Chapter 4: Monday Morning Quickie

The elevator doors slid open at 8:45 a.m. and the Monday morning buzz hit me like a wave—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, laughter drifting from the break room. I’d changed into my fresh navy pencil skirt and crisp white blouse after the Sunday night chaos, pairing them with the brand-new sheer black thigh-highs I’d bought in a haze of guilty thrill the morning after Rob tore the old ones. The lace tops hugged my thighs with a secret promise. No panties underneath. None. I’d stood in front of the mirror at home, heart flipping, and decided Rob deserved that much after what we’d done Friday night.

My body still ached in the best way—deep, delicious soreness between my legs from the desk, from his weight, from the way he’d filled me until I couldn’t think straight. A hot shower had washed away the evidence but not the memory. Every step reminded me.

Coworkers nodded hello. I smiled back, normal as ever, but my pulse raced the second I spotted Rob through the glass wall of the conference room. He was mid-meeting, sleeves rolled, jaw set, but his eyes found mine across the open floor. That loaded glance hit like electricity—dark, knowing, hungry. I couldn’t look away. I can’t look at him without remembering how he felt inside me. The thought made my knees weak.

My phone vibrated in my hand. Dave. “Hey babe, hope work wasn’t too bad Friday. Miss you already. Dinner tonight?”

Guilt slammed into me so hard I nearly dropped the phone. I pictured him on the couch last night, waiting up, trusting me. My voice came out steady when I answered. “It ran late but we got it done. Dinner sounds perfect.” The lie tasted sour. My thighs pressed together under the skirt, still faintly tender, and I ended the call before my voice could crack.