Helen
My fingers moved slowly between my legs again, circling my c**t under Marc’s cold gaze. The humiliation burned hotter than the flush on my cheeks, but the ache between my thighs was stronger, a deep, insistent pulse that refused to be ignored. I kept my eyes lowered, too ashamed to meet his stare while I touched myself in front of him like this—exposed, wet, and obedient. The leather of the chair stuck to the backs of my thighs where my skirt had ridden up. Every soft, slick sound my fingers made against my soaked folds seemed deafening in the quiet office.
Then I heard the soft sound of a belt being undone.
My head lifted before I could stop myself.
Marc had opened his pants. He reached in and pulled out his c**k—already hard, thick, and heavy in his hand. My breath caught sharp
