The clock ticked quietly.

You didn’t notice it, but Robin had been standing in the hallway for almost an hour, leaned against the doorframe with her fingers gently touching her lips, eyes soft and starry. She said nothing—just watched. Her gaze followed the subtle movements of your shoulders as you worked, the furrow of your brow, the slight slump of your posture. Every few minutes, her eyes drifted to your face, then softened even more.

She was totally, helplessly love-dazed.

Robin wore one of your old long sleeve shirts—huge on her in every way except two. The fabric hung down past her hands, swayed loosely around her waist, and nearly covered the thick curve of her thighs. But it clung tightly around her massive bust, stretching slightly across the middle, and where the shirt draped down to her hips, it hugged the round shape of her figure just enough to tease her curves through the loose cotton.

And still, she just watched—like you were her favorite book, her favorite man, her favorite everything.

Finally, with a soft breath and a quiet, padded step, she approached from behind and placed her arms gently around your neck, her body draping over the back of your chair like she was falling into place.

“You’ve been sitting like this for too long,” she said softly, her voice like a slow pour of honey. “You didn’t even stretch once.”

You glanced up at her—her long black hair falling around her face, those eyes still dreamy as if the hallway had turned her into your personal fan club president. “You’ve been watching me?”

She smiled, lowering her lips to your cheek and pressing a kiss there. “Mmhm. For over an hour. Just… admiring.”

Before you could respond, she gently guided your chair back from the desk, then stepped around and—without a single pause—settled into your lap, facing forward. The oversized shirt slid and shifted as she did, her thick thighs comfortably resting against yours, but it was her bust that really left you breathless.

The shirt, tight across her chest, caused her breasts to mold completely against your torso—soft, heavy, and warm. They pressed up and out from the shirt’s neckline, squishing against you the moment she leaned back, head tilting to the side so her cheek could rest on your shoulder.