SIN ON THE 28TH FLOOR

Chapter 7: Office Hours

Emma stared at herself in the bathroom mirror of her apartment, gripping the sink edge until her knuckles whitened. It was 6:45 AM. Her body felt like it had been through a war ass sore from the spanking and double penetration yesterday, p***y still tender, faint bruises blooming on her hips where fingers had gripped too hard. She’d showered twice last night, but she could still feel the sticky remnants of both men inside her. Or maybe that was just her imagination punishing her.

*What the hell am I doing?* She was supposed to be the smart one. The one who had clawed her way up from intern to director. Now she was their shared office toy. The words Ryan had used still burned: *Our fucktoy.* And the worst part? She’d c*m harder than she ever had in her life while they said it.

She chose her outfit carefully today. A fitted black blouse that buttoned high enough to hide marks, a knee-length pencil skirt that wouldn’t ride up too easily, and sensible heels. Professional armor. It wouldn’t last.

The office was already stirring when she arrived. Sarah waved cheerfully from her desk. “Morning! You look… tired. Late night again?”

“Campaign stuff,” Emma lied, forcing a smile. Her phone buzzed before she could sit down.

Ryan: *My office. Now.*

Her stomach twisted. She grabbed her tablet like it was a shield and walked the familiar path to the corner suite. Ryan was on a call already, but he muted it when she entered and locked the door.

“Lock it behind you. Good girl.” His voice was calm, businesslike. “Under the desk.”

Emma hesitated. “Ryan, it’s 8:15. People are arriving”

He raised an eyebrow. “You belong to us now. Remember the footage? Get on your knees.”

Shame flooded her cheeks as she knelt and crawled under the massive executive desk. The space was cramped, her skirt tight around her thighs. Ryan unzipped, freeing his thick c**k. It was already half-hard. He unmuted the call.

“Yes, continue with the Q3 projections,” he said smoothly into the speakerphone, one hand guiding her head forward.

Emma took him into her mouth, tasting the faint salt of his skin. She worked slowly at first, tongue swirling around the head, then deeper as he hardened fully. The position was awkward her neck craned, jaw already aching. Ryan’s free hand rested on her head, not forcing but guiding the rhythm while he discussed budgets and client deliverables like nothing was happening.

She gagged softly when he thrust up unexpectedly. He didn’t miss a beat in the conversation. “No, we’ll adjust the timeline. Emma’s team can handle the revisions.” His fingers tightened in her hair as she sucked harder, hollowing her cheeks. Saliva dripped down her chin onto her blouse. The risk colleagues walking past the glass walls, only the desk hiding her made her p***y throb despite everything.

Ryan lasted through two more calls. By the end, her knees burned and her mascara was smudged. He finally came down her throat with a barely noticeable grunt, holding her head in place until she swallowed every drop.

“Clean me up,” he murmured, muting again. She licked him gently until he tucked himself away. When she crawled out, he handed her a tissue like a gentleman. “Good morning meeting. Keep this energy. Marcus will want his turn at lunch.”

Emma fixed her makeup in his private bathroom, legs shaky. She felt dirty. Used. And already aching for more.

The morning dragged in a haze of meetings. She presented updates on the Thompson campaign with c*m breath and a sore throat, smiling through it. Marcus caught her eye once in the hallway and smirked. By 12:30, her phone buzzed again.

Marcus: *Stairwell. North side. Now. Don’t make me wait.*

Her heart raced. She told Sarah she was grabbing lunch and slipped away. The north stairwell was rarely used mostly for smokers or people avoiding elevators. She pushed the door open on the twenty-fifth floor landing.

Marcus was waiting, leaning against the concrete wall. He didn’t speak. Just grabbed her, spun her around, and pressed her chest against the cold wall.

“Missed this cunt,” he growled, yanking her skirt up. Her panties were shoved aside roughly. He was inside her in one thrust thick, bare, stretching her sore p***y. Emma bit her arm to muffle her moan.

“Someone could come,” she whispered frantically. Footsteps echoed faintly from floors above.

“That’s the point, little sis.” He f****d her hard, hips slapping against her ass. One hand covered her mouth, the other reached around to rub her c**t. “Our perfect office w***e. Sucking boss’s c**k under his desk and now taking stepbrother d**k in the stairs like a desperate slut.”

The degradation hit her deep. She pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts. The risk made it filthy and intense. A door opened somewhere below. They froze for a second his c**k buried deep then he kept going slower, grinding.

“Say it,” he breathed against her ear.

“I’m your slut,” she mumbled into his palm. “Your stepsister whore.”

He pinched her c**t and she came suddenly, clenching around him, legs trembling. Marcus followed right after, flooding her with c*m again. He stayed inside her for a moment, breathing hard, then pulled out and fixed her panties to trap it.

“Wear it through your afternoon meetings,” he said, kissing her neck almost tenderly before stepping back. “Text me when you’re leaking in the next client call.”

Emma straightened her skirt with trembling fingers. c*m was already starting to trickle. She took the elevator back up alone, face flushed, avoiding eye contact with anyone. Sarah noticed something was off when she returned.

“You sure you’re okay? You seem… distracted lately.”

“I’m fine,” Emma lied again. “Just stressed.”

The rest of the afternoon was torture. Every shift in her chair reminded her of the mess between her legs. During a 3 PM strategy meeting with Ryan and two other directors, she felt fresh c*m soak into her panties. Ryan’s knowing glance across the table made her c**t throb.

By 5:30, she was back at her desk, staring at her screen without seeing it. The internal war raged louder than ever. *This is destroying me. My career. My self-respect.* Yet her body craved the next hit. The way they used her. The filthy words. The forbidden thrill of her stepbrother and her boss owning her holes.

Her phone lit up. Group text from both of them.

Ryan: *My penthouse tonight. 8 PM. Bring the outfit you wore yesterday.*

Marcus: *Don’t bother wearing panties.*

Emma stared at the messages, thighs pressing together. She should block them. Quit. Run.

Instead, she typed back: *Yes.*

She hated how easily the word came. And how wet it made her.

The good girl she used to be was disappearing fast. In her place was something hungry, broken, and addicted.

And she wasn’t sure she wanted to stop.