The office was too quiet.
The kind of silence that made every sound sinful.
Every breath laced with guilt.
Janelle sat at her desk, exhausted but unable to leave.
Her blazer was tossed over the chair, her shirt slightly unbuttoned, and her fingers had been drumming against the mahogany desk until—
she appeared.
Aster.
She didn't knock. She didn't ask.
She simply walked in, heels clicking like a slow countdown to trouble.
"Still working?" Aster's voice was like velvet dipped in heat.
She placed a coffee on the table, but didn't let go.
Instead, she leaned forward… until her lips brushed the edge of Janelle's jaw.
Close enough to taste.
Close enough to destroy.
"You look like you need to be touched."
Janelle didn't answer.
She didn't have to. Her body spoke for her.
Aster slipped up onto the desk without permission, her skirt rising to her thighs, shirt hanging loose over her shoulders.
"Touch me, boss," she whispered, dragging Janelle's hand between her legs.
Their lips crashed.
Hands pulling.
Bodies grinding.
Desk creaking beneath the weight of heat and betrayal.
Janelle's lipstick smeared across Aster's neck like a signature.
A red lie.
A sin painted in color.
And in the corner of the office, unnoticed, a soft red light blinked.
Recording.
Hidden perfectly in the corner shelf was Naya's camera.
Streaming everything.
Every kiss.
Every thrust.
Every sound.
And miles away…
Naya was watching.
Half-naked in her bed.
Fingers pressed to her lips, eyes wide with delight.
Her voice low. Possessive. Dangerous.
"I hope she makes you beg, Janelle," she murmured to the screen.
"Because the next time you touch someone… it's gonna be me."
---
To be continued