Elara
The vibrator was still inside me.
It had been three hours since the boardroom meeting, and the small pink toy remained nestled deep against my G-spot, silent for now but never forgotten. Every time I shifted in my sleek new office chair, it moved slightly, a constant, wicked reminder of what Damian had done to me on the conference table.
I sat at my glass desk on the 42nd floor, trying to focus on the hotel rebrand mockups glowing on my large monitor. The creative wing was alive with quiet productivity designers tapping keyboards, soft conversations, the occasional ring of a phone. No one knew.
No one could possibly know that I was sitting here bare under my navy dress, thighs still sticky from Damian’s c*m, a remote-controlled vibrator buried inside my p***y, waiting for its nex
