Chapter 118: Dirty Thoughts in a Conference Room
One week had passed since the office party, since Oliver had brought Del to his secret garden. And for Oliver, work had slipped back into its usual rhythm.
In the open-plan office that afternoon, Winston leaned back in his chair, feet up on the edge of his desk, voice louder than necessary.
“So she texts me at two in the morning, right? ‘Come over.’ I get there, she’s in this tiny robe, and let me tell you, the things she did with her—”
“Winston,” Liza cut in. She stood at the head of the small cluster of desks, tablet in hand, hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. “The client wants updated mockups for the dashboard redesign. Logan needs both of you in the conference room in ten.”
“Will Wyatt be there?” Oliver asked, and he immediately noticed how Liza’s jaw clenched.
“Claire will be there,” Liza just said, then walked away.
Oliver was about to stand up when his phone buzzed, screen lighting up on the desk. It was Del.
Del: Can you grab ice cream on your way home? The kind with the cookie dough chunks. I’m having a craving.
A slow grin spread across Oliver’s face before he could stop it. He typed back quickly.
Oliver: Cookie dough chunks it is. Any other craving, boss?
Del: That’s it, and I’m not your boss.
He chuckled under his breath, thumb hovering over the screen.
Winston noticed. “Well, well. Look at Clarke, smiling at his phone like a teenager. Del?”
Oliver pocketed the phone without answering, but the grin stayed.
Winston let out a low whistle. “Oh, it’s definitely Del...”
“Meeting, Winston. Let’s go,” Oliver cut in, already heading down the hall.
By the time they reached the conference room, Claire was already there, seated at the head of the table as the projector warmed up. She had the focused, no-nonsense air to her; her tablet lay out neatly in front of her. Everyone took seats—Oliver across from Liza, Winston sprawled next to him.
“Alright,” she said, tapping the screen to bring up the first slide. “Blacksmith is one of our strongest prospects this quarter, and they’re looking to overhaul their digital platform from the ground up. Their priorities are clarity, speed, and a user experience that actually converts.” She glanced toward the other end of the table. “Logan, take us through the build.”
Logan stood and advanced the slide. “From a development standpoint, we kept everything lightweight and scalable,” he began. “The interface leans into clean layouts with a clear hierarchy, so users can find what they need without digging….”
Oliver tried to focus. He really did. The slides were good—clean lines, smart color choices. But his phone buzzed again in his pocket…
He slipped it out under the table, keeping his face neutral.
Del: Also, maybe chocolate syrup. For… reasons.
He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. His thumbs were already moving.
Oliver: Reasons, huh? Care to elaborate?
Del: No. You’ll see later.
Oliver’s grin widened. He could picture her saying it with a tiny smirk behind the words.
Across the table, Liza’s eyes flicked toward him. She didn’t say anything, but one perfectly shaped brow lifted.
Oliver nodded along to whatever Logan was saying, but his mind was already halfway out the door, thinking about cookie dough ice cream, chocolate syrup, and Del waiting for him.
Logan was still walking the team through the third design direction when another buzz came through. Oliver kept his phone low, screen angled away from everyone else at the table.
Del: I’m home. Skipped class. Watching a boring movie right now.
He smiled a little and typed back.
Oliver: Bad girl, skipping class. What movie?
Del: Just some random thriller. It’s putting me to sleep.
Oliver glanced up—Claire was nodding along to Logan’s points, Winston doodling on his notepad—then looked down again.
Oliver: If it’s that boring, ditch it. Put on something steamy instead. Something that’ll actually keep you awake…and maybe get you worked up.
A pause. The three dots appeared, then vanished, then came back.
Del: Like what?
Oliver: Plenty of options. 365 Days is on Netflix. Or 9½ Weeks if you’re in the mood for something classic with all that blindfold and food stuff. Secretary’s good too if you want kinky boss vibes. Just pick one that gets you hot.
Another pause. He shifted in his seat, already picturing her on the couch, remote in hand, cheeks pink.
Del: Hmm… actually, I just searched and found this indie one called First Taste.
Oliver’s pulse jumped. He knew exactly what that opening was like.
Oliver: Oh yeah? That’s a bold choice. Tell me when you hit play—especially that first scene.
Del: Already started. Wow. It literally opens with her on her knees… taking him all the way. No buildup, just straight into it.
Oliver swallowed hard, adjusting in his chair as the conference room suddenly felt ten degrees warmer.
Oliver: Yeah. That's insane. She looks right at him the whole time, doesn’t she?.
Del: Yes… It’s making me think about you.
Oliver: Good. Because I’m sitting here in this damn meeting thinking about your pretty mouth doing exactly what she’s doing. You give the best head I’ve ever had, Del. Hands down.
Del: Oliver… you’re in a meeting.
Oliver: Doesn’t matter. I’m hard just picturing you watching that and wanting to drop to your knees for me.
A longer pause. He could practically see her squirming, biting her lip.
Del: I’m thinking about you a lot right now.
Oliver: While you’re watching her go down on him?
Del: Yes
And with that, Oliver’s mind spun. He had never felt this intense toward a woman before, not like this. Past flings had been easy—fun, quick, forgettable. No one had ever made his chest ache. Del did.
And now, he wanted her so badly it scared him. Not just her body—though God, he wanted that too—but her. The way she looked at him was like she saw the real him and still stayed. The way she made him want to be careful, to be better.
Across the table, Logan finished his section, and he and Claire opened the floor for questions. Oliver barely registered it. His phone stayed silent now, but the last message burned in his mind.
Yes.
He shifted again, trying to ease the pressure in his jeans. He couldn’t leave the meeting. Couldn’t touch her. Couldn’t even see her for hours.
Winston leaned over, voice low. “You good, man?”
Oliver forced a grin. “I’m fine.”
He wasn’t fine. He was in deep—deeper than he’d planned, deeper than he knew how to handle.
The meeting dragged on. Oliver nodded at the right moments, asked one vague question to look engaged, but his thoughts stayed locked on her. In the apartment, waiting for him.
When Claire finally wrapped things up, Oliver stood first, phone already in hand. He needed to get out of there.