Yes

She didn’t hesitate this time.

Will’s messages were still glowing on the screen, full of praise and reverence and that beautiful boyish awe—but it wasn’t enough.

Not for her.

Not now.

Emily stood, heart beating steady but full, and reached behind her back. The clasp of her bra came free with a practiced flick of her fingers, and the plum lace slid off her arms. She laid it on top of her skirt on the floor without ceremony.

Her breasts felt suddenly heavier, bare in the air-conditioned hush of her office. Her nipples responded instantly—peaked, tight, exposed in the cooler air.

She walked to the edge of her desk and sat, the wood cool against the backs of her thighs.

She looked at herself once in the mirror, then down at her chest.

Then reached for her phone.

She set the camera.

Angled it low.

Feet planted.

Legs spread.

Just enough.

Not vulgar. Not crude.

But deliberate.

The kind of photo that didn’t need nudity to ache. The thin stretch of panties caught the light just right. Her breasts weren’t even visible in the frame—but their absence was felt, somehow. As though her body was inviting a closer look, just outside the edge of the image.

Her hand rested just above her knee. Casual. Poised. Perfect.

She typed:

“I locked the door for a reason.”

Send.

Then silence.

One minute.

Two.

Three.

Buzz.

Will:
I’m gonna explode.

Emily smiled.

Her lips curved slowly, her teeth catching the edge of her bottom lip as her thighs pressed together and flexed with a slow, warm flutter that coiled tight in her belly.

She saved the photo.

Didn’t even pause.

Then locked her phone and returned to her chair, bare from the waist up, her pulse still fluttering against her throat like a secret.