Kafka noticed it too, not just their stares, but the subtle movements, the restless shifting of hips.
His mouth was still pressed to Olivia's, but his gaze slid sideways, taking in the sight of every single employee's hand wandering low, rubbing against the front of their skirts or trousers.
They weren't even pretending to hide it. Palms dragging in circles over damp fabric, thighs squeezing together, fingers tapping little rhythms against their own heat.
It was, to him, an absurdly erotic sight, and rather than disappointing him, it made his lips curl against Olivia's in pure amusement.
He pulled back from the kiss, leaving her gasping for air, and addressed the room with that lazy, taunting smirk.
"Well..." He drawled, his voice carrying easily. "It seems I'm not the only one keeping busy." His eyes swept deliberately over them. "Hands going to your...crotches." He said with crudeness. "Rubbing and teasing like you think I won't notice."
