Chapter 6: After-Hours Conference Room

The office emptied like a tide going out. By 6:45 p.m. the last voices had faded down the hallway, keyboards fell silent, and the overhead lights clicked off one bank at a time until only soft emergency strips glowed along the ceiling. I stayed at my desk, typing nonsense into a report no one would read, the navy skirt still clinging to my hips from the long afternoon. The fabric carried the faint, intimate evidence of lunch in the car—Rob’s cum dried in thin, secret streaks against my inner thighs. Every time I shifted, the slick reminder pulled a fresh shiver from me. No panties. Just the sheer black thigh-highs and the growing ache that had lived under my skin since the moment he filled me in the fogged-up BMW.

My phone stayed dark after his voice note. I didn’t need another reminder. I was already hooked.

Footsteps approached from the far end of the floor. Rob. He moved with quiet authority, suit jacket gone, tie still perfectly knotted. He didn’t speak. Just held my gaze as he locked the main glass doors with a heavy metallic click that echoed through the empty space. Then he turned and walked straight into the big conference room—the one with the long mahogany table that could seat twenty, the wall of glass overlooking the glittering city, the blinds half-drawn so the night poured in like liquid amber.

I followed, heels clicking softly on the polished floor. The same outfit I’d worn all day now felt different under his stare. Skirt still warm and slightly stiff where his release had soaked in. Blouse still missing two buttons from Tuesday’s car ride. Thighs still carrying him.

He was already waiting, a fresh bottle of red on the table, two glasses, no labels, just the deep ruby glow. The room felt enormous and dangerously exposed—glass walls on two sides, only half-covered by blinds. Anyone walking past the building outside could glance up and see shadows if they looked hard enough. The risk settled low in my belly, warm and wicked.

Rob didn’t waste time. He lifted me onto the edge of the long mahogany table like I weighed nothing. The wood was cool against the backs of my thighs. He stood between my knees, eyes locked on mine while his fingers worked the remaining buttons of my blouse. Fabric parted slowly, deliberately. He peeled it open, then reached behind me and unhooked the bra. My breasts spilled free into the cool air, nipples already tight. He left the tie around his own neck—silk, deep charcoal, a silent promise.