Epilogue Lunch Break
MAGNUS: SIX MONTHS LATER
The apartment is busier than it used to be.
Jamie moved in almost three months ago. Once we made it official—and got the stamp of approval from br (Jamie reports to Franklin, who handles all his evaluations)—I asked him to live with me.
He was already spending most of his time here anyway.
I’ve spent my entire life waiting for my mate. No sense in wasting another minute.
Now, little traces of him are everywhere: a mug left drying on the counter, his notebooks stacked on the coffee table, the faint scent of his peppermint shampoo lingering in the bathroom.
Even the throw pillows on the couch seem rearranged to his liking.
It’s chaos with a rhythm I’ve grown to love. The place feels alive, warm, ours.
Work has changed too. Jamie now leads a small team, coordinating the city’s Community Outreach Initiative campaign with a confidence I’ve never quite seen before.
He’s brilliant, incisive, funny, and every day I watch him, I’m reminded how lucky I am to have a partner—not just in life but in business.
I stop by his small office at least once a day under the guise of “checking in.” The truth?
It’s never just checking in. Jamie’s desk has become a minefield of temptation, and more than once we’ve had to negotiate deadlines around, well…
priorities. I’ve folded good luck cranes for the entire admin team—my way of saying thanks for putting up with him. And me.
I’m at my desk, reviewing campaign numbers, when I hear a soft knock at my office door. Jamie’s face appears, leaning in the doorway, a mischievous grin spreading across it.
“Lunch?” With raised eyebrows, he holds a large brown bag up.
“Lunch.” I smirk, tail coiling around my leg. “Of course.”
We share a loaded glance, full of promises and pretense, and then Jamie tosses the bag onto my desk and heads straight for the bathroom.
Of course, I’m up, following him, unbuttoning my pants before I even close and lock the door.
He’s perched on the closed toilet seat lid, hands out, gripping me as I undo my shirt.
I had maintenance install a few hooks on the back of the door for this very purpose—clothes hung neatly are much easier to replace when we finish and return to work.
“There’s that gorgeous cock.” He gives the tip a small kiss with his beautiful lips as he pulls back my foreskin. “Are you ready for your meeting with my mouth?”
“Are you talking to me or my dick?”
“Both.” He swallows the head and my shoulders drop.
“Well, then. Yes. We’re both ready.”
Jamie reaches under, rolling and massaging me just right as I hold the sides of his head, taking this very important meeting with his mouth.
He’s already figured out how to take me deeply and efficiently, but now—now he actually enjoys it, and it shows.
There’s moaning. Deep groans. The cutest little gagging noises when he takes me all the way to the base.
“You love my big cock, don’t you?”
He gives the slightest nod, too focused on the task at hand, and then he slips a finger back, zeroing in on his target.
There’s something about having my dick swallowed in his warm mouth while he fingers me—we’re up to three now—that makes my head fall back, lips trembling with bliss. He’s teased about fucking me someday, and my ass contracts around him at the thought of it.
“Jamie, this. You.” He’s massaging my insides, hitting a spot they don’t teach you about in sex education. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
He pulls off, gasping for air. “You wanna fuck me?”
I glance down at him, smiling up at me, spit dripping off his luscious lips.
“Oh, Jamie. I always want to fuck you.”
We’ve talked about these midday encounters. In the interest of time, it’s probably best I only come once, so we have to be… efficient.
Jamie’s up, yanking down his pants, his perfectly sized cock springing up as he puts them on a hook. His hands find my chest, pinching and squeezing my nipples as I bend down to kiss the top of his head.
“I love you, Jamie.”
“I love you, too.” His hands leave my chest and open the vanity, pulling out the large container of lube.
I buy the industrial size that comes with a pump. It’s quicker and necessary when I’ve only got time to nut once.
Jamie sets it on the counter beside the sink and pumps a generous amount into his hand and readies himself.
Usually at home, when we have more time, one of us handles the lube for both of us, but with meetings looming and lunch waiting, I reach around, pump some onto my palm, and slather it on my cock.
“Okay, Mr. Trainor.” He reaches back and spreads his cheeks wide. “Ready for my pounding.”
I’m stroking myself, making sure I’m rock hard, and staring at his hole, still ready from the rimming I gave him this morning before we were forced out of bed by the alarm. My dick throbs. Carefully, I rub the head on his opening, pushing only enough to allow a portion of the tip in.
“You want it?” I ask.
“Mags, please don’t tease me. I’ve been waiting all morning.”
Jamie slides back, taking the entire shaft, moaning as I open him right up.
“There we go.” I place my hands on his waist, letting him do the work for now. “You’re all mine, Jamie.” Eager for more contact, I lean over him, my furry stomach resting on his smooth back. “Show me how much you love fucking my dick.”
He’s up on his tiptoes, thrusting back, faster, harder as my tail curls around his thighs. He knows his horny hole makes me come quickly, and my balls begin to tighten.
“I’m close, Jamie.” I stand, grip his waist, and pull him back. “Can you jerk yourself off?”
“Mmh. Yeah.” He holds his hand out, spits on his palm, reaches under, and strokes himself.
“Let me take over.”
I drive into him again and again, each plunge a pulse of my claim, my need, my love. Every shiver, every gasp, tells me he’s mine—my mate, my heart, my everything.
“Fuck me, Mags. Harder. I’m close. So close.” His ass clenches around me, and I know he’s coming. “That’s it. Fuck me. Harder. Pound the cum out of me.”
His words guide me over the edge, my orgasm surging until pure elation takes over.
“Jamie, I’m gonna come. Now. Fuck.”
I yank him back, driving deeper, as my cock throbs inside him.
“Fill me up with your cum. Give it to me, baby.” He pushes back, and my dick entirely vanishes from view, my body vibrating with pleasure as I shoot inside him.
His hand can’t contain his load, and his ass can’t contain mine. We’re making a glorious mess in here, but thankfully the custodial staff now keeps the office stocked with plenty of wipes and towels. Note to self: put a little extra in their holiday bonus this year.
When Jamie’s had all he can take, I pull out and move to the toilet, lifting the seat.
But my mate won’t let me finish alone. He’s right at my side—one hand on mine, matching every stroke, while the other slips inside my hole, fingers curling and working me until my thighs tremble as I cross the finish line.
We clean up together, moving around each other in a brisk but intimate rhythm.
Our hands brush, linger, and find excuses to touch—my fingers catch his while he towels off, his hand slides along my back as I pull on my shirt, my tail looping around his thigh like it can’t quite let go.
Every kiss, every nuzzle, its own conversation, soft and urgent all at once, makes getting dressed take twice as long as it should.
Back in the office, post-bathroom chaos and satisfied, Jamie opens the lunch bag with a triumphant flourish.
“Peanut butter and fluff?” I ask.
“Absolutely, Mr. Trainor.” He hands me a sandwich wrapped in wax paper with a warm, infectious grin, full of love.
I bite into mine, sweet and gooey, and glance at him across the small table in the corner of my office. He’s impossibly beautiful. Inside and out. My Jamie. My mate.
After a few bites, I feel it. A smear of fluff stuck to the corner of my mouth. Jamie notices instantly, of course. His eyes light up, and before I can stop him, he leans over and swipes it off with a finger then licks it, just like I did to him that first night in my kitchen.
“So sweet,” he murmurs, and I can feel the warmth in his gaze, the same warmth that made me ache for him every day before.
We eat together slowly, taking bites and laughing when we get fluff on our noses, arguing playfully over whose sandwich is better. My hand brushes his across the desk, and instead of pulling away, he entwines his fingers with mine. His thumb strokes the back of my hand, and I feel… home.
“This… this is perfect,” I say, letting the words linger. Not just the sandwich, or the quiet of the office, but him. Jamie. His energy. And the way he’s all mine.
He laughs, a soft, delighted sound, and the two of us finish eating in silence, the hum of the office around us fading into background music for a life we’ve built—warm, full, and unmistakably ours.
The End
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