My hands were shaking with anticipation as I stood outside Victoria’s office at exactly 8 PM.

After her text last night, I had spent hours choosing the perfect outfit for maximum destruction. A thin, white silk blouse — completely sheer when wet — and another dangerously short black skirt with nothing underneath. My nipples were already stiff, pressing obscenely against the delicate fabric.

I carried a glass of ice water in one hand as I knocked and entered.

Victoria was standing by the window, arms crossed, looking every bit the powerful, conflicted woman she was. Her eyes darkened the moment she saw me.

“Close the door,” she said, voice low...