Office Hours Are Over—Now It’s Our Time. 🕶️📁

The clock strikes five, the office empties… and that’s when we begin. 🕶️📁 No more pretending I don’t notice the way his gaze lingers when I lean over the printer, or how my pulse spikes every time he says my name in that low, controlled tone. Now, the conference room isn’t for meetings—it’s for mischief. His tie’s off before the blinds are fully closed, my heels kicked under the desk, and the only agenda tonight is us. 🖤🔥 Files scatter, chairs roll away, and professionalism melts into something far more primal—whispers against skin, buttons undone, promises made in breathless gasps. He doesn’t call me “employee” anymore… he calls me his. And in this silent, shadowed office, I don’t clock out—I combust. 😏

The clock strikes five, the office empties… and that’s when we begin. 🕶️📁 No more pretending I don’t notice the way his gaze lingers when I lean over the printer, or how my pulse spikes every time he says my name in that low, controlled tone. Now, the conference room isn’t for meetings—it’s for mischief. His tie’s off before the blinds are fully closed, my heels kicked under the desk, and the only agenda tonight is us. 🖤🔥 Files scatter, chairs roll away, and professionalism melts into something far more primal—whispers against skin, buttons undone, promises made in breathless gasps. He doesn’t call me “employee” anymore… he calls me his. And in this silent, shadowed office, I don’t clock out—I combust. 😏