I step into the hallway of the 7th floor office. Door clicks shut behind me. Footsteps echo softly from the corridor. Heart skips. It’s her. Anne Ruelle. My first customer from the shop. The one I ate out on the counter. Her eyes widen. Mine too. We freeze. ‘What are you doing here?’ she whispers. Shock hangs thick. Recognition hits like a punch. She recovers fast. ‘Follow me.’ Her heels click on the parquet. Faint creak underfoot. We pass empty desks. Dim lights filter through blinds. Paris night glows outside windows. Beaubourg buzzes below. She leads to her warm office. Thick carpet muffles steps. Mahogany desk. Leather chairs. She sits. Tailleur rouge hugs curves. Top black, sheer. Neck long, inviting. I drop my jacket. Eyes lock. Tension crackles. We talk business. Lease bullshit. Her voice professional, but cheeks flush. Hour passes. Relaxed now. Need coffee. She jokes about spills. Laughs bubble up. Follow her ass to break room. Legs endless. Skirt rides high. Room empty. Machine hums. Coffee scalds my lips. Tea burns hers. ‘Ouch.’ I grab water. Close in. Hands on her face. Lips brush. Soft. Tentative. Then hungry. Tongues dance. Wet. Hot. Jacket slips off. Top next. Tits bare. Nipples harden under tongue. Fabric whispers down. Laughter at spilled tea. Foolish. Freeing. Pull her to wall. Away from puddle. Kiss neck. Suck tits. Pinch. Bite. Skirt unzips. Falls. Naked but heels. Pussy shaved, dripping. Finger slides in. Easy. Hot. She moans low. Hand on my cock. Hard as rock. Unzips. Strokes. ‘Fuck me now.’