The air in Angela's office was thick with a tension that had nothing to do with the sterile, scientific atmosphere of the lab outside. It was charged, electric, the kind of tension that made my skin tingle and my cock throb with anticipation.

Angela's piercing blue eyes were locked onto mine, her full, red lips parting as her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip—a deliberate, provocative gesture that sent a jolt of lust straight through me.

"I hope to exceed your expectations, Doctor," I said, my voice dropping into a deeper, darker register, each word loaded with unspoken promises—promises of pleasure, domination, and ruin. The way her eyes darkened in response told me she heard every filthy implication.

Angela leaned forward just enough that her massive tits pressed against the edge of her desk, the fabric of her lab coat straining to contain them. The sight made my mouth water.

"Oh," she purred, her voice a husky whisper, "I bet you do." Her fingers drummed lightly on the desk, a slow, rhythmic tap that drew my attention to her long, manicured nails—painted a dark, sophisticated red, the same color as her lips.

Angela's expression shifted suddenly, her eyes narrowing with seriousness, the playful heat between us replaced by something sharper, more urgent.

"From now on, my safety is in your hands," she said, her voice firm, commanding, leaving no room for argument.

I nodded, my gaze sharp, unwavering. "Don't worry, Doctor Angela," I replied, my tone low and steady, filled with confidence. "I won't let anything happen to you."

She studied me for a long moment, as if weighing the sincerity of my words, before gesturing toward the chair beside her desk.

"You can follow me from now on," she said, her voice smooth but authoritative. "For now, take a seat."

The chair scraped against the floor as I pulled it closer, the legs grating against the tiles with a sharp, deliberate sound.

My thigh pressed against Angela's beneath the desk, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through me—heat, tension, something dangerous.

I kept my composure, my expression neutral, but my cock twitched, throbbing with anticipation as I watched her fingers tap efficiently on her tablet.

But something nagged at me.

My gaze drifted around her office, taking in the diplomas framed on the walls, the awards lined up on the shelves, the neat rows of books and files. Everything was meticulous, controlled—just like her. Then, my eyes landed on a photo frame on the corner of her desk.

Three women, arm in arm, smiling at the camera—Veronica, Mary, and Angela.

Fuck.

A wave of recognition hit me like a punch to the gut. Angela was older now, her features more refined, but the resemblance was undeniable—the same blonde hair, the same piercing blue eyes, the same defiant smirk that Veronica and Mary wore like fucking armor.

She was their mother.

My mind raced, pieces of conversations I'd had with Veronica and Mary snapping into place. The way they spoke about their mother—always with a mix of admiration and fear, respect and resentment. The way they described her—brilliant, ruthless, untouchable.

And now, here she was, sitting right in front of me, her leg pressed against mine, her perfume—something expensive, floral, with a hint of spice—filling my lungs, her presence dominating the room.

I shifted in my seat, my cock throbbing as the realization settled in. Fucking Angela wouldn't just be another conquest. It would be crossing a line, claiming something forbidden, dangerous. The thrill of that thought made my blood burn.

Angela glanced up, catching my stare. Her eyebrows arched slightly, a question in her gaze. "Something on your mind, Mike?" she asked, her voice cool, but her eyes burning with curiosity.

I reached for the photo frame, picking it up, my thumb brushing over the glass. "Are they your younger sisters?" I asked, my voice low, measured, testing the waters, playing dumb.

Angela chuckled, a soft, amused sound that sent a shiver down my spine. "What? Younger sisters?" She shook her head, her lips curving into a smirk. "No, Mike. They're my daughters."

I recoiled in mock horror, my eyes widening so dramatically you'd think I'd just heard the most outlandish lie of the century. "What?" I exclaimed, leaning back in my chair with a theatrical gasp, my hand clutching my chest as if the very idea had shocked me to my core.

"Doctor, you shouldn't lie like that... How can someone as young as you have daughters?" My voice was laced with feigned disbelief, but my eyes betrayed the amusement lurking beneath the act.

Angela chuckled, a rich, warm sound that sent a shiver down my spine. "Don't tease this old lady,..." she murmured, her fingers tapping lightly against her tablet, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Oliver didn't tell me you were so glib-tongued..." There was a hint of something in her voice—amusement, yes, but also curiosity, as if she were weighing just how far I'd take this game.

I kept up the act, my expression shifting to one of sincere, wide-eyed shock. "Are they really your daughters?" I asked, my voice filled with mock disbelief, as if the very concept was too absurd to comprehend.

Angela nodded, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. "Yes, Mike," she confirmed, her tone light, but there was an edge to it, a warning lurking just beneath the surface.

Then, her expression froze. Just for a split second, her fingers paused over her tablet, her smile faltering before smoothing into something unreadable.

"Veronica and Mary," she said, her voice neutral, controlled, but there was a tightness in it, a hint of something darker—protectiveness, warning, a mother's instinct kicking in. "Yes. They're mine."

I set the photo frame back down on her desk, my fingers lingering on it for a moment longer than necessary.

My mind raced, images of Veronica and Mary flashing through my head—their laughter, their defiance, the way they moved, the way they fucked.

And now, here was their mother, sitting right in front of me, leg pressed against mine, her perfume filling my senses, her presence dominating the room.

Fucking Angela wouldn't just be another conquest. It would be crossing a line, claiming something forbidden, dangerous. The thrill of that thought made my cock throb, my blood heating with anticipation.

I leaned forward, my voice dropping to a low, intimate growl, my eyes locking onto hers. "They're beautiful," I murmured, my gaze intense, searching for a reaction. "Just like you, Doctor."

Angela's lips parted, her breath hitching slightly. For the first time, I saw a crack in her composed façade—a flash of something raw, unfiltered. Desire. Conflict. Hunger. Her fingers tightened imperceptibly around her tablet, her chest rising and falling just a little faster, her tits heaving with the sudden shift in atmosphere.

"You flatter me, Mike," she said, her voice cool, but there was a tremor in it, a hint of something more primitive lurking beneath the surface. "But you shouldn't."

I grinned, slow and predatory, my eyes dropping to her lips before trailing lower, to the way her lab coat clung to her curves, the way her tits swelled with every breath. "I don't flatter," I replied, my voice a rough growl. "I speak the truth."

Angela's eyes flared, her gaze locking onto mine, challenging, daring me to push further. "The truth can be a dangerous thing, Mike," she murmured, her voice low, warning.

I didn't back down. Didn't look away. "So can I," I shot back, my voice dark, filled with promise.

The air between us thickened, charged with something far more intense than words. Lust. Power. The thrill of playing with fire.

And fuck, was I ready to burn.

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