Indecent Interview

Ana waited in the quiet office. Casey rushed through the door, breath ragged, apologizing for running late. Ana didn't blink. She passed her resume across the desk with steady hands. Casey glanced at the page. Then at Ana. The credentials looked solid. The woman looked better. But the file missing one line—college degree. Company policy. Ironclad. Casey's jaw worked. Ana leaned in, voice low, asking if any exception ever slipped through. Casey studied her, pulse tapping against her throat. After a pause she asked what else Ana could do. Something not written down. Something that might change minds. Ana's lips curved. She stood, circled the desk, and dropped between Casey's knees. Casey froze, one breath away from stopping it. Then Ana's tongue pressed hot against soaked cotton. The protest melted into a groan. Fabric shoved aside. Wet heat licked in urgent strokes. Ana's fingers dug into thighs spread wide, relentless, filthy, perfect. Each flick rewrote the rules. Casey's hips bucked. Papers scattered. The interview turned into a verdict written in gasps and slick desire. One hell of an application.