The air in the conference room was a familiar blend of stale coffee, ozone from the overhead projector, and the faint, clean scent of Janice’s perfume. Ten years. A decade of mergers, acquisitions, and gray hairs since they’d both worked the Chicago account together. Now, a corporate reunion of sorts had brought them back to the same table, and for Mark, the space felt impossibly small.
He’d spotted her the moment he walked in. She was standing by the window, silhouetted against the grey cityscape, a vision in a charcoal pencil skirt that hugged her hips with a precision that made his mouth go dry. Her blouse was a soft, silky sapphire, the top two buttons undone to reveal the beginning of a deep, tantalizing cleavage. Her hair, once a mousy brown, was now a rich, honeyed blonde, swept into a sleek, professional chignon that exposed the elegant curve of her neck. This was not the Janice he remembered, the nervous junior associate who’d always bitten her nails at her desk. This was a woman in her prime, a lioness in a tailored suit.
“Mark,” she’d said, her voice a smooth, smoky alto that was new to him. “It’s been a while.”
He’d taken her hand, and the touch was like a jolt of electricity, a spark that traveled from her manicured fingers all the way up his arm and settled low in his gut. Her smile was confident, her eyes, a deep, knowing hazel, held his gaze for a beat longer than was strictly professional. “Janice,” he’d managed, his voice a little rough. “You look… incredible.”
The meeting was a tedious affair of PowerPoint slides and budget spreadsheets. Mark, a senior VP now, was supposed to be leading the presentation, but his focus was shot. Every time Janice shifted in her chair, the soft rustle of her skirt against her stockings was like a whisper in his ear. He watched her casually cross her legs, the nylon-clad calf flexing, and his mind immediately went to darker, more delicious places. He remembered a night years ago, after a brutal late-night deadline, when they’d shared a taxi home. He’d almost kissed her then. A lifetime of “what ifs” demanded his attention now.
He was so lost in the memory that he missed his next cue. “Mark?” Sarah, the junior analyst, nudged him. “The Q3 projections?”
“Right,” he cleared his throat, forcing his gaze to the screen. But he could feel Janice’s eyes on him, a silent, teasing weight. When he finally risked a glance her way, she gave him a slow, deliberate wink. It was a bomb. It detonated all the remaining professionalism in the room.
The meeting finally ended. The other attendees filed out, their chatter a distant drone. Mark was gathering his notes, trying to regain his composure, when Janice approached. She stood close, so close he could smell her perfume—a luxurious blend of vanilla, sandalwood, and something else, something musky and animalistic.
“So, the old firm,” she said, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Still running late-night fire drills?”
“Some things never change,” he replied, his throat tight.
“And some things do,” she said, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. She took a step closer, her breasts brushing against his arm. He felt his cock twitch, hardening instantly. “You look… more confident,” she murmured, her eyes trailing down his body, lingering on the front of his trousers. “I like it.”
“Janice… we’re at work,” he said, the protest sounding weak and pathetic even to his own ears.
“The meeting’s over, Mark,” she said, her hand coming to rest on his chest. Her fingers traced a slow, lazy circle over his heart. “And I remember you never needed an invitation.” She let her hand drift lower, over his stomach, until her fingertips were at the waistband of his slacks. “I’ve been thinking about you for ten years, Mark. About what I let slip away.”
Her fingers found the button of his trousers. The sensation was electric. He reached out, his hand covering hers, his knuckles brushing against the hard outline of his cock. “I never wanted to let you go,” he rasped.
“Prove it,” she breathed, and her hand dipped lower, her fingers wrapping around the length of him through the fabric of his boxers. A low groan escaped his lips. She was bold, her grip confident and firm. She stroked him with slow, deliberate pressure, her eyes locked on his, watching his face contort with pleasure.
“Not here,” he managed, his voice strained.
“Afraid of getting caught?” she teased, her thumb pressing against the head of his cock. He was painfully hard now, straining against his underwear. “I’ve missed that thrill.” She unbuttoned his trousers and slid the zipper down with a decisive rasp. Her hand slipped inside his boxers, and the feel of her cool fingers on his hot, rigid flesh made him hiss in a sharp breath.
“God, Janice,” he groaned. She worked his cock out, freeing it from the confines of his clothes. Her hand was sure, stroking him from base to tip, her thumb swirling through the pre-cum that beaded at the head.
He was at his limit. He grabbed her by the hips and pressed her backwards against the polished mahogany conference table. The thud of her body against the wood was a permission slip she was more than happy to sign. A gasp escaped her lips, but it was a gasp of desire, not protest.
“You’re a goddess,” he growled, his lips finding her neck. He nipped at the sensitive skin, tasting her salty-sweet perfume.
“And I’m tired of being polite,” she countered, reaching down to gather the hem of her skirt. With a sharp, impatient movement, she hiked it up around her waist. The sight of her bare thighs, so smooth and pale above her dark stockings, made his mouth water. She wore no panties. The dark promise of her shaved mound was laid bare before him.
He fell to his knees as if in prayer. He was a man who had everything except this, the one thing he’d always craved. He leaned forward, pressing his parted lips against her inner thigh. She moaned as his tongue traced a slow path upward, toward the slick heat between her legs. The scent of her arousal was a potent drug. He ran his tongue along her slit, tasting her sweet, musky flavor. She bucked her hips, pressing herself against his mouth, her fingers digging into his hair.
“Don’t tease,” she gasped.
He obliged. He parted her folds with his tongue, finding her swollen clit and circling it with a focused, determined rhythm. She cried out, her legs trembling, her heels skidding on the polished floor. He licked and sucked until she was a writhing mess, her hips grinding against his face. Her breathing became ragged, punctuated by short, choked moans.
“Mark… please,” she begged, her voice raw. “I need you inside me. Now.”
He rose, his body humming with a raw, primal need. He aligned the head of his cock with her entrance and, with a single, agonizingly slow thrust, pushed himself deep inside her. She was so wet, so incredibly tight, and the heat of her enveloped him completely. She let out a long, guttural groan as he filled her. Her walls clenched around him, a velvet glove squeezing with exquisite force.
For a moment they stayed like that, frozen in the ultimate act of reunion, connected in the most intimate of ways. Her hazel eyes were dark with lust, her lips parted on a gasp. Her fingers tightened on the edge of the table in a white-knuckled grip.
He began to move. It was slow, deep, and deliberate at first, using his full length to finally claim what he’d missed for so long. He watched her face, the way her eyes rolled back, the way her lips parted as she took all of him. He was in total control, and it was intoxicating.
“Harder,” she commanded, a breathless plea.
He complied. The pace intensified. He was pounding into her now, the sound of their bodies slapping together echoing in the empty room. He gripped her hips, holding her steady as he drove into her, hitting a spot that made her cry out his name. He lowered his head to her cleavage, tearing at the buttons of her blouse, freeing her full, firm breasts. He took her nipple into his mouth, sucking and teasing it with his tongue while his hips maintained their punishing rhythm. She arched her back, pushing her chest into his face.
“Yes, Mark! Yes!” she screamed.
He felt the familiar pressure building, a white-hot coil of pleasure coiling in his gut. He reached between their bodies, finding her slick clit with his thumb and pressing against it while he fucked her. It was the final stroke. She shattered around him, her body convulsing in wave after wave of pulsing orgasm. Her inner walls milked him with a violence that was almost painful.
The sight of her climax, the feeling of her body losing all control, was his undoing. With a guttural groan, he drove himself as deep as he could, and came inside her, a hot, powerful rush of release that seemed to go on for an eternity. His hips stuttered, grinding against her, as he poured every ounce of his pent-up ten years of longing into her.
They collapsed against the table, a tangle of limbs and labored breathing. The room was silent except for the sound of their panting and the faint hum of the computer in the corner. The stale coffee and ozone were now overlaid with the smell of their sweat and sex.
Mark lifted his head, his forehead resting against hers. A slow, lazy smile spread across his face.
“Welcome back, Janice,” he said, his voice thick with satisfaction.
She laughed, a breathy, giddy sound. She pushed him back, a playful glint in her eyes as she smoothed her skirt down, revealing a mischievous smile. “The reunion’s just begun, Mark.” She traced a finger down his chest, letting it linger at his belt line. “I believe there’s a company dinner in an hour.”
He looked at her, his own smile matching hers. The corporate world could wait. He had a decade to make up for, and he intended to spend every second of it trying.
