Chapter 1: The Orc's Late Night Call
The back office of the pharmacy smelled like antiseptic and stale coffee, the two odors locked in a perpetual war that neither would ever win. The flickering desk lamp cast jagged shadows across the cluttered surface—prescription bottles scattered like fallen soldiers, crumpled receipts, a half-empty bottle of whiskey that Gotherik kept in the bottom drawer for "stress relief," and a stack of unpaid bills that Ashanti pretended not to see.
She was bent over that desk now, her palms flat against the wood, her ass in the air.
"Fuck—" The word came out as a gasp, punched from her lungs by the force of his thrust.
Gotherik grunted behind her, one massive green hand gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. His other hand held his phone to his ear, and his voice was perfectly calm. Perfectly controlled.
"Yes, sweetheart. I know. Traffic is a nightmare." He drove into her, deep and slow, making her feel every inch of him. "I'll be home in an hour. Maybe two. Don't wait up."
Ashanti bit her lip so hard she tasted copper. Her knuckles went white against the desk edge. His cock was thick and long, impossibly so, and he knew exactly how to use it. The way he angled his hips—deliberate, punishing, perfect—made her eyes roll back in her head.
"Gotherik—" The name came out as a whimper, and he slammed his palm over her mouth.
"Shh." His voice was velvet wrapped around steel, his thumb pressing against her bottom lip. "I'm on the phone."
On the phone. With his wife. While his cock was buried inside her so deep she could feel him in her throat.
The thought should have disgusted her. Should have made her shove him off and walk out. Instead, it made her wetter. Made her clench around him, earning a sharp hiss from behind her.
"You're going to be the death of me, woman," he muttered, and she knew the words weren't for his wife. His hand moved from her mouth to grab a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back.
"Got the inventory report done," he said into the phone, his voice not even wavering as he picked up the pace. "Yeah. The new shipment came in this morning, everything checks out."
His hips slammed into her ass, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the small office. The photos on his desk—a smiling orc woman, two chubby-cheeked kids—rattled against the wood with each thrust.
Ashanti's eyes locked onto that photo. His wife. Her name was Mildred. She had kind eyes and a warm smile. She brought Gotherik lunch on Tuesdays. She had no idea her husband was balls-deep in a woman half his age while he promised her he'd be home soon.
And Ashanti didn't care.
She arched her back, pushing her ass higher, letting him hit that spot that made her see stars. "Harder," she whispered, not caring if his wife heard. Not caring about anything but the pressure building low in her belly.
Gotherik's grip on her hair tightened. He pulled her up, her back against his chest, and wrapped his free arm around her waist. His mouth found her ear, his voice dropping so low she could barely hear him over the rough breathing.
"You want it harder? You want to feel me in your fucking womb?"
"Yes—"
He slammed into her, a brutal, punishing thrust that lifted her onto her toes. His phone clattered against the desk as he set it down—not hung up, just set down—and used both hands to grip her hips.
"Gotherik?" His wife's tinny voice drifted from the phone. "Gotherik, are you still there?"
He didn't answer. He was too busy fucking her like she was the last woman on earth.
"Fuck—" Ashanti's legs were shaking, her thighs slick with her own juice and his pre-cum. She was drenched. This wasn't some quick office affair. This was a full-blown, reckless, desperate thing, and they both knew it.
"You like that?" He growled against her neck, his cock plunging into her pussy without mercy. "You like me filling this tight little hole while my wife's on the phone?"
"Y-yes—"
"Good." He bit her shoulder, hard enough to mark. "Because I'm going to come inside you. I'm going to fill you up and send you home to your roommates with my seed dripping down your thighs."
The filth—the pure, dirty, magnificent filth—sent her over the edge. She came with a scream she had to muffle with her own fist, her body convulsing around him, walls milking him for everything he had.
Gotherik followed a second later, his roar swallowed by her shoulder as he buried himself to the hilt and flooded her. His cum was hot and thick, filling her so full she felt it leaking around his cock before he even pulled out.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Just panting, sweaty messes held together by a single, burning connection.
Then Gotherik straightened, zipped up his pants, and picked up the phone.
"Sorry about that, sweetheart. Got a call coming in on the other line. I'll see you later." Click. Done.
Ashanti turned around, leaning against the desk, her legs still trembling. She looked down at her dress bunched around her waist, cum dripping down her inner thighs. A laugh bubbled out of her.
"You are a piece of work," she said, pulling her dress down.
Gotherik smirked, that same smug look he always wore after they fucked. "And yet you keep coming back."
"Don't flatter yourself." She grabbed a Kleenex off his desk and wiped between her legs. A futile gesture, really. He was still deep enough inside her to last for hours. "You're convenient. That's all."
"Convenient," he repeated, crossing his arms over his massive green chest. "Is that what they call it these days?"
The door to the office swung open. A scowling face poked in.
It was James.
"For the love of God, Ashanti, people are waiting on their prescriptions. Also, I'm pretty sure the whole store heard you moaning." He held up a bag. "Your delivery is here. The vibrator you ordered. Maybe use that instead of fucking our boss in the stockroom."
Ashanti grabbed the bag and threw it back at him. "Fuck off, James."
James caught it, grinning, and disappeared back into the main pharmacy.
Gotherik ran a hand over his face, suddenly looking exhausted. "I need to go. Mildred will get suspicious if I'm late again."
"Sure." Ashanti pulled her hair back into a messy bun, her hands still smelling like him. "Go home to your wife. I'll just be here, in the office, with your cum running down my leg."
His eyes darkened. "You're going to be the death of me."
"Yeah, yeah. Get out."
He left, and the door swung shut behind him. The silence that followed was loud, cluttered with everything they didn't say to each other.
Ashanti sank into his chair—still warm from his body—and stared at the ceiling. Same shitty ceiling tiles. Same fluorescent lights. Same boring life.
And yet, here she was. Fucking the boss in the back office while his wife waited at home with dinner getting cold.
She pulled out her phone. A text from Jackie: "Girl, you need to stop. I saw him leave. You're better than this."
Ashanti typed back: "Am I?"
She pocketed the phone and stood up. Her thighs were sticky, and she'd need to clean up before her shift ended. She opened the bottom drawer of his desk—the one with the whiskey—and took a long pull straight from the bottle.
The liquid burned on the way down, a welcome fire in the familiar, hollow space of her chest.
She should stop. She knew she should stop.
But tonight, she'd find someone new. Someone who didn't have a wife, or kids, or baggage. Someone to fuck her hard and rough like she wanted and leave in the morning like a proper one-night stand.
That was the plan, anyway.