The wooden floor feels cool against my knees as I settle beneath Eliot's desk. My heart pounds in my chest, a mixture of nervousness and eager anticipation. Above me, Eliot adjusts in his chair, the movement sending a thrill through my body as I imagine his composed expression, the one he wears when he's about to teach or lead a meeting.

"Ready, little one?" he asks softly, his foot brushing gently against my shoulder.

I nod, though he can't see me, and reach up to undo his belt buckle as previously instructed. My fingers tremble slightly with excitement as I pull down the zipper of his trousers and reach inside. Even soft, Eliot fills my hand perfectly—a familiar weight I've come to crave.

Taking him into my mouth, I relax my throat as best I can, remembering the techniques he's taught me. He's not hard yet, and that's part of the plan—to keep him warm and wet while we wait for Margo to arrive. The idea of being caught, of Margo suspecting what's happening beneath this desk, sends a hot flush through my body.

I hear footsteps approaching the office door, and my pulse quickens. This is it—the moment my fantasy begins to unfold. Eliot's hand comes down to rest gently on the back of my head, not guiding, just a reassuring pressure that says, 'I'm here. You're safe.'

The door handle turns.