The Copier Saw Everything

The copy room door bursts open and Reed shoves Morgan inside, spinning her to face the humming copier. He pulls his jeans open, hardness springing loose, slick with need, hot and thick. The copier groans under their combined weight. That's the opening — the rest is a tour of every room in the building that has a door that locks.

Copy rooms, Christmas party suites, supply closets, highway motels, elevators. At a Christmas party, she catches his eye with a flick of lashes like a thrown gauntlet. In a supply closet, the lone bulb flickers and she yanks his tie, nails scraping his shirt. At a highway motel, Room 214 has peeling paint and he doesn't make it to the bed — he drives her up against the wall, her heel gouging his ass, and she screams. An elevator shudders to a stop, her soft breasts molding against his chest, warm breath ghosting across his neck.