Damien POV
Most women who accidentally walked in on me balls-deep in another man’s wife would have disappeared before the elevator even reached the lobby. But not her. Elena Voss, the name she gave me during her rushed interview at one in the morning, had stared straight at my c**k slamming into Claire’s dripping p***y like she wished it was her.
Now it was 7:45 p.m. the next day, and she was still here. Still in my office. Still pretending she wasn’t soaked for me.
“Mr. Vale, the Tokyo projections are on your desk,” she said, her voice clipped and professional. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun, but a few loose strands framed her face. She wore a modest black pencil skirt and white blouse that did nothing to hide her full breasts or the curve of her ass. Professional, yes.
