By: Penny Wylder

AtYourService: I’d fuck you all night, Clove. Every way you want. Hard and rough enough that you wouldn’t be able to walk straight the next day.

CallMeClove: Fuck yes, Zayne. That’s what I want you to do to me.

I barely manage to finish typing the last sentence. I’m too concentrated on my pussy, sliding my fingers in and out of myself, while I press down hard on my clit with the heel of my hand, rubbing it at the same time.

AtYourService: I’m fisting my cock right now, thinking about you. Are you touching yourself? Please tell me you’re touching that sweet little pussy of yours, Clove.

That reply is enough to send me over the edge. My body shakes as I come, and I let out a faint cry, alone in the darkness of my apartment.

But now that I have, and the hormones still continue to rage, as frustrated as I am, I grimace. What am I doing? Exactly what I promised myself I shouldn’t.

Seeing my name on the screen next to his makes me realize just what a terrible idea this is. I love this apartment. It’s my home. I can’t risk it for a fling, even if it is with a hottie like Zayne.

CallMeClove: I have to go. I’m sorry.

I log out of the app before I can give into temptation any more. When I roll over to shut off my light, I squint at the time and grimace even harder. Shit. Past two in the morning.

Tomorrow is going to be a very long day.


“Good morning, Ms. Walker.”

The usual morning doorman, Paul, waves at me as I exit the building. Meanwhile, I’m suppressing a mixture of frustration and relief. Half of me wanted to see Zayne this morning. Catch one more glimpse of his sexy grin, his piercing blue eyes.

The other half is relieved that I don’t have to walk past him right away. Not after last night. And especially not with how I’m looking this morning—like I just rolled out of the wrong side of the bed and face-first into a pot of coffee. There are bags under my eyes that my makeup is straining to conceal, and my hair is a mess because I didn’t have time to shower.

As it is, I just wave back at Paul as I jog out the door, hurrying toward the train in my flats, because no way can I run as fast as I’ll need to in heels.

Half an hour later, I roll into my office five minutes before our first meeting is set to begin. Just enough time to pour myself a large cup of black coffee in the break room before I sidle up to the office where we meet every Friday morning to review our campaigns from last week and plan for the next.

One girl at the back of the room, a new hire I don’t know very well, Hannah-something, is staring at me blatantly. I do a quick check, but no, I remembered to button all my buttons. Huh. Weird.

I shake my head and zone back into the meeting.

Even though it’s business as usual, it’s still impossible to concentrate. I stare blankly at my manager, my mind still stuck on my text exchange with Zayne last night. The image of his cock, the knowledge that he was touching himself, masturbating in the break room thinking about me.

Before long, I have to cross my legs and clench them tight, my panties already feeling worryingly damp.

Naturally, that’s the moment when my boss calls my name. I focus on her, then the PowerPoint slide on the wall behind her. But it doesn’t help me figure out what she just said.

“Sorry, what was that?” I wince.

My boss’s annoyed stare says it all. Normally she and I are on good terms, but the rest of the day pretty much goes like that. No matter what she asks, I need her to repeat it multiple times because I can’t keep my head on straight.

Then a few of the results from previous campaigns come in abysmally low, coupled with one of our vendors trying to renegotiate a contract we’d already signed, and by the end of my very long Friday, I am in desperate need of a stiff drink.

To top it all off, none of my usual post-work happy hour buddies are free tonight. Andy has a hot date with this new guy she’s been flirting with nonstop all week, and Celeste has some birthday party for her aunt to go to. Which leaves me stranded in midtown with nowhere to go.

I heave a sigh and start heading for the train when my phone buzzes. Another message on the app. I hesitate for a fraction of a second before I tap it open.

It’s Zayne.

My stomach flips, the sensation both nervous and pleasant at once. I open our conversation, my face flushing as I remember just how hot and heated this got last time.

But if I’m expecting just another sext, that’s not what I find.

AtYourService: Hope I didn’t keep you up too late last night. How’s your Friday going?

CallMeClove: To be honest, not great. Work was pretty shitty. All kinds of projects exploding at once.