I leaned back, scanning the office. It was a cathedral of ego—thick rugs, heavy mahogany, and a one-way mirror that looked out over the writhing bodies on the dance floor. It felt like a throne room, and I was about to desecrate it.
"Do you do this often?" I asked, my voice dropping an octave as I circled her. "Bring guys in here to fuck you in your husband's chair? On his desk?"
Cami didn't flinch. She stepped into my space, her palms flat against my chest. I could feel the heat radiating through her leather vest, and the scent of her perfume—something dark, floral, and obscenely expensive—hit me like a drug, making my cock strain against my trousers.
