BETHANY

The cool, hard surface of the office wall was like a sharp contrast to the scorching heat of Atiza’s body pressing into mine.

The blinds are drawn, the door is locked, and the muffled sounds of the marketing team outside—phones ringing, chairs scraping—only serve to heighten the illicit electricity crackling between us.

Atiza doesn't do gentle. I've always known him to be a man of few words and much action.

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my lace panties and yanks them down in one fluid motion. I hear the delicate fabric snap, but in that aroused state, the sound only makes me wetter.

"You’ve been a...