She is upset

The scent of musk and sterile ozone lingered in the air. Nicole remained draped across the mahogany desk, her breath coming in shallow, jagged hitches. A warm, heavy sensation pooled between her thighs, the visceral reminder of Jefferson’s claim.

"Get your clothes on," Jefferson panted, cinching his belt with a metallic click. "The quarterly reports won't file themselves."

"I... I need a moment," Nicole whispered, her voice barely audible.

"You have thirty seconds. Then I expect you back at your desk, looking like the perfect little worker that you are."

"Yes, sir."

She reached for the box of tissues on his desk. The rough paper scraped against her sensitized folds as she wiped away the thick, pearlescent streaks of his cum. She couldn't reach the reservoir deep inside her, and she knew it would drip down her legs throughout the afternoon, a hidden, sticky brand.

"And Nicole?"

She paused, her skirt halfway up her thighs.

"Don't look so miserable. You know you enjoyed that climax."

"I didn't," she lied, her voice trembling.

"Your pussy told a different story. It gripped me like it never wanted to let go. Now, move."

Nicole smoothed the fabric of her skirt, the material clinging to her damp skin. She stepped away from the desk, her legs feeling unsteady, as if the floor had tilted. She avoided his gaze, focusing instead on the sterile white of the walls.

She unlocked the door and stepped back into the humming office. To her coworkers, she was the same slender, efficient brunette.