Adam got the title change on Monday.
He called me from the new corner office, voice bright, already talking about the nameplate and the view. I smiled into the phone, told him I was proud of him, and felt Victor’s weekend loads shift inside me with every step I took toward the elevator. My skirt was damp. I hadn’t cleaned up. The text had come in before Adam even finished the sentence.
Noon. My office. He’s going to ask about the equity conversation next. You’re paying for the opening on your back, legs over my shoulders, then on your knees until you swallow. Don’t be late.
I wasn’t.
Victor locked the door, didn’t speak, and walked me straight to the desk. He shoved the skirt up, looked at how swollen and leaking I already was, and pushed me onto my back. My legs went over his shoulder
