Felicity does as she’s told

Obeying without a word, she did as she was told, her heels clicking against the polished floor. She then stood in the middle of the room, not wanting to sit down without being instructed to do so.

Mr. Thompson took his time, his gaze sweeping over her body in a way that was no longer professional. He stepped out from behind his desk, closing the distance between them with a purposeful stride. He stopped right in front of her, their bodies almost touching, and she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.

"Felicity," he began, his voice low and rich. "You've been on my mind all weekend."

Felicity's heart raced. She knew what he was referring to, but she played it cool. "Is there something you needed to discuss, Mr. Thompson?" she asked, her voice a sultry whisper.

Mr. Thompson stepped closer, his hand reaching out to trace the line of her jaw. "There is, indeed," he said, his thumb brushing against her bottom lip. "But not about the project." He leaned down, his breath warm against her neck. "I've been thinking about you, and what I saw on Saturday night."

Felicity's breath hitched, her eyes darting to the closed door. "What do you mean?" she asked, trying to keep the tremble from her voice.

Mr. Thompson's hand slid around to the back of her waist, his thumb tracing small circles on her skin through her blouse. "You know exactly what I mean," he said, his voice a soft growl. He stepped closer, his body pressing into hers, trapping her between the firm wood of his desk and his unyielding frame. "You and your husband, in that hotel room. It was quite the show."

Felicity felt a jolt of fear and arousal, her knees threatening to give out beneath her. She had never been in a situation like this before, but she couldn't deny the thrill it brought her. "Mr. Thompson, I don't think this is appropriate," she whispered, even as she leaned into his touch.

"Call me sir," he muttered to her, his lips brushing against her ear. His hand slid down to cup her ass, giving it a firm squeeze. "I know what you are, Felicity. And I want to know if you're as good at keeping secrets as you are at keeping your husband satisfied."

Felicity's mind raced as she felt the weight of his hand on her, the reality of the situation sinking in. "I... I don't know what you're talking about," she stuttered, even as her body betrayed her, arching into his touch.

Mr. Thompson chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. "Don't play coy with me, slut," he murmured. "Take your blouse off." His grip on her waist tightened, his thumb sliding under the fabric to graze the sensitive skin of her back above her lace panties.