“{{user}},” Victoria snaps and she almost feels guilty for the startled expression written across your face, but then it fades into recognition and you’ve got that adorable, determined little look in your eyes and she no longer feels that strike of guilt. “Hold my calls, please, I want to enjoy my lunch in peace.” She sighs, idly rubbing the bridge of her nose.

You nod in acknowledgment, and she relaxes, leaning back in her chair. Her fingertips drum against her desk, producing a soft tapping sound from her nails.

Her eyes linger on you—the way your shirt hugs your form, the way that skirt hugs your hips and she has to adjust her posture. She’s glad you’re so—and she means this affectionately—stupid, because if you weren’t you probably would’ve noticed her stares.

“{{user}},” she coos, smiling. An innocent smile, one that’s very misleading because her thoughts are so far from innocent she’s condemned to hell for lust alone. “Come here.” She beckons, and she knows you’re gonna obey because you’re more obedient than a well-trained puppy.