Risky Office Commands to Strip

Kade Mercer stood rooted in the center of the glass-walled office, holding his three feet of distance, fighting the instinct to check the hallway. Less than an hour ago the firm had pulled him from a lobby briefing and shoved him toward the executive suite with zero background. His entire directive was to stay within arm’s reach of Lena Voss until the board meeting ended. Now the heavy mahogany door behind her stood wide open, and every analyst and junior partner who passed could look straight through the clear partitions and see them.

The air tasted of stale espresso. Midday light cut hard across the gray carpet. Lena hadn’t offered him a chair, and Kade knew better than to ask. They faced each other in the dead center of the floor. He kept his hands loose, palms near the seams of his trousers, tracking the click of heels fading down the corridor. Professional distance was the only rule that mattered, and he intended to keep it.

Her voice severed the quiet, pitched low enough to die before it reached the threshold.

“Take the blazer off me first. Both hands. Slow. Slide it down my arms and hold it until I tell you to drop it.”

The breath caught in his throat. He stayed still, boots anchored to the floor. The order broke every rule of the job. Beyond the glass, two executives paused near the water cooler, their muffled laughter drifting in. The skin along his forearms tightened under his jacket. He ran the threat assessment on reflex—the sightlines, the exposure of the panels—but the real problem stood thirty-six inches away.

Lena didn’t repeat herself. She held his gaze, shoulders squared beneath the tailored gray, and let the demand sit there, heavy and immovable. Testing him on day one, minute sixty.

Swallowing felt like dragging sandpaper down his throat. The open doorway framed a stage for anyone walking past. To touch her was career suicide. Still, the muscle in his right thigh twitched, his boot edging forward a fraction before he forced his weight back onto his heels.

She gave the next instruction in the same flat tone, like she was reading a quarterly report.

“Unbutton the blouse next. Start at the top. Don’t rush. I want to feel each button give under your thumbs. Keep your palms flat against the fabric so I know exactly where your hands are.”

Sweat broke at the base of his spine, cold against his undershirt. The room shrank around him. He could smell the sterile bite of her perfume mixed with the warm rise of her skin. The nerve of it, spoken with the hallway still alive, kicked his pulse into overdrive. His jaw locked until his molars ground.

Another set of footsteps approached the door. He tracked the sound with his peripheral vision, chin dipped. He caught the shift in her breathing, a small jump in tempo that betrayed the calm on her face.

“When it’s open, push it off my shoulders,” she murmured, eyes dark and fixed on his. “Don’t look away from my face while you do it.”

The distance between them pressed against his ribs like a weight. Every muscle in his upper body pulled tight against the urge to close it. He watched the slow rise and fall of her chest under the silk. The certainty in her posture ground his restraint down, second by second.

The corridor outside went quiet. Kade drew one ragged breath through his nose, filled his chest until his lungs burned, then took a single step forward, closing the gap. The heat off her body hit harder at the new range. He raised his hands, knuckles brushing the air a millimeter above her lapels, holding one last agonizing beat.

His palms met the wool. He gripped the collar, felt the tension in her shoulders, and dragged the blazer down her arms, eye contact unbroken. The material rasped over her blouse in the quiet office. He bunched the heavy wool at her wrists, the weight of it anchoring his hands while her breath hitched in her throat.

“Drop it,” she whispered.

He let it hit the carpet. His fingers found the silk at her collarbone, thumbs flat against the first button, the plastic warm from her skin.

He worked the buttons free one by one. The silk parted, showing the black bra and the sheen of sweat already forming between her breasts. He kept his eyes on her face, but he felt the shift of her chest with each breath, the straps cutting into her shoulders. Her jaw stayed tight, her mouth that same flat line even as her nipples drew hard against the fabric.

“Skirt,” she said, low and steady. “Zipper first. Knuckles on my hips when you pull it down.”

Kade moved behind her, fingers finding the zipper at the small of her back. The fabric resisted, then gave, and he hooked his hands inside the waistband. He eased the skirt over the curve of her ass, the material catching on her thighs before it dropped to her ankles. She stepped clear without looking down. Her thighs gleamed above the stocking tops, the black underwear already dark at the crotch.

She turned to face him then, slow, deliberate, and put her back to the desk so he had to come to her.

“Knees,” she ordered. “Underwear off. Eyes on me.”

He dropped, carpet grinding into his kneecaps. His fingers slid under the elastic at her hips and dragged the underwear down the fronts of her thighs, the fabric sticking for a moment on wet skin before peeling free past her knees. The scent of her hit him hard, thick and close. He stayed low, palms sliding up the fronts of her thighs, mapping the heat of her while she watched him with that flat, unflinching stare.

Her hand clamped the back of his neck. “Up. Open your belt. Let me see what this is doing to you.”

He stood. His hands worked the buckle, then the button and zipper. His cock strained against the cotton, the head dark and swollen, a wet spot already spreading at the tip. Sweat ran down his chest. He held his hands still until she spoke again.

“Touch yourself through it. Slow. I want to hear every breath.”

He wrapped his palm around the length, cotton dragging rough over the head. The friction pulled a grunt out of him. His hips jerked once before he locked them. He stroked base to tip, the wet patch growing under his fingers, the shape of him pressing visible against the fabric with each pass. Lena’s eyes stayed on his face even as her own hand dropped between her legs, two fingers parting the slick and circling.

The pressure built fast. His thighs locked, breath coming in short bursts through clenched teeth. Sweat ran down his temple. Her fingers moved quicker, her lips parting on a sharp inhale, but she didn’t look away.

Her voice came ragged. “Against the desk. Now.”

She was already half there. She hitched herself back, ass hitting the edge of the heavy desk, and he stepped between her spread thighs. One hand braced on the wood beside her hip, the other still working himself through the shorts. The angle let him grind closer, knuckles brushing her inner thigh with every stroke. Her breasts shifted with each sharp breath, the straps cutting deeper.

“Harder,” she said, voice cracking. “Don’t you dare stop.”

He stroked faster, cotton rasping over the swollen head, the wet spot soaking through to his trousers. Her fingers worked in tight circles, two sliding inside herself on every other pass. Sweat gathered beneath her breasts and ran down her stomach. Her face twisted, eyes narrowed, mouth open on short gasps. His jaw ached from clenching, his free hand gripping the desk so hard the edge bit into his palm.

The orgasm slammed through him without warning. His cock pulsed against his own hand, come flooding the shorts in thick spurts that soaked the fabric and clung to his skin. His hips snapped forward once, twice, breath locked as the mess spread down the front of his trousers. He stroked through it, the wet cotton dragging over the raw head until his thighs shook.

Her voice cut through the haze. “Fingers. Inside. Now.”

He pulled his soaked hand free and pushed two fingers into her. She was drenched, slick and swollen, his fingers sliding deep on the first thrust. He curled them up, pads dragging the front wall while the heel of his palm ground her clit. Her inner walls clenched around him, hot and tight. Her breasts jumped with each thrust, nipples straining against the bra. Sweat dripped from her collarbone onto his wrist.

She gripped his forearm, nails digging in. “Deeper. Use the desk.”

He braced his free hand on the wood beside her hip and drove harder, shifting the angle so each push pressed firm against the spot inside her. Her thighs trembled around his wrist. Her face twisted, eyes squeezed shut, lips pulled back from her teeth as she fought to stay quiet. The desk creaked under their weight. Her hips rocked to meet every stroke, the wet sound of his fingers filling the room.

Her walls clamped down. She came with a choked, guttural sound, thighs locking around his hand, slick running down his knuckles. Her body jerked in short, violent pulses, breath tearing out of her in ragged bursts. He kept his fingers moving, dragging every last tremor out of her until her grip on his arm went slack.

For a second neither moved, his fingers still inside her, both of them breathing hard. Then a phone rang somewhere down the corridor, shrill and ordinary, and the whole room snapped back into focus.

“Out,” she said, and he slid his fingers free. She was already reaching past him for a tissue from the box on the desk, all business, handing him one without looking. “You’ve got it on your sleeve.”

He looked. He did. He wiped his hand, then the cuff, while she scrubbed at her thighs with brisk, irritated swipes. She pushed off the desk and crossed the floor to the heap of clothes in the center of the room, bent, and yanked the skirt up off the carpet. She stepped into it where she stood. The zipper jammed. She muttered something and forced it, missed the catch twice, got it on the third.

“The blouse is a lost cause,” she said, doing up two buttons in the wrong holes and not fixing them. She scooped the blazer off the floor and hauled it back over the mess. The wool bunched at her elbows. She shook it down, smoothed the lapels, and somehow looked composed again, except for the flush still high on her throat.

Kade got his belt fastened over the soaked fabric on the second try. The cotton was already cooling against him, clammy and clinging, and he resigned himself to four more hours of it.

“There’s a meeting in nine minutes,” Lena said, checking her watch, then him, head to foot, with the same flat appraisal she’d used to undress him. “You’ll stand at the back. Three feet.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And button your jacket.” Her eyes dropped to the dark stain spreading at his fly. “All the way down.”

He buttoned it. She walked out ahead of him into the corridor without another word, heels clicking exactly as steady as before, and he fell in three feet behind her, hands loose at his sides, the wet drag of his shorts marking every step.