The hushed hum of the office air conditioning was the only sound, a constant, low thrum that seemed to amplify the silence left behind by my departed colleagues. My screen glowed, a rectangle of unfinished spreadsheets and unanswered emails that I’d told my husband, Mark, I absolutely had to finish. That part, at least, was true. The other part, the part I hadn’t voiced to anyone, not even to myself until this very week, was the magnetic pull of the man in the corner office.Liam’s door opened, and my pulse did a little stutter-step. I kept my eyes locked on a column of numbers, pretending I hadn’t been waiting for this exact moment for the last hour.“Burning the midnight oil, Elise?” His voice was a low, smooth baritone that seemed to soak into the quiet room.I looked up, hoping my face didn’t betray the sudden warmth flooding my cheeks. “Trying to get a head start on the Q2 projections. It’s easier without the usual distractions.”He moved around my desk, a study in controlled confidence in his tailored shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “Let me take a look.” He leaned over my shoulder, his chest a solid, warm presence just behind me. The clean, crisp scent of his cologne-washed skin filled my space, and I had to focus on breathing normally. His hand came to rest on the back of my chair, his fingers dangerously close to my shoulder.I pointed to a figure on the screen, my voice surprisingly steady. “I’m not sure about the conversion rate here. It seems…”His fingers moved. Not on the chair. On me. A slow, deliberate slide that landed on my thigh, just above my knee. The touch was electric, a bolt of pure, undiluted want that shot straight through the thin fabric of my pencil skirt.I froze. Every rational thought in my head screamed stop, this is wrong, you have a husband at home. But my body… my body was screaming something else entirely. It was a silent, primal scream of yes.He didn’t say a word. He just waited, his hand a heavy, warm weight on my leg, his eyes on the screen as if we were still discussing metrics. The silence stretched, thick with possibility. My heart hammered against my ribs. This is the line. This is where you stop it.Instead, I let out a shaky breath I didn’t know I’d been holding and, ever so slightly, parted my thighs.It was the smallest of invitations. It was all he needed.A low, approving sound rumbled in his chest. His head dipped, and his lips found the sensitive skin of my neck just below my ear. It wasn’t a tentative kiss; it was possessive, knowing. His stubble scraped gently, a delicious friction that made me gasp and arch my back without meaning to. Oh god.My head fell back against his shoulder as his mouth worked a trail down my neck, his free hand coming up to cup my jaw, tilting my face to his. When his lips finally found mine, it wasn’t a question. It was an answer. The kiss was hungry, deep, all tongue and heat and a desperation that mirrored my own. I twisted in my chair to face him, my hands coming up to clutch at the crisp cotton of his shirt, pulling him closer.He broke the kiss, his breathing ragged, his eyes dark with a fire I’d only ever imagined. “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time,” he murmured, his thumb stroking my cheek.“Me too,” I breathed, the admission shocking me as much as it seemed to thrill him.In one fluid motion, he stood, pulling me up with him. My back pressed against the edge of my desk as his hands went to the buttons of my blouse. His fingers, usually so precise and efficient with a keyboard, fumbled slightly, a hint of nerves that made this feel terrifyingly real. One button. Then another. The silky fabric fell open, and his gaze dropped to the lace of my bra.“You are so beautiful, Elise,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire. His palms slid up my bare waist, his thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts, making me shudder. He unhooked the clasp with practiced ease, and my bra loosened. He didn’t pull it off, just pushed the cups aside, his hands finally, finally closing over me. A sharp, pleasurable gasp escaped my lips. His touch was firm, possessive, his thumbs circling my nipples until they were hard, aching points against his palms.I was lost in the sensation, in the wrongness and the rightness of it all, when my phone, discarded on the desk, erupted in a shrill, unmistakable ringtone.The sound was a bucket of ice water.We both froze. His hands stilled on my breasts. My eyes, wide with panic, shot to the screen. Mark. The FaceTime call graphic pulsed like a warning siren.“Oh my god,” I choked out, my blood running cold. “It’s my husband.”Liam’s eyes flickered to the phone, then back to me. A slow, dangerous smirk touched his lips. He didn’t move away. Instead, he leaned in closer, his mouth hovering by my ear. “Answer it,” he whispered, his voice a dark, thrilling challenge.“I can’t,” I hissed, trying to push his hands away, but my body was betraying me, leaning into his touch.“If you don’t, he’ll know something’s wrong.” His logic was infuriating, terrifying, and absolutely correct. My mind raced. Mark would be suspicious if I ignored a call this late. I always answered.With a trembling hand, I reached for the phone. My blouse was hanging open, my skirt was rumpled, and Liam was still pressed against me, a dark secret just out of the camera’s view. I took one shaky, steadying breath and swiped to answer.Mark’s familiar, tired face filled the screen. “Hey, babe.”I forced a smile, hoping the flush on my cheeks looked like exhaustion. “Hey.” My voice came out a little too high. Behind me, I felt Liam’s hand slide from my breast, down over my stomach, and under the hem of my skirt. I stiffened.“You still at the office?” Mark asked, his brow furrowed with concern.“Yeah,” I said, my breath catching as Liam’s fingers traced the edge of my panties. I could feel his smirk against my back. I bit my lip, hard. “Just… finishing up some stuff.”He chuckled. “Don’t stay too late. You look tired.”Tired. God, if only he knew. Liam’s fingers slipped beneath the silk, his touch igniting a fire on my skin. He found the sensitive bundle of nerves and applied a gentle, circling pressure that made my knees buckle. I clenched the edge of the desk, my knuckles white.I forced another smile, praying the camera didn’t pick up the sheer panic and pleasure warring in my eyes. “I’ll be home soon, okay?” My voice wavered dangerously.“Alright, babe. Love you.”“Love you too,” I whispered, and my finger stabbed at the screen to end the call, my entire body trembling with the effort of staying quiet and still.The screen went black.The second it did, the dam broke. A strangled, relieved moan tore from my throat as I collapsed forward onto the desk, my phone clattering away. Liam’s arms wrapped around me, pulling me tight against him.“You,” he growled into my hair, his own breathing ragged, “are incredible.”And as his hand began to move again, slow and deliberate, I knew this was only the beginning. My choice had been made. The real question was…

The hushed hum of the office air conditioning was the only sound, a constant, low thrum that seemed to amplify the silence left behind by my departed colleagues. My screen glowed, a rectangle of unfinished spreadsheets and unanswered emails that I’d told my husband, Mark, I absolutely had to finish. _That part_, at least, was true. The other part, the part I hadn’t voiced to anyone, not even to myself until this very week, was the magnetic pull of the man in the corner office.

Liam’s door opened, and my pulse did a little stutter-step. I kept my eyes locked on a column of numbers, pretending I hadn’t been waiting for this exact moment for the last hour.

“Burning the midnight oil, Elise?” His voice was a low, smooth baritone that seemed to soak into the quiet room.

I looked up, hoping my face didn’t betray the sudden warmth flooding my cheeks. “Trying to get a head start on the Q2 projections. It’s easier without the usual distractions.”

He moved around my desk, a study in controlled confidence in his tailored shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “Let me take a look.” He leaned over my shoulder, his chest a solid, warm presence just behind me. The clean, crisp scent of his cologne-washed skin filled my space, and I had to focus on breathing normally. His hand came to rest on the back of my chair, his fingers dangerously close to my shoulder.

I pointed to a figure on the screen, my voice surprisingly steady. “I’m not sure about the conversion rate here. It seems…”

His fingers moved. Not on the chair. On me. A slow, deliberate slide that landed on my thigh, just above my knee. The touch was electric, a bolt of pure, undiluted _want_ that shot straight through the thin fabric of my pencil skirt.

I froze. Every rational thought in my head screamed _stop, this is wrong, you have a husband at home_. But my body… my body was screaming something else entirely. It was a silent, primal scream of _yes_.

He didn’t say a word. He just waited, his hand a heavy, warm weight on my leg, his eyes on the screen as if we were still discussing metrics. The silence stretched, thick with possibility. My heart hammered against my ribs. _This is the line. This is where you stop it._

Instead, I let out a shaky breath I didn’t know I’d been holding and, ever so slightly, parted my thighs.

It was the smallest of invitations. It was all he needed.

A low, approving sound rumbled in his chest. His head dipped, and his lips found the sensitive skin of my neck just below my ear. It wasn’t a tentative kiss; it was possessive, knowing. His stubble scraped gently, a delicious friction that made me gasp and arch my back without meaning to. _Oh god._

My head fell back against his shoulder as his mouth worked a trail down my neck, his free hand coming up to cup my jaw, tilting my face to his. When his lips finally found mine, it wasn’t a question. It was an answer. The kiss was hungry, deep, all tongue and heat and a desperation that mirrored my own. I twisted in my chair to face him, my hands coming up to clutch at the crisp cotton of his shirt, pulling him closer.

He broke the kiss, his breathing ragged, his eyes dark with a fire I’d only ever imagined. “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time,” he murmured, his thumb stroking my cheek.

“Me too,” I breathed, the admission shocking me as much as it seemed to thrill him.

In one fluid motion, he stood, pulling me up with him. My back pressed against the edge of my desk as his hands went to the buttons of my blouse. His fingers, usually so precise and efficient with a keyboard, fumbled slightly, a hint of nerves that made this feel terrifyingly real. One button. Then another. The silky fabric fell open, and his gaze dropped to the lace of my bra.

“You are so beautiful, Elise,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire. His palms slid up my bare waist, his thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts, making me shudder. He unhooked the clasp with practiced ease, and my bra loosened. He didn’t pull it off, just pushed the cups aside, his hands finally, finally closing over me. A sharp, pleasurable gasp escaped my lips. His touch was firm, possessive, his thumbs circling my nipples until they were hard, aching points against his palms.

I was lost in the sensation, in the wrongness and the rightness of it all, when my phone, discarded on the desk, erupted in a shrill, unmistakable ringtone.

The sound was a bucket of ice water.

We both froze. His hands stilled on my breasts. My eyes, wide with panic, shot to the screen. __Mark.__ The FaceTime call graphic pulsed like a warning siren.

“Oh my god,” I choked out, my blood running cold. “It’s my husband.”

Liam’s eyes flickered to the phone, then back to me. A slow, dangerous smirk touched his lips. He didn’t move away. Instead, he leaned in closer, his mouth hovering by my ear. “Answer it,” he whispered, his voice a dark, thrilling challenge.

“I can’t,” I hissed, trying to push his hands away, but my body was betraying me, leaning into his touch.

“If you don’t, he’ll know something’s wrong.” His logic was infuriating, terrifying, and absolutely correct. My mind raced. Mark would be suspicious if I ignored a call this late. I always answered.

With a trembling hand, I reached for the phone. My blouse was hanging open, my skirt was rumpled, and Liam was still pressed against me, a dark secret just out of the camera’s view. I took one shaky, steadying breath and swiped to answer.

Mark’s familiar, tired face filled the screen. “Hey, babe.”

I forced a smile, hoping the flush on my cheeks looked like exhaustion. “Hey.” My voice came out a little too high. Behind me, I felt Liam’s hand slide from my breast, down over my stomach, and under the hem of my skirt. I stiffened.

“You still at the office?” Mark asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Yeah,” I said, my breath catching as Liam’s fingers traced the edge of my panties. I could feel his smirk against my back. I bit my lip, hard. “Just… finishing up some stuff.”

He chuckled. “Don’t stay too late. You look tired.”

_Tired. God, if only he knew._ Liam’s fingers slipped beneath the silk, his touch igniting a fire on my skin. He found the sensitive bundle of nerves and applied a gentle, circling pressure that made my knees buckle. I clenched the edge of the desk, my knuckles white.

I forced another smile, praying the camera didn’t pick up the sheer panic and pleasure warring in my eyes. “I’ll be home soon, okay?” My voice wavered dangerously.

“Alright, babe. Love you.”

“Love you too,” I whispered, and my finger stabbed at the screen to end the call, my entire body trembling with the effort of staying quiet and still.

The screen went black.

The second it did, the dam broke. A strangled, relieved moan tore from my throat as I collapsed forward onto the desk, my phone clattering away. Liam’s arms wrapped around me, pulling me tight against him.

“You,” he growled into my hair, his own breathing ragged, “are incredible.”

And as his hand began to move again, slow and deliberate, I knew this was only the beginning. My choice had been made. The real question was…

A woman stays late at the office, drawn to her boss by an undeniable attraction. As they give in to their desires, she must navigate the thrill and danger of a forbidden encounter while on a video call with her unsuspecting husband. The narrative explores themes of infidelity, power dynamics, and the exhilarating risk of being caught.

My husband facetimed me while I was getting fucked by my boss

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