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I catch my breath, dragging my fingers from my pussy, wetness shining in the light, and bring them to his mouth. His lips part instantly, tongue curling greedily as he sucks me clean. A broken sound slips out of him, somewhere between a moan and a whimper, and his eyes flutter shut like he’s tasting salvation.
What the hell are we doing?
He looks ruined—vulnerable and open in a way I don’t think I’ve ever let myself be with anyone before. His shirt plastered to his chest with sweat, hair dark at the edges, hands trembling faintly where they’ve gone slack on his thighs. He looks like I’ve hollowed him out and left him raw. And holy shit, part of me likes that.
I shift, peeling my legs down from the arms of his chair, tugging my underwear back into place. I lean forward, curl my fingers into his tie, and pull. The knot slips, the strip slides free, and I drag it slowly over his stomach, swiping at the mess cooling across his shirt and knuckles. He doesn’t stop me, doesn’t even blink. Just watches me with dazed eyes while I fuss over him, like it makes sense at all.
His slacks hang open. I tuck him back in carefully, fastening buttons, threading the buckle, pulling leather through metal until it clicks shut.
Then I move without thinking—lowering myself into his lap sideways, legs hooked over the armrest. This is backwards. Usually it’s him putting his head to my chest, folding himself into me like I’m the one with steady ground to offer. But now it’s me crawling closer like I need somewhere to anchor.
What are you doing, Sable?
His body goes rigid, arms hovering mid-air. I don’t blame him. This is new territory for us both.
A sigh slips free from my throat—frustration, surrender, I don’t even know. But I take his wrists and guide them around my shoulders, settling them right where I want them. The heat of his chest presses into me as I settle in closer, and still, I can’t make sense of what I’m doing—clinging to him here of all places, where the walls hum with fluorescents and the rules are screaming in my mind—“Don’t look. Don’t touch. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.”
He swallows, voice rough against the top of my head. “This… this is okay?”
I hum, nodding into him. “It’s okay.”
He blows out a heavy breath, shaky warm air skimming over my scalp as his hold tightens. One arm moves down, bracing around my hip, his thumb moving in slow, grounding circles. Each pass tugs me closer until I’m folded against him, lulled by the rhythm, body sinking into his like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
For a moment, it feels almost dangerous how easy it is to stay here. The hum of the lights softens, the mess we’ve just made fades, and all that’s left is this quiet heaviness in my limbs, the warm thud of his heartbeat under my cheek. Sated, weightless, lulled into something that looks suspiciously like a very bad idea in the making.
The slam of a door down the hall cracks through the quiet like a gunshot. My whole body jolts, nerves firing, heart hammering straight into my throat.
Fuck. Too close. Too loud. Too real.
My skirt drops back into place as I scramble off his lap, the air between us stretching tight. I can still feel the heat of him clinging to my skin, but all I hear is the rush in my ears—what if someone walks in, what if someone already knows, what if we’re caught like this?
He jerks too, hands clumsy on his laptop, dragging it toward himself like paperwork might erase the wreck of us from five seconds ago.
Our eyes catch—one fleeting second of wide, guilty silence—and my throat locks. I force it open with the first words I can grab. “I… I have to finish those… I have to finish up so I can leave.”
“Right. Yep.” He blurts it too fast, shoulders snapping square, fingers already flying across the keys like he can type us both back into professionalism. “Same. Yeah. Me too.”
I snatch my mug off the chair, press it hard against my chest, and pivot out of the office, heels clicking down the bullpen aisle, pulse still thundering.
Back at my cubicle, I drop into the chair too hard, mug clattering onto the desk. The glow of my monitor washes pale over the spreadsheets I’d left open, numbers blurring into static. What the hell am I doing? This isn’t my couch, it isn’t behind closed doors. It’s fluorescent light, thin walls, and rules that could end us both in a heartbeat.
I force my fingers to the keyboard, so hard the monitor rattles.
Rules. Rules we both agreed to. No office. No staring. No touching.
Fucking idiot.
Chapter 14
Noah
The knot in my tie is crooked. I drag it tighter, loosen it, then smooth my thumb over the silk again, glaring at myself in the bathroom mirror like that’s going to fix anything. My reflection stares back—flushed cheeks, collar skewed, hair I should’ve trimmed last week.
Here he is—the senior account lead, polished up for the quarterly dog-and-pony show.
Marla says these client mixers are good for us. Apparently they do one every few months at this firm. Networking, visibility, opportunities—like any of that feels real in practice. From what I can tell, it’s just another excuse to pour top-shelf liquor into already-rich men and let everyone lie to each other about how well the quarter went. She says it’s important. She says I should show my face, shake hands, smile like I mean it.
I lean on the sink, hands pressed flat to the cool porcelain. My jaw’s too tight, my eyes a little too dark, like I’m bracing for impact instead of cocktails and canapés. I should be thinking about numbers, handshakes, polite smiles. Not about the fact that a few nights ago, Sable was spread out on my desk with her hand between her thighs. Not about how I came so hard into my own fist I nearly blacked out while she whispered ‘good boy’ like it meant something.
