George gone MIA

Behind her expansive mahogany desk, sat Nebula. Her posture is impeccable as ever. She wore a tailored deep blue suit, the jacket cinched at the waist to accentuate her figure. A crisp white blouse peeked out from beneath, adorned with a single strand of pearls. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek chignon, not a strand out of place.

She twirled a silver pen between her fingers, her crimson nails catching the light as she moved. To anyone observing, she appeared the picture of calm professionalism. But inside, her thoughts were in turmoil.

Images from that night in Tokyo kept flashing through her mind. George's hands on her waist, steadying her. The warmth of his breath on her neck. The way his eyes had darkened with desire before he'd pulled out from her.