He put his arms around her without hesitating.

"Your father would have liked knowing someone was finally seeing the full picture," she said quietly, and then she stepped back and smoothed her blouse and looked at her desk like she needed the professional distance of it again.

"I’ll let you know what the attorney says," said Sean.

Her hands tightened on his.

Makima looked at him with those blue eyes that had seen fear and come out the other side.

"Okay," she’d said. "Thank you."

And then she held his hands.

That was the thing that shifted the moment. Not the gratitude. Not the hug that had come before it. The way she held his hands afterward, fingers interlaced with his, like she wasn’t ready to let go yet. Like she was drawing something from the contact that she couldn’t name.

Sean closed the distance.

His mouth found hers and she made a sound that was half surprise and half recognition, as if she’d been hoping he would do exactly this but hadn’t allowed herself to expect it. Her lips parted under his and his tongue slid inside and then hers was there too, meeting him, tangling with him, the kiss deepening into something slower and more deliberate than the first time they’d done this.

Her hands released his and moved to his face, cupping his jaw, holding him there like she wanted to make sure he wouldn’t disappear. He pulled her closer by the waist and she came willingly, her body pressing against his, the heat of her bleeding through the fabric of her blouse.

When she finally pulled back her lips were wet and her pupils were blown wide and her breathing was uneven in a way that had nothing to do with exertion.

"The door," she said.

Sean locked it.

She was already unbuttoning her blouse by the time he turned back. Not slowly. Not performing. Just efficiently, the way she did everything that mattered. The fabric parted and he caught a glimpse of lace, dark against her warm brown skin, before she stepped into him and kissed him again.

Her hands worked his belt. His found the clasp of her bra.

The blouse hit the floor. His shirt followed. The bra straps slid down her shoulders and she shrugged them off without breaking the kiss, her breasts pressing against his bare chest, and the contact was electric in a way that felt new even though they’d done this before. Maybe it was the office. Maybe it was the morning light coming through the window instead of candlelight. Maybe it was the fact that she’d just learned her father had been right all along and she was still standing and Sean was the reason she was still standing and she wanted him to know what that meant.

"Desk," she said against his mouth. "Now."

He walked her backward until her hips hit the edge of her desk. She sat on it without hesitation, pulling him with her, her legs parting so he could stand between them. Papers scattered. A pen rolled off and hit the floor. Neither of them noticed.

Her mouth traced down his neck, her teeth grazing his collarbone, and Sean’s hand slid up her thigh, under her skirt, finding the edge of her underwear. She was already wet. The fabric was damp against his fingers and she moaned when he pressed against her through it.

"Someone’s ready," Sean said.

"You have no idea," she breathed.

She pushed him back just far enough to slide off the desk and turn around. Her skirt was still on, hiked up around her hips. She bent forward over the desk, her palms flat on the wood, her back arched, and looked over her shoulder at him with an expression that was pure invitation.

Sean stepped behind her. His hands found her hips, pulled her underwear down, let it fall around her ankles. The sight of her like this, bent over the desk where she’d been so composed thirty seconds ago, was almost too much.

He pushed his dick into her from behind.

She gasped and her hands flattened harder against the wood and her head dropped forward. He gave her a moment to adjust, the tight heat of her surrounding him, and then he began to move.

This was different from their first and second night. That had been exploration. Discovery. The slow careful navigation of two people learning each other’s bodies. This was something else. This was release. This was her surrendering the control she maintained every minute of every day and him taking it from her with every thrust.

The desk creaked beneath them. Her breathing turned ragged. She pushed back against him, meeting his rhythm, taking him deeper.

"Harder," Makima said. "I’m not going to break."

Sean gave her what she asked for.

His hips snapped forward and the sound of their bodies meeting filled the office, wet and urgent, and she cried out and gripped the edge of the desk and said his name like it was the only word she could remember.

"Right there," she gasped. "Right there right there right—"

Makima came with a scream that was muffled by her own arm, her body clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that he felt all the way up his spine. Her legs trembled. Her knees buckled slightly. He held her hips and kept her upright and kept thrusting through her orgasm until she was panting and shaking and making small desperate sounds that weren’t quite words.

But Sean wasn’t done.

Sean pulled out his dick from inside her and turned her around and lifted her onto the desk properly, her back against the scattered papers, her legs over his shoulders. The new angle let him slide his Dick deeper when he entered her again and her eyes went wide and her mouth formed a perfect O of surprise.

"Oh," Makima said. "Oh, that’s—"

Sean without giving her time to utter a word, moved. Slow and deep and deliberate.