In the office

She slips inside once he's gone. Door locked, blinds down. The chair still holds his warmth. She settles in, knees spread, skirt hiked. Eyes close. She pictures him behind that desk, jacket off, tie loose, cock hard. In her mind she’s his secretary—blonde hair pinned up, blouse half open, waiting to be bent over the blotter. Her fingers move under the lace, slow at first, then quicker, breath hitching every time she imagines his hand fisting her hair and pulling her back onto him. The leather creaks beneath her. She bites her lip to stay quiet, but the soft wet sounds fill the room anyway.