The next Day

Nicole smoothed the charcoal silk of her sheath dress, the fabric sliding over her curves with a treacherous ease. The absence of underwear left her feeling dangerously exposed, the cool air of the bedroom brushing against her bare thighs. Every movement sent a ripple of friction across her clit, a sharp reminder of the command she had been forced to obey.

John stepped up behind her, his chest pressing into her back. He wrapped his arms around her waist, his palms warm against her stomach.

"You're shaking, Nic," John murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

Nicole stiffened, clutching her handbag. "I'm just rushing. I have a lot to get through today."

John pulled back, his gaze scanning her face. He frowned, his eyes dropping to the way the dress clung to her hips. "You seem... different. Tense. Are you sure you really want to go to work like that? You really need a vacation."

"It is just a bit much John" she replied, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears. "Stop worrying about it."

"I just feel like something is off," he said, reaching out to touch her shoulder. "Maybe stay home for an hour? We could have breakfast."

"I can't," she snapped, then softened. "I really can't. I'll call you at lunch."

She hurried out the door before he could question her further. The commute was a blur of anxiety. As she walked into the office, the conditioned air of the lobby felt like a cold hand sliding between her legs. Each stride toward her desk was a gamble; the silk brushed against her damp heat, making her breath hitch. She felt the phantom weight of Jefferson's gaze, imagining him watching the sway of her hips from his glass-walled sanctuary.

Nicole sank into her leather office chair, the material sticking to her bare skin with a soft, wet sound. She stared at her computer screen, but the numbers blurred.

The vibration of her phone on the desk made her jump. She looked down to see the name flashing: Mr. Jefferson.

She didn't pick up immediately. She watched the phone dance across the mahogany surface, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Her thighs pressed together, the friction sending a jolt of unwanted electricity through her.

Finally, she answered.

"Yes, Mr. Jefferson?"

"My office," his voice rasped, stripped of all professional pretense. "Now. And leave the door unlocked behind you."