There’s a particular kind of tension that sneaks up on you—
the kind that coils slowly, deliberately, wrapping around your nerves until you’re breathing just a little too deeply for whatever “professional task” you’re supposed to be doing.
That was me this morning.
Door half-closed.
Lights soft.
Blazer fitted a little too perfectly.
A mood I couldn’t shake even if I’d wanted to.
The heels came off because I needed to feel something other than structure—skin on warm wood, toes curling slightly as I stretched out across my desk like it was meant for my body, not my paperwork. My skirt slid up with the movement… not by much, but enough that I felt the air kiss a little more of my thigh than usual.
I didn’t pull it back down.
My phone was against my ear, but the call had faded into meaningless noise. What mattered was the way I shifted in my chair—slow, controlled, as if I were testing the limits of my own self-restraint. The fabric of my blouse tugged just a little when I leaned back, hinting at curves that were suddenly far too aware of themselves.
Every breath felt like a dare.
Every small movement sent a warm spark racing under my skin.
I ran a fingertip along the inside of my wrist, then up my arm, then across my collar, feeling the closeness of my own body in a way that was almost too intimate for daylight hours. My voice, when I finally did answer a question on the call, came out lower—velvet-smooth, warm enough that the person on the other end paused, sensing a shift they couldn’t name.
If only they knew.
The way I let my head fall back.
The way my knees drifted slightly apart without thinking.
The way my breath caught when I brushed a strand of hair away from my lips.
No one was watching…
but it felt like someone could be.
And that thrill—the almost of it—sent a shiver through me that was far more powerful than anything I’d expected when I walked into the office this morning.
By the time the call ended, my heart was beating faster than it had any right to.
I sat there for a moment, legs still stretched out, chest rising and falling in slow, heated waves, letting the afterglow of that private tension melt through me.
Some moments aren’t meant to be shared.
But this one…
I’m letting you have just a piece of.
Love ya,
Jessi
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