Chapter 10: The Office Lunch-Break Quickie

The elevator doors pinged open on the tenth floor and I stepped out into the quiet hum of mid-morning corporate life, portfolio tucked under one arm like it actually mattered. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting that sterile white glow across the open-plan desks where keyboards clacked and low conversations drifted between cubicles. I’d texted Ethan from the lobby—dropping off those revised mocks you asked for—and the excuse felt paper-thin even to me. My heart hammered against my ribs as I walked the familiar route to his desk, heels clicking too loud on the polished floor. Under my knee-length pencil skirt my thighs brushed together with every step, bare and already slick because I’d left the lace thong at home. The risk of it, the sheer stupidity of showing up here like this, had me throbbing before I even spotted him.

He rose from his chair the second he saw me, tall frame unfolding in that button-down that stretched across his shoulders, sleeves rolled to the elbows like he’d been deep in code all morning. His eyes locked on mine across the half-empty floor and the corner of his mouth twitched—just enough for me to catch the heat behind the polite smile he flashed. “Riley. Perfect timing. Conference room’s free for the next thirty.”

His voice stayed casual for anyone listening, but the way his gaze dropped to my mouth for half a second told me everything. We’d been texting filth since the bondage night at my place, the memory of his wrists bound in emerald silk and the taste of us on his tongue still fresh enough to make my clit pulse. I followed him down the short hallway, hips swaying a little more than necessary, the portfolio now just a prop. The conference room door clicked shut behind us and he twisted the lock with a soft snick that sent adrenaline spiking through my veins.

The space was all sleek glass walls and long mahogany table, blinds half-drawn against the city skyline outside. A faint trace of yesterday’s coffee lingered in the air, mixing with the clean scent of the whiteboard markers on the tray. Footsteps passed in the corridor—someone laughing about a deadline—and the sound made my stomach tighten in the best kind of way. Anyone could knock. Anyone could glance through the frosted glass and see shadows moving if they looked hard enough.

I didn’t give him time to speak. I dropped the portfolio on the table and backed him against the edge of it, hands already working his belt open with quick, practiced tugs. “You have no idea how wet I’ve been since your text this morning,” I breathed against his jaw, voice low enough to stay between us. His cock sprang free into my palm—hot, thick, already leaking at the tip—and I stroked him once, firm and slow, feeling him twitch hard. “Thought about you bending me over this exact table while I was stuck in traffic.”