The Breaking Point

I'm going to Hell, and I'm going there wet. My office door is unlocked. Victor is fifteen feet away, separated by a single wall. The overhead lights are still on, fluorescent and unforgiving. And V wants proof. My hand slides beneath my skirt before rational thought can intervene. The first touch against my bare, slick flesh makes me bite down on my fist to keep from crying out. I'm already so sensitive, so primed from hours of denial, that the lightest pressure sends sparks shooting through my nerve endings. Send me proof.” I prop my phone against a stack of files with trembling hands, angle it downward, and hit record. The red dot blinks like an accusation. Like permission. My fingers circle my clit, and my hips jerk involuntarily. Too loud. The chair creaks beneath me. I freeze, listening for any sound from Victor's office, but there's only silence and the thundering of my own heartbeat. I try again, slower this time, applying steady pressure. Heat builds in waves, each one cresting higher than the last. My free hand clutches the armrest, knuckles white, as I fight to stay quiet. But then Victor's face surfaces in my mind—not dismissive, not cold, but hungry. The way his eyes had dropped to my exposed breast this afternoon, that flash of raw want before he'd locked it away. I imagine those grey eyes darkening as he watches me touch myself. Imagine his hand replacing mine, his control replacing my frantic desperation. Except it's not just Victor anymore. The fantasy shifts, blurs. V's commanding texts overlay Victor's sharp voice. Good girl. Victor's hands become V's hands, and suddenly I can't tell where one ends and the other begins. The taboo of it—masturbating in my office, imagining my boss while obeying another man's orders—crashes over me like a tidal wave. I come hard and fast, biting my lip until I taste copper, my body convulsing as I struggle to stay silent. The orgasm tears through me, relentless, leaving me gasping and boneless in my chair. For a moment, I can't move. Can't think. My thighs are trembling, my heart racing, my entire body singing with aftershocks. Then reality slams back. I just masturbated. In my office. On camera. While Victor worked twenty feet away. I stop the recording with shaking hands and watch it back in horror and arousal. The angle shows everything—my hand disappearing beneath my hiked skirt, the arch of my neck, the moment my mouth opens in a silent scream of release. I send it before I can overthink. Me: Are you satisfied? V: Very. You're beautiful when you come undone. Tell me—who were you thinking about? My fingers hover over the keyboard. The truth is too dangerous, too revealing. But lying feels impossible after what I just did. Me: I don't— A knock at my door makes my blood turn to ice. "Amelia?" Victor's voice, muffled through wood. "Are you ready to review the documents?" I yank my skirt down and smooth my hair, my heart threatening to burst from my chest. My face is flushed, my pupils dilated, my lips swollen from biting them. There's no way I look normal. No way he won't know. "Just a moment!" I splash water on my face from the bottle on my desk, dab away the evidence of tears and arousal, and take three deep breaths that do nothing to calm my racing pulse. When I open the door, Victor is standing there with his jacket off, sleeves rolled to his elbows, looking rumpled and impossibly attractive in a way that makes my freshly satisfied body stir with want again. His eyes scan my face, missing nothing. "Are you alright?" "Fine." My voice comes out too high. "Just needed a minute." He steps into my office, and I'm suddenly hyperaware of the space—my chair still warm from my body, the faint scent of arousal in the air, my phone face-down on the desk with V's message still unanswered. "You seem flushed." He's closer now, close enough that I can smell his cologne—cedar and something darker, more intoxicating. "If you're not feeling well—" "I'm fine, Mr. Ashford." I move past him toward his office, needing distance, needing air. "Let's review those documents." But as I brush by him, his hand catches my elbow, stopping me. The touch is electric, sending heat spiraling through my already sensitized body. "Amelia." His voice is lower, rougher than I've ever heard it. "You're shaking." I am. My entire body is trembling from the aftershocks of orgasm, from his proximity, from the surreal impossibility of this moment. "I'm just—" I search for words that aren't a confession. "It's been a long day." His thumb traces a circle on my inner elbow, the touch gentle but possessive, and something in his expression shifts. Those grey eyes darken, and for a heartbeat, I swear I see hunger there—raw and barely contained. Then he releases me, stepping back, his mask sliding firmly into place. "Let's make this quick, then. I'm sure you're eager to get home." I follow him into his office on unsteady legs, hyperaware of the dampness between my thighs, the ache that's already building again despite my recent release. We sit across from each other at his desk, and he spreads the merger documents between us. But I can barely focus on the words. My phone burns in my pocket, V's unanswered question haunting me. Who were you thinking about? Victor's pen scratches across paper. His brow furrows in concentration. He's all business now, completely unaware that ten minutes ago I was coming apart in the next room, imagining his hands on me. Or is he? My phone buzzes. Once. Twice. Three times in rapid succession. Victor's eyes lift to mine, one eyebrow raised. "Do you need to get that?" "No." But my hand moves to my pocket anyway, treasonous and desperate. "It can wait." "Answer it." There's something commanding in his tone, something that makes my core clench. "If it's urgent." I pull out my phone, angling it away from his view. V: You didn't answer my question. Who were you thinking about when you came? V: Was it me? Or was it someone else? V: Tell me the truth, Amelia. Was it your cold, untouchable boss? My breath catches audibly. Victor's gaze sharpens. "Problem?" "No." I type quickly, frantically. "Just—" The knock on Victor's office door interrupts me, and I've never been more grateful for a distraction in my life. But as I look up, phone clutched in my guilty hands, Victor's eyes meet mine with an intensity that steals my breath. And for one impossible, terrifying moment, I wonder if he knows. If he's always known.