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Minato stepped into the office and the air itself seemed to thicken, heavy with her perfume and the low hum of anticipation.
Mikasa stood by the window, backlit by the late-afternoon sun, one hip cocked as she slowly unbuttoned her blouse.
Each button slipped free with a soft pop, revealing another inch of flawless skin and the black lace that barely contained her.
The shirt hung open now, framing the deep valley between her breasts, rising and falling with every deliberate breath.
"You're late, Minato," she said, voice velvet and smoke. She didn't turn around yet. She didn't need to. She knew exactly where his eyes were.
He closed the door with a quiet click, letting the lock snap into place. "Traffic was murder." A lie. He'd lingered in the hallway on purpose, imagining this exact moment.
Mikasa finally faced him, shrugging the blouse off her shoulders. It slid down her arms like liquid and pooled on the floor.
"One minute and forty-three seconds," she said, arching a brow. "I timed you."
Minato's mouth curved. "You're keeping a stopwatch on me now?"
"Someone has to keep you honest." She stepped closer, the click of her heels slow, predatory.
The tight black skirt hugged every curve, riding just high enough to flash the lace tops of her stockings.
"A leader should be punctual… disciplined…" She stopped a breath away, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off her skin.
"Don't you agree, sir?"
His gaze dragged down her body, lazy and shameless. "Discipline is overrated."
Mikasa's lips parted in a soft laugh. "Is that why you're already hard?" Her eyes flicked to the front of his trousers where the thick line of his cock strained against the fabric.
"One look at me and you forget every rule you wrote."
Minato reached out, tracing a single fingertip along the edge of her bra, just brushing the swell of her breast. "You make it impossible to remember anything else."
She shivered at the contact, but didn't pull away. Instead she leaned in, lips grazing the shell of his ear. "I wore this set for you," she whispered.
"The one you said made my tits look obscene."
"They do," he growled. "They look like sin wrapped in lace."
Mikasa smiled, wicked and slow, then stepped back and turned toward the desk. The mountain of paperwork waited like a silent accusation.
She trailed her fingers over the top folder. "So much work… and here I am, half-naked and dripping for you. Such a terrible distraction."
Minato loosened his tie, eyes never leaving her. "You're the best kind of distraction."
She glanced over her shoulder, hair spilling like ink across one pale shoulder. "Flattery will get you everywhere." A pause, teasing. "Eventually."
He crossed the room in three strides and caught her by the waist, spinning her to face him. His hands slid down to cup her ass, squeezing hard through the skirt. "Tell me you're wet."
Mikasa's breath hitched. "Find out for yourself."
He didn't hesitate. One hand slipped beneath the hem of her skirt, pushing it up her thighs until his fingers met soaked lace. He groaned. "Jesus, Mikasa. You're soaked."
"Thinking about your cock all afternoon does that to a girl," she murmured, rolling her hips against his hand. "Especially when her husband's too busy fucking Annie to notice she left the house without panties."
Minato's eyes darkened. He pressed two fingers against her clit through the lace, circling slowly.
"You're a terrible wife."
"And you're a terrible friend," she shot back, voice trembling with pleasure. "Stealing Eren's wife every day… making me come on your fingers while he's none the wiser."
"I'll live with the guilt," he said, and kissed her, hard, filthy, all teeth and tongue, swallowing her moan as he pushed the lace aside and slid one finger deep inside her.
Mikasa broke the kiss with a gasp.
"Minato,"
"Shh." He pumped his finger slowly, curling it just right. "You talk too much when you're desperate."
She laughed breathlessly. "Then give me something better to do with my mouth."
He pulled his hand free, brought his glistening fingers to her lips. She licked them clean without hesitation, eyes locked on his, tongue swirling like she was tasting the finest wine.
Minato exhaled sharply. "On your knees."
Mikasa sank down gracefully, knees parting on the plush carpet. She looked up at him, lashes dark and heavy.
"Tell me how you want it today, boss. Slow and worshipful? Fast and messy? Or do you want me to choke on it until I cry?"
His cock jerked at the words.
"Surprise me."
She smiled like a cat with cream and reached for his belt. The buckle clinked open. The zipper rasped down. She freed him slowly, reverently, wrapping her cool fingers around burning heat.
"God, I love your cock," she whispered, almost to herself. She stroked once, twice, thumb swiping over the slick head. "So thick… always stretches my throat just right."
Minato threaded his fingers through her hair, guiding her closer. "Less talking. More sucking."
Mikasa leaned in, breath fanning over the tip. "Make me."
The challenge hung in the air for half a second, then he tightened his grip and pushed her down. Her lips parted on a moan as he filled her mouth, hot and heavy and perfect.
She took him deep on the first try, throat relaxing, nose brushing his abdomen as she swallowed him whole.
Minato cursed under his breath.
"Fuck, yes… just like that."
She pulled back with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting her lips to his cock. "You're already leaking," she teased, licking a stripe up the underside. "Does the thought of Eren walking in right now turn you on? Seeing his wife gagging on his best friend's dick?"
"Shut up and suck," he growled, but his hips betrayed him, thrusting forward.
Mikasa laughed softly and took him back in, bobbing slow and deep, cheeks hollowed, tongue working relentlessly.
Every time she pulled back, she let spit drip down the shaft, then chased it with her mouth, messy and shameless. Her free hand slipped between her own thighs again, rubbing in time with her sucking.
Minato watched, transfixed, her perfect tits bouncing with every movement, skirt bunched around her waist, garters framing the obscene sight of her fingers moving beneath black lace.
"Look at you," he rasped. "On your knees for me… married pussy dripping while you worship my cock like it's your religion."
Mikasa moaned around him, the vibration making his thighs tense. She pulled off just long enough to gasp, "It is," before diving back down, taking him to the root and holding, throat fluttering, eyes watering beautifully.
He was close, so close, but he wasn't ready to finish yet.
Minato hauled her up by the hair, crushing his mouth to hers, tasting himself on her tongue. "Bend over the desk," he ordered against her lips. "I'm going to fuck you so hard this paperwork ends up on the floor."
Mikasa's smile was pure filth. "Promise?"
She turned, braced her hands on the desk, and arched her back, offering herself like a gift. The skirt rode up, revealing she'd lied, there were no panties. Just slick, swollen lips, glistening and ready.
Minato stepped behind her, cock in hand, rubbing the head through her folds. "Beg."
Mikasa pushed back against him, desperate. "Please, Minato… fuck me. Fill me up while my husband thinks I'm working late. Make me yours."
He thrust in with one brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt.
They both groaned, loud and unrestrained.
And outside, the city kept moving, oblivious. Inside, the only thing that existed was heat, friction, and the filthy, perfect rhythm of two people who should never touch, but couldn't stop
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