It’s another day at work, but everything feels so new and different. It’s all because of him, of course, but I do my best not to think about it as I squeeze myself into the corner while more people pour inside the elevator.

Thanks to Mr. Beautiful, last night was spent tossing and turning, with his words playing over and over in my mind. It was almost like he was warning me of the consequences, I think uneasily, but it’s not like I have any other choice---

A snippet of the conversation between the two female interns in front of me drifts into my ears.

“I hope we see Mr. Alexander today,” the girl in a red mini says with a giggle.

“I’m totally flashing him if we do,” the other girl says feelingly. “I’ll do anything for him to look my way.”

Because of that, I think with a silent sigh.

I can only imagine how these other girls would react if they find out Mr. Beautiful and I are---

My cheeks turn red.

Oh, drat.

I can’t even make myself think we’re dating. It simply feels too surreal…and if I’m honest, it just feels like I’m fooling myself, thinking I don’t see the inevitable ending for us.

The elevator finally makes it to the executive floor, and I mumble ‘excuse me’ with my head ducked low. No one else steps out with me although the elevator is packed. The rest just went along for the ride, as they always do, hoping for a glimpse of Mr. Beautiful.

You should stop calling him that, my inner badass advises, if you don’t want accidentally gasping those words out in the middle of sex.

My cheeks burn hotter, and I find myself lowering my head even more as I hurry past the CEO’s office. Even so, I can’t help wondering if he’s doing it again.

Watching me.

Because he said that he had been watching me the entire week, hadn’t he?

I have a strong urge to look around for security cameras but manage not to. Stop acting so obsessed, Evan Montlake!

The phone starts ringing the moment I reach my cubicle and I nearly fall off my seat. It’s never rung before, and everyone in the workplace turns towards me, similarly surprised. Some of them are even downright suspicious, and I can’t blame them.

Who the heck would need to call me?

When the phone keeps ringing, Sally, the girl seated on the cubicle next to me asks pointedly, “Maybe you should answer it?”

Oh. Right. “Sorry,” I mumble as I quickly reach for the receiver. “G-good morning. This is Evan Montlake for EA Inc. How may I---”

“Did you go fall asleep thinking of me?” a sexy, familiar voice purrs from the other end of the line.

Mr. Beautiful!

Conscious of how some people are still throwing frowning glances my way, I clear my throat, stammering, “G-good morning, sir.”

“Who is it?” My cubicle neighbor swings her seat to face me, a curious look on her face.

“Say it’s human resources,” Mr. Beautiful advises smoothly.

“It’s human resources.”

“Verifying data for your internship.”

I repeat the words verbatim nervously, feeling like I’m about to get caught lying.

But the excuse works, and Sally wrinkles her nose, saying, “Oh.” She’s visibly disappointed, and I realize she was hoping for something more interesting.

“Is the interrogation over?”

“Y-yes.” I hesitate then add awkwardly, “sir.”

“Answer my question then.”

Oh.

“Did you fall asleep thinking of me?”

“Y-yes.” I whisper the word, and I can’t help fanning my face as I do. Is it just me or has it gotten hot all of a sudden?

“You’re blushing.”

“I---” But then the realization strikes me, and I straighten involuntarily my seat. He’s watching me!

Mr. Beautiful chuckles. “So you’ve figured it out.”

“H-how?” And is he the only one who sees me or is it the entire security department?

My worry must have registered even on the CCTV footage because Mr. Beautiful then says soothingly, “It’s alright. It’s a private system I had installed, and I’m the only one who has access to it.”

“Where are…they?” I have the presence of mind to be deliberately vague, knowing that it’s more than possible people are still listening to us.

“Turn a little bit to your left, behind the dictionaries you have in the uppermost shelf---”

My eyes widen when I see the tiny camera hidden inconspicuously in the shadowy corner of the shelves. How the heck did I miss that?

“The other one is under your desk.”

I almost gasp out loud at his revelation, and I stammer, “Why d-do you have it there?”

“Because,” Mr. Beautiful says lazily, “I like seeing you wet.”

Oooooooooh.

“Does that turn you on?”

Yes. Oh God, yes it does. Even though I know it shouldn’t---

My pussy is already tightening, moisture seeping through the folds. Any moment now and my panties will be completely wet---

The thought has me wriggling in my seat.

Mr. Beautiful sucks his breath. “You’re doing it again.”

What?

“You’re shaking your ass. Didn’t I tell you what it does to me seeing you do that?”

Oh! A moan nearly escapes me at the reminder. I had completely forgotten about that, but now that he’s said it, I can no longer stop images from flooding my mind---

Images that I have no business fantasizing about at work---

Of him, naked, hauling me to his lap, entering me from behind---

I gulp hard, but it’s not enough.

I need to---

“Mr. B---” I stop myself in time. Oh my God, my inner badass was right! I had almost called him Mr. Beautiful to his face!

And my worst fears come true when I hear him ask, “What did you call me?”

“N-nothing?”

“It was not nothing.” Mr. Beautiful – no, no, Ethan, I need to think of him as Ethan now – sounds dead certain, and my heart skips a beat. “Tell me.”

Never, I think feelingly. It would be humiliating if he learns the truth.

“You’re certain you’re not going to tell me?”

“Yes.” It’s all I let myself say, not wanting to be too specific lest people are still eavesdropping.

“Even if disobeying me comes with consequences?”

My eyes widen. Consequences? What kind of consequences?

“Last chance, Evan.”

My pussy throbs at the familiar words. Oh God. Am I actually getting excited about being punished?

“Your choice, baby.” But Ethan’s tone is husky with desire, and I realize with shock that he wants this, too.

He wants to punish me.

And when he starts to tell me what he wants me to do---

Moisture floods my folds, and I instinctively press my legs together.

Oh God.

I can’t wait for the punishment to start, too.

As I work on my translations my gaze darts to the desktop clock every so often. I can’t believe I’m counting the minutes…but I am. Restlessness eats at me, but I do my best not to wriggle in my seat, knowing that Ethan could be watching---

Maybe he already is.

The thought makes me lose my concentration, and for a moment I can only stare at my laptop screen blankly, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. What am I supposed to do again?

I just can’t remember.

All I can think about right now is him, in his desk, waiting for the same thing to happen.

My gaze swerves towards the clock, and my heart stutters when I realize it’s only a few seconds until the five minutes are up.

Eight…seven…six…

My throat tightens in anticipation.

Five…four…three…

A layer of heat envelops my body, and I bite back a whimper.

Two…one…zero.

Trying my best not to be obvious, I settle my arms on the desk, one over the other, parallel to my chest. My fingers brush against my blouse---

And that’s when I pinch my nipple.

Hard.

I’ve been doing it every five minutes since Ethan put the phone down, and even though half a day hasn’t passed yet my nipples already feel like they’ve been on fire for an eternity.

With my gaze trained resolutely on the screen, I give my other nipple a discreet pinch---

Aaaaah.

And then it’s over, and I slowly withdraw my arms from the desk. My hands are shaking badly as I clasp them over my lap while my heart continues to hammer against my chest.

Knowing that he could’ve been watching me the entire time---

Knowing that someone else could have seen it---

A mixture of fear and excitement surges through my blood.

I know I’m playing with fire, but I can’t help it. I know it’s a dangerous game we’re playing – him the voyeur, and me his obsession – but it intoxicates me so, and I know I’ll keep doing it for as long as he wants me to.

My eyes drift towards the clock.

Three-and-a-half minutes more until I need to touch myself again.

I can’t wait.

Lunch break has just started when I feel a steadily growing buzz of excitement sweep over the office. I wonder what it could be…until I hear some of the secretaries start mentioning his name.

“Mr. Alexander’s coming.”

The words are entirely innocent, but my dirty little mind interprets it differently, and I find myself snapping my legs together under the desk. Moisture begins to flood out of me once more.

Oh God, I’m wet again. It’s appalling. But it’s oh so thrilling, too, and it makes me realize something terribly shameful about myself.

I like being secretly wet in public.

No sooner has the thought formed in my mind than I hear his voice coming closer---

Oh!

I hurriedly duck my head, not wanting to risk meeting his gaze because I’m terrified I’ll give myself away if we do.

He’s talking to Alan, his P.A., something about the…storage room?

My eyebrows shoot up.

It can’t be the storage room…as in the one next to my cubicle?

Right?

I desperately try to convince myself I’m mistaken, but the way my spine tingles tells me it can’t be. They are talking about that room, which means they can only be heading this way.

The two men’s footsteps reach my ear, and I want to slump in my seat.

Oh God, oh God.

I hear whispers and flirtatious laughter after, the sound becoming louder as well, and I realize that some of the more daring women working on the executive floor have trailed after the two.

I should probably be jealous, shouldn’t I? But instead I feel wistful. Why can’t I just be as bold and assertive? Why can’t I---

“Excuse me.”

Oh God. He’s talking to me. Can I pretend I don’t hear him? Can I?

“Could I borrow a pen?”

Realizing I have no choice but to respond, I nod without meeting his gaze, mumbling, “Y-yes, sir.”

Still without looking at Ethan I hand him the pen, and as he reaches for it---

Aaaaah.

His fingers have brushed ever so softly against my nipples, and I nearly fall out of my seat.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

My head jerks up, but Ethan has already turned his back on me. He’s still talking to Alan as he lends the pen to his P.A., his tone perfectly composed. Nothing in the way he looks, acts, or speaks gives him away---

But I’m a different case.

His touch has completely messed up, and even as Ethan walks away I’m still struggling not to let anyone hear my pants.

Oh God.

I want more.