The summons came through her phone at 10 AM.
*My office. One hour. Don't make me regret this.*
Amaya smiled at the screen, her pulse already quickening. Three days since she'd invaded his workspace, bent over his desk, made him reschedule meetings while she milked his c**k dry. Three days of silence, of avoidance, of him pretending he could resist what they'd become.
She dressed deliberately — professional from the waist up, devastating below. Blazer, silk blouse, hair in a chignon that made her look twenty-five instead of twenty.
And beneath the pencil skirt that hugged her curves: absolutely nothing. No panties. No stockings. Just bare, slick, ready flesh that would greet him the moment he lifted the fabric.
She took the elevator to the forty-second floor, her heart hammering again
