The office felt different afterward.
It wasn't altered—not physically—it was just quieter in a way that had nothing to do with the hour. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city glowed in a million pinpricks of light, and the muffled hum of traffic drifted up from several floors below.
Inside, the air had settled into something heavy and still.
We were both seated on the sofa now, occupying opposite ends of the leather cushions.
William sat back against one armrest, his white dress shirt half-buttoned and his sleeves still rolled up to his elbows. I sat at the other end, barefoot now, my knees tucked loosely beneath me.
My hair was a disaster—a wild, tangled mess I didn't bother fixing. I actually loved how symbolic it was; how intentional he had been about leaving it in that state during the last hour.
We were finally digging into the takeout food, which had been kind enough to wait and watch while William and I fucked sensationally on his desk.
