The office was empty.
Everyone had gone home hours ago. The lights were dim, the city glittered outside floor-to-ceiling windows, and the only sound was the quiet hum of printers sleeping and the occasional whisper of wind brushing the glass.
Lianne and Marcus weren’t supposed to be there. But the boardroom was quiet, locked, and private.
And Ronan—their business partner for the project—had stayed behind too.
He was leaning against the long table when they returned from the rooftop, tie undone, jacket gone. He looked at Lianne the way he had all week during meetings: like he was trying not to imagine what she sounded like when she stopped pretending to behave.
She didn’t pretend anymore.
“You stayed late,” she said, unbuttoning her blouse with a grin.
“So did you” Ronan murmured.
Marcus sat in the boardroom chair, watching as Lianne walked over to Ronan and kissed him. It was soft. Then hungry. Then filthy. Ronan lifted her onto the table, spreading her legs, her lace already damp beneath his touch.
Marcus stroked himself silently, the room filled with breathy gasps and the distant sound of traffic far below.
Ronan dropped to his knees, eating Lianne out like he had all the time in the world, while Marcus watched, hard. Lianne moaned his name—Marcus—as Ronan flicked his tongue harder, slower, deeper.
Then Marcus stood and came behind her, sliding into her with ease while Ronan kissed her, fingers working in rhythm as the table creaked beneath them. The glass walls reflected everything—their bodies, their mouths, the way they all looked at each other like they’d wanted this for far too long.
No one was in charge. But everyone was in control.
They came one after another, and then again—sweat-slicked, breathless, backs arched and hands gripping polished wood.
After, Lianne adjusted her blouse. Ronan leaned back in the chair Marcus had used. No one said anything for a long moment.
Then Marcus smirked.
“Same time next quarter?”
Ronan grinned.
“I’ll clear my schedule.”