Chapter 1: Sparks in the Cubicle
The office was a labyrinth of beige walls and flickering fluorescent lights, but Jamie couldn’t keep his eyes off Libby. She strutted past his desk, her tight pencil skirt hugging the most perfect ass he’d ever seen—round, firm, and begging for attention. He adjusted his tie, feeling a familiar heat creeping up his neck as she tossed a smirk over her shoulder.
'Keep staring, Jamie, and I might charge you for the view,' Libby quipped, her voice a low, teasing purr. She leaned over to pick up a file from the lower shelf, giving him an eyeful of those curves.
'Worth every damn penny,' he shot back, his grin sharp as a blade. 'But I’d rather negotiate a private showing.'
Libby straightened, her hazel eyes glinting with mischief. 'Oh, you think you’ve got the charm for that? I don’t play easy, sweetheart. You’ll have to earn it.' She sauntered closer, her hips swaying like a predator closing in on prey. 'What’s your pitch?'
Jamie leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a cocky tilt to his head. 'My pitch? I’ve got skills that’ll make you forget your own name. And I’m not just talking about spreadsheets.'
She laughed, a throaty sound that sent a jolt straight to his core. 'Big talk. I hope you’ve got the goods to back it up, because I don’t settle for mediocre.' Libby perched on the edge of his desk, crossing her legs so the fabric of her skirt rode up just enough to make his mouth go dry. 'I’ve got... particular tastes. Think you can keep up?'
'Name your game, Libby. I’m all in,' he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. His eyes locked on hers, the air between them crackling with unspoken promises.
She leaned in, her lips brushing close to his ear. 'I like a man who knows how to worship. Every. Single. Inch. Especially where it counts.' Her words dripped with suggestion, and Jamie felt himself getting hard just imagining what she meant.
'Trust me, I’m a devout follower,' he murmured, his hand itching to reach for her. 'I’d start with that perfect ass of yours and work my way up until you’re begging for more.'
Libby’s smirk widened, her breath hot against his skin. 'Begging? Oh, honey, I don’t beg. I demand. And right now, I’m demanding you follow me to the supply closet in five minutes. Don’t keep me waiting.' She slid off the desk, her touch lingering on his shoulder as she walked away, leaving him sweating and horny as hell.
Jamie watched her go, his heart pounding. He knew this was dangerous—office affairs were a minefield—but the thought of tasting her, of feeling her wet and dripping under his touch, was too much to resist. He glanced at the clock. Four minutes. He stood, adjusting himself, already panting at the thought of what was coming. The supply closet door loomed ahead, and he knew the moment he stepped inside, there’d be no turning back.
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