It's been her favorite fantasy for years. Hard and fast.

She's tidying up, sorting and straightening his desk. Trying to make it easy for him to find what he needs so he doesn't have to bellow for her help, when he comes up behind her.

There's no warning, no conversation, just his hand running up her back to her shoulder, wrenching her away from the desk, spinning her around to face him. He looks at her for half a second but there's no question in his eyes, just burning desire and he half smiles before devouring her mouth with his.

She doesn't have time to react as he pushes her backwards; her ass hits the edge of the desk and his arm shoots out to sweep papers, files, folders, coffee cups and a half eaten bagel onto the floor before lifting her up.

One hand slides down over her breasts forcing her to lie back, the other slips up under her skirt to pull her panties down. She doesn't say anything, doesn't want to cry out in case anyone hears so she settles for quiet whimpering as his fingers probe inside her.

The hand on her chest is fumbling with the buttons of her shirt trying to flick them open and in frustration he rips the silk, his fingers pushing the cups of her bra up around her neck. She hisses in pain as his hand closes around a breast, pinching the nipple firmly and she arches her back as he bends over to nip the other one before moving his mouth down between her breasts and over her stomach.

He's leaving a wet trail of kisses that chill her bare skin and she can't help shivering, feeling her nipples tighten as his teeth scrape at her navel. The hand between her legs continues to flick at her clit and she squeaks as his fingers dip inside again, slowly thrusting in and out.

Her panties are hanging off one ankle as he pushes her legs a little further apart with his knee and hating that she's being so passive, he grabs her hand and presses it against the front of his pants. She takes the hint and yanks the zipper down, forcing her hand inside his boxers to wrap her fingers around his cock.

She squeezes, digging her nails into his flesh and he growls, tearing his mouth away from her stomach to pull her up, bringing her to a sitting position on the edge of the desk before removing his hand from her clit to unbuckle his belt.

His pants slip down to the floor, and she scratches her nails over his skin as she pulls his boxers down while he seizes the hem of her skirt, bunching it up around her waist to roughly grab at her hips, angling them upward.

She lifts her legs, bracing the arches of her feet on the edge of the desk and reaches for his swollen cock again, guiding him inside, feeling him fill her up so completely. He starts moving, slowly at first but quickly he increases speed and she wraps her thighs around his waist, locking her ankles together to bring him closer.

He pushes her backwards again, down onto the surface of the desk, one hand grasping her neck, fingers tangling in her hair, the other again massaging her clit. He kisses her urgently, teeth pulling at her lower lip before his tongue thrusts into her mouth, matching the thrusts of his hips.

Her arms are around his back, her fingers scraping at his skin through the thin cotton of his shirt and, as she comes, she digs her nails into his flesh, trying not to scream his name, trying not to scream anything in case someone hears. He continues to drive his hips against hers; she can feel his cock twitching violently and when she pushes up against him and tightens her legs around his back, he comes quickly, his groans echoing around his office.

And that's as far as her fantasy goes.

She doesn't think about the after effects, doesn't consider the ramifications of unprotected sex. She doesn't think about how awkward it could be as his cock slips wetly out of her and she struggles to sit up, to pull her panties back on and straighten her skirt.

She doesn't think about how much her skin is aching from the bite marks left by his teeth and the bruises his fingers have made on her hips, or how her shirt is ruined and she'll have to go out and buy a new one that she can't afford.

She doesn't think about the way he won't meet her eye as he dresses, or how he'll ask her afterwards for the file on the new Energy Bill and she'll have to find it in the mess of papers scattered over the floor while she tries not to remember his arm sweeping them off the desk before he fucked her.

She doesn't think those things because fantasies don't have unhappy endings and, as she searches through the mess on the floor for the right file, she wonders if perhaps she was wrong in not thinking what would happen if her fantasy came true.

Maybe then she'd know what to do when, after she finds his file, he tells her he doesn't need her anymore and she should go to lunch.