There’s an hour before lunch and my notifications go off again.
“What would you do if I suddenly got out of that elevator?”
It’s the group chat. The one with another co-worker in it. It’s the chat I write in when I can’t stop thinking of you but need to regulate my behaviour and pull myself together.
My composure is already in tatters. I’m minding the front desk and I’m trying my damned hardest to get the thought of ‘The Secretary’ out of my mind. I try to ground my hands and feet and banish the kinky thought of me begging you to take control over me.
Every inch of my body craves submission to you, how the fuck do I answer that question. I’ve bitten my lip so many times today thinking about you that I suspect I’ll start bleeding any minute.
I know exactly how my body would respond if you got out of that lift. I’m already far too wet after just fantasising about you. If you appeared right there and then I’d have to get up immediately out of fear of soaking thrihgh into the reception chair, and exposing this dirty secret.