Blackmailed Between My Thighs

I collapsed weakly against the office desk, my breath coming in ragged gasps as drool dripped uncontrollably from my parted lips.

Behind me, the intern tore at my sheer stockings with rough hands, his fingers digging into the soft curves of my ass.

"Vivian," he growled, yanking my hair back to sink his teeth into my earlobe, "you want the whole company to see you like this?"

My name's Vivian Lowell, and I'm an executive at a Fortune 500 company.

That night started like any other late evening at the office.

I'd just finished reviewing some documents when my phone buzzed. Michael Watson, our company driver, sounded distraught. "Ms. Lowell, my wife's in the ICU. I—I can't make the pickup tonight."

I sighed, irritation warring with sympathy. "Of course, family comes first," I told him, though the timing couldn't be worse.

My penthouse was clear across town in the new development zone—good luck flagging a cab there after midnight.

Resigned, I decided to power through more work and crash in the office lounge.

Thinking I had the floor to myself, I unbuttoned my blazer and headed for the break room.

That's when my stockings caught on a desk corner, sending me stumbling to my knees.

A breathy moan cut through the silence—a voice I knew intimately, but dripping with a husky desire I'd never heard before.

"God—easy! Lights... turn the lights off first..."

Isabella Evans. My assistant. My college roommate. My best friend.

With her girl-next-door smile and curves that stopped traffic, Isabella attracted rumors like flies to honey—whispers that behind that polished exterior lurked an insatiable vixen who ran through men like tissues.

I'd always laughed it off. Pretty women make easy targets.

The sharp click of a light switch. Then the unmistakable sound of skin slapping against skin.

"You filthy girl," a male voice sneered, "not even wearing underwear?"

My blood turned to ice. That voice belonged to Daniel Roscente—the new intern.

Daniel had joined us just last week. Impossible to miss—six-foot-two, Princeton grad, with the kind of chiseled physique that made every head turn when he walked by.

"Wouldn't want to keep you waiting..."

The office chair screeched as it rolled back. Moonlight revealed Isabella splayed across the seat, knees bent obscenely wide while Daniel buried his face between her thighs.

I bit down on my lip hard enough to draw blood.

My prim-and-proper best friend was completely bare under that pencil skirt, shamelessly exposed to the chilled office air.

Heat flooded my cheeks—and lower. God help me, I couldn't look away.

It'd been... too long.

Their movements grew frantic. From my hiding spot, I watched the play of muscles across Daniel's back as he braced himself, his free hand working some unseen magic that made Isabella arch off the chair.

Soon the room filled with wet, filthy sounds. Isabella was lifted onto the desk directly across from me, her blouse buttons popping open as she threw her head back in ecstasy—her moans turning feral, animalistic.

I pressed my thighs together, arousal pooling hot between them.

She looked... transported.

Christ, I wanted that.

Isabella's sudden scream snapped me back to reality. My face burned—not just from voyeuristic shame, but from the desperate ache now throbbing between my legs.

"Happy now?" Isabella panted, grabbing tissues. "Hold still—you're a mess."