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AsIstepintothe familiar confines of the office, the air crackles with unspoken tension, and I can't help but steal glances at Stephen, my heart racing in sync with the palpable energy between us.
I settle into my desk, trying to focus on the tasks at hand, but my mind keeps drifting back to the lingering memory of our recent encounter. The memories of that steamy night are making it increasingly difficult to compartmentalize our relationship within the confines of this workplace. My palms start sweating as I recall the last time Stephen had cornered me into a very heavy make-out session.
“I like the feel of you in my arms, Chloe,” he had murmured into my neck as I lay pinned under him on the table, his mouth nibbling around the edges of my exposed bra, leaving bright purplish marks on the skin that spilled out of the cups, while his hips rubbed circles over my crotch.
Yes, I’m not ashamed to admit that I had lain with my legs splayed out and stockings rolled all the way down while Stephen had dry-humped me—at work. After hours. With a janitor cleaning my colleagues’ cubicles and offices somewhere far down the very floor where Stephen was now sliding his fingers into my vagina . . .
Just the memory of that encounter has left me wet and aching. Minutes turn into hours, and as the day wears on, I find myself drawn to Stephen's presence. The stolen glances, the brief brushes of our fingertips, all serve as a reminder of the passion simmering beneath the surface.
Unable to resist the pull any longer, I rise from my desk, my footsteps faltering as I make my way towards Stephen's office. I push open the door, my heart pounding against my chest, and lock eyes with Stephen.
He doesn’t need me to say anything. Instead he asks, “Now? Here? Are you sure?” He looks around and starts drawing the blinds of the room, even before I nod and say, “Yes, now.”
After the last curtain is drawn and only the table lamp sheds any light on me, Stephen stands still for a moment, his eyes searching mine for some unknown sign. He seems hesitant so I put out my arm to him and say, “Come here, Mr. Connoisseur” in the sultriest tone I can muster.
In a flash, he closed the gap between us and hoisted me up onto the table. His lips almost crushed mine in their urgency to meet and our tongues entwined hungrily as our hands moved feverishly to strip away all that kept us apart. In no time his briefs were half off, so were his trousers and I held on tight to his half-bare ass as he pounded relentlessly into me.
He pushed me back against the table and slowed his movements. Our eyes met for what seemed like an eternity, him deeply entrenched inside me, my legs gripping tightly around his hips. “Chloe,” he growled in admiration. There was a smoldering heat in his gaze as his thumb traced along my lips before pushing into my mouth, matched with an even stronger increase in the force of each thrust. I realized now that he wanted nothing more than to hear muffled screams escape from behind his finger. But just as I’m teetering on the verge of an orgasm, the world comes crashing down around us. The door swings open, revealing Jonathan, his eyes widening in disbelief. The shock and disappointment etched across his face strike me like a lightning bolt, jolting me back to the reality of the situation.
As we scramble off the table and urgently pull up our clothes, Jonathan's angry voice cuts through the charged atmosphere. "What the hell is going on here? Have you lost your minds? What the fuck . . ."
Stephen steps back, his eyes filled with regret. “ I- I thought everyone had gone home. We didn't think . . ."
Jonathan's gaze flickers between us, his eyes bulging with a craven fury. "This- this is unacceptable, both of you. Stephen, what the hell, man? Did you stop to put two and two together at all or were you just . . .” He’s pacing around, sputtering in anger now, “Or were you letting your dick do all the thinking?"
I lower my gaze, feeling the crushing weight of his words like a crushing burden. "Jonathan, I'm sorry. We didn't intend for this to happen,” I say, not willing to be a silent spectator.
Jonathan's accusations hang heavy in the air for a moment. Then Stephen's voice cuts through the tension, his tone laced with defiance. "Jonathan, don't lecture us on morals when you've been spreading lies about Chloe."
Jonathan's eyes narrow, his voice dripping with disdain. "And you think Chloe is innocent in all of this? She's manipulating you, just like Victoria manipulated me in the past."
A surge of anger rushes through me and I snap. "Oh for fuck’s sake, Jonathan. That was years ago. Move on already. And stop comparing me to my sister. I get it that all women must seem the same to an incel like you, but I promise you I’m a different person than Victoria."
Jonathan looks like his heart will burst from rage. Stephen steps forward, his voice firm. "Chloe is not manipulating me. We have a connection, a genuine bond that goes beyond your frankly misogynist assumptions. You don't understand what we have."
Jonathan's face contorts with a mix of frustration and bitterness. "You think this is about understanding? You're both crossing lines, compromising the integrity of this organization. And You’re twice her Age. I won't stand for it."
The room pulses with the weight of unspoken words, each of us locked in a battle of wills. The air crackles with unresolved tension as Jonathan's gaze flickers between us, his expression a mix of anger and warning.
With a final veiled threat, Jonathan turns on his heel and exits the room, leaving behind a trail of unresolved emotions. The space feels heavy, a battleground where loyalties and desires collide.
As we stand in the aftermath of the confrontation, the weight of our actions settles upon us. The office walls seem to close in. “Stephen, I- I need to go,” I manage to stammer before leaving.
In my hurry, I fail to notice the pained expression on his face.
I retreat to the solace of my own home, seeking refuge from the storm of emotions that swirl within me. Just as I settle into the quiet, my phone rings, and I see Tiffany's name flashing on the screen.
A mixture of relief and anxiety washes over me. Tiffany has always been my confidante, my rock, but this time, I hesitate.
I take a deep breath and answer the call, forcing a smile into my voice. "Hey, Em! How are you?"
Tiffany's warm tone filters through the line. "Hey, Chloe! I'm good, thanks. Just wanted to check in on you girl. How are you?"
I pause for a moment, contemplating whether to spill the truth or keep my secret buried within. But as much as I long to confide in Tiffany, to seek her comfort and guidance, I know that this time it's different. This secret, this tangled web I've woven with Stephen, feels too fragile to share. But She's my best friend and the guilt is eating me alive.
"I'm doing fine, Tiffany," I reply, my voice betraying the weariness I feel inside. "Just caught up with work and all. You know how it goes."
There's a brief silence on the other end, as if Tiffany senses that there's something I'm not telling her. "Are you sure, Chloe? You sound a bit off."
