat, trying to summon his usual cold indifference, but Priscilla's taunting expression made it impossible.

She sauntered forward, her movements slow, deliberate, as if savoring the moment. "Why are you moaning my name, Louis?" she purred, her voice slurring with a mix of booze and venom. "Still fantasizing about me, even after all this time?"

Louis glared at her, trying to mask the turmoil brewing beneath his calm facade. "Priscilla, this isn't what you think—"

But she cut him off with a mocking laugh, leaning over his desk, eyes sparkling with drunken mischief. "Oh, I think it's exactly what I think," she teased, running a finger along the edge of his papers. "Dreaming of me, begging for me… moaning my name like you still belong to me."

Louis shot up from his chair, his pulse racing with anger and embarrassment. "And what on earth are you doing in my goddamn office!" he barked, his voice laced with fury, echoing off the walls.

Priscilla laughed, a sultry sound that felt like nails on a chalkboard. "Relax, Louis," she drawled, her words slurred but her gaze sharp as ever.

 "I just came to see how my ex-husband's doing… seems like you're doing just fine. Or should I say, feeling fine?" She took a languid step forward, her presence invasive and maddeningly smug. 

Louis's jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he fought to keep his temper in check. "You have no right to be here, Priscilla. Not anymore." His voice was cold, cutting, every word a warning she seemed determined to ignore.

Priscilla shrugged, unbothered by his anger. "I was just curious if you still missed me… turns out, you do." She tilted her head, eyes narrowing as she studied him, her expression a twisted blend of satisfaction and scorn. "But don't worry, Louis. You're not the first man to get lost in fantasies about what he can't have anymore." 

Priscilla's heels clicked against the polished floor as she approached, her fingers deliberately unfastening the buttons of her blouse.

 Each inch of fabric gave way to reveal the lacy red bra that hugged her curves, making Louis's breath hitch in his throat. His jaw clenched as he tried to keep his composure, but the sight of that lingerie—the one shade that always drove him insane—had his restraint slipping. 

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his gaze trailing over her. The memories of every night she wore that bra, the way it accentuated her every curve, flooded back in vivid detail. He licked his lips, fighting the urge to close the distance between them. 

Priscilla leaned in closer, her voice a sultry whisper against his ear. "I know you want these," she purred, pressing her chest against him, her breath hot and intoxicating. 

"I know you're dying to s*ck on them, to taste me again. You want me to ride you until you can't think straight." Her words were poison wrapped in silk, each one making his resolve crumble just a bit more. She nipped at his earlobe, her teeth grazing him, sending a sharp, heated jolt down his spine.

"Fuck! Priscilla, stop," Louis moaned, his voice edged with desperation. His body betrayed him, shuddering under her touch as she teased every raw nerve.

 God, he hadn't been touched in what felt like forever, and now she was playing him like a fine-tuned instrument, coaxing every hidden desire to the surface.

The pungent scent of alcohol lingered on her breath—strong and unmistakable. She was drunk, far past the point of reason, and yet dangerously in control of his every reaction.

"Go home, Priscilla," he growled, trying to push her off, but she was relentless. Before he could react, she swung her leg over him, straddling his lap with a sultry grin.

 Her hips moved in slow, taunting circles, rubbing against him in a way that shot straight to his core. His grip tightened on the armrests, every fiber of his being caught between pushing her away and pulling her closer.

"F*ck," he groaned, head falling back, the muscles in his neck taut as he fought the overwhelming pull of lust. 

She was an expert at this—at toying with his self-control until there was nothing left but need. She knew exactly where to touch, how to move, to break him. His mind screamed for her to stop, but his body—starved, angry, and betrayed—ached for her to keep going. 

"Priscilla, damn it," he breathed, the heat of her body against his making it impossible to think straight.

 His hands hovered over her waist, torn between pushing her off and giving in to the desperate hunger she stirred. He was drowning in her, in the chaos she brought with her every time, and the worst part was—he didn't know if he even wanted to be saved.

Priscilla's eyes flickered with wicked intent as she traced her fingers along his chest, her touch featherlight but searing. She leaned in closer, her breath hot against his ear. "Let me suck your c*ck," she purred, the seductive edge in her voice sending a jolt of raw need straight through him.

Before Louis could react, she moved swiftly, her fingers deftly yanking his pants down. His c*ck sprang free, rigid and aching, straining toward her as if it had a mind of its own. 

Louis gritted his teeth, fighting the overwhelming urge to give in, but the sight of Priscilla eyeing him hungrily, her lips parted in anticipation, was almost too much to bear.

"F*ck," he muttered under his breath, his restraint crumbling. He was rock-hard, painfully so, and the lust that had been simmering just beneath the surface now burned hot and relentless. Priscilla's gaze swept over him, her eyes glinting with a predatory satisfaction that sent his pulse racing. 

She ran her tongue slowly over her lips, savoring the moment as she wrapped her fingers around his throbbing length. Louis' breath hitched, every nerve in his body alight with a desperate, undeniable need.

He knew he should stop this—should push her away and regain control—but his body refused to cooperate, drawn in by the reckless temptation that was Priscilla.

Priscilla moved closer, her touch sending shivers down his spine. "You're so hard for me, Louis," she teased, her voice a sultry whisper as she stroked him slowly, deliberately. 

"Harder!" Louis shouted, his voice rough and desperate, the command ripping from his throat as Priscilla quickened her pace.

Her lips wrapped around him with fierce intensity, sucking him deeper and harder, each movement more relentless than the last. The room filled with the slick, sinful sounds of her mouth working him, and every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire.

"F*ck, f*ck, yes!" he groaned, his head falling back as waves of pleasure surged through him. He could feel the tight coil of his release building with every rapid, wet pull of her lips, each flick of her tongue pushing him closer to the edge. 

Louis gripped the armrests of his chair, his knuckles turning white, completely lost in the wild, primal sensation of it all.

His breathing hitched, and with a final, guttural moan, he came hard, his climax tearing through him with blinding force. His release spilled into her mouth, warm and thick, some dripping onto her breasts. Priscilla didn't stop; she kept going, her tongue teasing his sensitive tip as he shuddered violently, completely spent and breathless. 

Priscilla pulled back, wiping her mouth with a smug, satisfied smirk, her eyes glimmering with triumph. Louis could barely catch his breath, his body still trembling from the intensity of it all, unable to believe how far he had let himself fall.

Louis's senses snapped back into focus, the haze of lust clearing as he pulled his pants up with shaky hands. His face hardened with a mix of anger and embarrassment as he tried to regain his composure.

"Out of my office. Now," he commanded, his voice sharp and authoritative, the command echoing with a finality that brooked no argument.

Priscilla's eyes widened in shock and anger. "What?!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with disbelief. "I just gave you the blow job of your freaking life, and you want me out?"

She stood there, her arms crossed defiantly, her expression a mix of indignation and wounded pride. The smirk she'd worn earlier was gone, replaced by a look of incredulity. 

Priscilla's eyes narrowed with a mix of defiance and sultriness as she stepped closer. "Come on, baby. Don't pretend you didn't enjoy that."

Louis's face hardened as he struggled to regain his composure. "Get out of my office, Priscilla. This isn't a game."

Her smirk wavered slightly, but she remained defiant. "Seriously? After everything that just happened, you're kicking me out?"

"Yes," Louis said firmly, his voice cutting through the tension. "Get out. Now."

Before Louis could say anything, the office door swung open. Claire stood in the doorway, concern etched on her face. "Sir, I heard shouting coming from your office. Are you okay?"

Louis's heart sank as he looked at Claire, then back at Priscilla. 

"F*ck," Louis muttered under his breath, knowing he was about to face an awkward confrontation.