Emily becomes Kevin’s slut

The fluorescent hum of the office took on a new rhythm after that first night—one Kevin couldn't unhear. It pulsed in time with Emily's quickened breaths whenever she slid into his office under pretense of printer jams or spreadsheet questions, her fingers already working his belt before the door clicked shut. By the third day, he'd stopped pretending to protest when she dropped to her knees under his desk during conference calls, her mouth warm and wicked around him while he struggled to keep his voice steady for the clients on speakerphone.

Emily became adept at reading the tension in his thighs—when to slow her strokes to maddening teasing, when to hollow her cheeks until his knuckles whitened around the phone. She'd emerge flushed and smug after each call, wiping her lips with the back of her hand while Kevin adjusted his slacks with trembling fingers. "You sounded *so* professional," she'd whisper, biting his earlobe as she straightened his tie. "Nobody guessed."

By week's end, Kevin had developed a system. The navy-blue tie meant *take me in the supply closet*—Emily would "accidentally" bump into him there, her hands already under his shirt before the metal shelves rattled against the wall. The red one meant *bend over my desk*, and she'd arrive with files in hand, skirt already hiked up, pressing damp panties into his palm like a secret before he fucked her raw against the quarterly reports.

Sarah noticed the missing hours, the odd stains on his shirtsleeves. "Late again?" she asked one evening, her fingers brushing a faint lipstick smudge near his collar that even Emily's quick tongue hadn't caught. Kevin kissed her forehead, tasting salt and sunscreen from the kids' afternoon soccer game, and lied through the guilt tightening his throat. "Audit season."

Meanwhile, Emily bloomed under his attention. She took to wearing lace so sheer Kevin could see the marks he'd left the night before through her blouse, smirking when he choked on his coffee during meetings. During lunch breaks, she'd lock his office door and ride him slow on the leather couch, whispering all the filthy things she'd thought about while watching him lecture the interns that morning. By the time she came with his fingers twisted in her hair, Kevin could barely remember his own name.