Kelly's receptionist job at a respectable firm requires her to present a professional image at all times. When her hunky boyfriend Brad suggests a quick lunchtime encounter, they soon begin sexting. She can't ignore his amorous comments, but will she be able to keep her cool until he arrives in his car to satisfy her? Warning: This story is 3,500 words of pure red-hot filth, containing public sex, sexting, oral sex, extremely unprofessional behaviour, and the back seat of a car. Excerpt: He'd texted again. "The parking lot at your building has the weird bit round the side that nobody uses, right?" And she made a mistake. "Sure, why?" she texted back. And as soon as she hit 'send', she knew exactly why he was asking, and she closed her eyes in frustration with herself. That was as good as a come-on. And he didn't disappoint. "Well I could always drive over there, walk into the lobby." "Brad!" She realized later that subconsciously, she hadn't said 'no'. She'd protested, but she'd never said 'no'. She was playing the game just as much as he was. "I love a professional looking woman". Now Kelly did blush. She got up, went to the water cooler, and got herself a big glass of water, breathing carefully all the way. "You look great in a jacket and blouse, babe" was waiting for her when she got back. For a moment she wondered if she could get away with taking a selfie for him, and forced the urge hard back down inside her. "Professional women don't sext" she tapped out, eyes flicking up to the clock. Half an hour before the meeting. The big cheeses would be arriving any moment now. Buzz. "I'm thinking about eating you out now, babe". Her eyes widened and she gasped. She desperately tried to focus on her job, but it was no good. It was like trying not to think about a giant pink elephant. It demanded attention. She clamped her thighs together and stared at the doors. Yes, they were starting to arrive now. They needed to see a Face of the Company, not a hormonal teenager. The hell of it was, they were barely even paying any notice to her; just breezing past in a waft of double breasted suits and obnoxious cologne. The messages piled up, one after the other, her unable to look away when a new one arrived, much as she wanted to.