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But his finger—his finger knowsexactlywhat it’s doing.

He finds my clit with the pad of his middle finger and presses down. I’ve never tried harder not to scream.

He lingers there for a moment, until I notice I’m starting to squirm and rock, craving more. In response, his finger begins to move.

Not fast—God, no, nothing about this is fast. He draws tiny, precise circles against that swollen bundle of nerves. It feels like he’s writing his name there. Signing me.

My thighs tremble. I press my lips together until they go numb.

Then he changes course. Two fingers slide through my wetness, gathering it, spreading it. He drags that slickness back up to my clit and the glide becomes frictionless andperfect.

The heel of his palm grinds against my pubic bone while his fingertips work. He finds a pattern that uncorks me: slow circle, press, release. Slow circle, press, release. Building something molten in my core.

I’m drenched. I can feel it soaking through my underwear, probably running down my legs.

As he continues, the internal pressure builds and builds. My vision goes spotty. The presentation slides become meaningless smears of color.

Kir is still talking, but the words he’s using are basically nonsensical to me at this point. They belong to a world where I’m not being finger-fucked by his father in plain sight.

Lukas increases the pace just slightly, and that’s all it takes.

The orgasm pours through me like a silent scream. My toes curl inside my flats. I don’t make a sound or move an inch—I just sit there, still in my chair, while my body detonates from the inside out.

Not once does Lukas glance my way.

When I finally come back to my senses, his hand withdraws as casually as it arrived and smooths my skirt back down over my thighs before returning to rest on his own knee.

No one in the conference room has any idea that I just came.

Kir wraps up with something about “next steps” and “alignment sessions,” but it’s just white noise. I’m busy trying to remember how to arrange my face into something that doesn’t screamI just had an orgasm in front of my coworkers.

To my side, Lukas reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a black silk pocket square.

As I watch, he unfolds it. Then he begins to wipe his hand. Each finger, one by one, in full view of everyone at the table. Cleaningmy juicesoff of his scarred knuckles.

The Finance guy glances over, then looks away with a frown. The woman from Legal doesn’t even notice. ButInotice. I feel every single stroke of silk against skin like he’s doing it to me.

When he’s finished, he tucks the pocket square back into his breast pocket.

“Best of luck with this bold new initiative,” Lukas says to Kir. “I look forward to seeing the results.”

He stands. Buttons his jacket.

And then he walks out of the room.

Soon afterward, the meeting breaks up. People file out in twos and threes, clutching their laptops and coffee cups. I wait until they’re mostly gone, then I rise on shaky legs.

My underwear is ruined. Completely destroyed. I can feel the evidence of what just happened with every movement, a slick reminder that I am a sick, sick individual.

I’m almost to the door when a hand closes around my elbow.

“Rae.”

I turn to find Kir squinting at me with concern.

“You look flushed.” His brow creases. “Are you feeling alright? Did that asshole do something to you?”

My knees threaten to buckle. I lock them through sheer force of will.