Puretaboo
Tiffany Watson, Jason Moody Pic(s)
The air in the executive suite hummed with a different kind of electricity, a current that seemed to arc directly from his commanding gaze to the slow, deliberate sway of her hips as she crossed the plush carpet. Each click of her impossibly high heels was a tiny, sharp punctuation in the quiet room, a sound that made his jaw tighten with anticipation. She paused before the vast desk, not as a subordinate but as a provocation, her scarlet-tipped fingers trailing lightly across the polished mahogany surface. The thin, silky fabric of her dress clung to every curve, whispering secrets with her slightest movement, the deep neckline a daring invitation his eyes could not refuse. A knowing, languid smile played upon her glossed lips as she leaned forward, the scent of her expensive perfume, something dark and floral, wrapping around him like an invisible caress. He watched, utterly captivated, as a stray strand of platinum hair fell agat her cheek, a stark contrast to the sun-kissed skin she so often displayed. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was a low, honeyed murmur that promised compliance laced with delicious defiance, each syllable designed to unravel his control. This was their unspoken ritual, a dance of power and submission where the lines of authority blurred into pure, aching desire. In that suspended moment, she was the most potent distraction, a living fantasy he willingly surrendered to, again and again.
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