At 7:11 a.m., the elevator doors slid open on the 47th floor and the smell hit me first: s*x, leather, and the faint smoky trace of Friday night’s fireplace. It clung to every surface, every breath.
I stepped out on legs that still trembled from the vigorous pounding over the weekend. Callum had dressed me himself an hour ago in his penthouse, black sheath dress, no bra, no panties, the same black collar hidden under a silk scarf. My hair was perfect, makeup flawless, but between my thighs I was swollen, aching, and absolutely full of him. He’d f****d me slow against the shower wall at dawn, whispering, “Hold it in, baby. All day.”
Now the floor was coming alive.
First arrivals walked in, Sarah from Accounting, headphones in; Marcus from Legal, humming. They nodded good-morning like not
