Her Dirty Boss I
CLARA breathed out a sighed out as she stared at her new office, a glorified closet tucked away in the farthest, dustiest corner of the sixth floor, offered little more than a chipped desk, a perpetually flickering monitor, and a single, hard-backed chair. This was her penance, her boss Daemon’s creative way of punishing her chronic tardiness. But today, the isolation felt less like punishment and more like her place of solace. A place to do what her body carved for at this moment.
A slow, deliberate stretch unknotted the tension in her shoulders, her fingers tracing the worn fabric of her skirt. The clock on the wall read 5:47 PM. meaning that everyone else had long since fled the company's building, leaving her to the quiet hum and the growing heat between her thighs.
