I’d spent the entire week trying to convince myself I could keep control. Every time I pictured Lila walking back into my office—those cherry-red lips, that tiny skirt, the way she’d crawled to me last time like she was starving—I had to grip the edge of my desk and breathe through it. I’d jerked off in the shower twice a day, hand rough and fast, imagining her gagging on me again, her mascara running, her throat squeezing around my cock until I couldn’t think straight. But I always stopped short of coming. I saved it. Told myself if she came back acting like a brat again, I’d make her pay...