Bare skin

She shows up to work with nothing on her legs. No nylon. Just bare skin from hem to heel. The boss glances down and his eyes stay there a moment too long. She notices, and the silence between them tightens. He asks her to stay after the meeting. She does. She steps out of her shoes, bare feet on the carpet, toes flexing. He watches. She steps closer. When she sinks to her knees, he is already hard. She takes him in her mouth—slow, wet, deliberate—while her bare feet rest on his shins, skin against fabric. He reaches down and rubs her sole, fingers tracing the arch. She keeps sucking. Her tongue slides along the underside, lips tight, no rush. He grips the armrest, watching her feet press against him as she works him deeper. She glances up once, eyes calm. She knows exactly what she started.