She licked her lips. In her mind, they were caressing the lips of her boss, Mycroft Holmes. His lips, so soft like an angel food cake, but slightly tart as well. In her imagination, she felt his warm breath enter her nose as no words were needed to express their love. It was understood.
Her fingers ran down the arm of his fine suit. Oh, how she yearned to rip it off him, but even in her fantasies she held herself back. But no, why care? Why even pretend that their love was anything but true? And so, she loosened his tie as he removed her necklace. His fingers were so soft. Like his voice, so gentle it was almost sinister.
She dared not look at him in her work for fear that he might see what he meant to her. But here, in the private places of her mind, they could be free. And now they gazed into each others' eyes as the fabrics both of clothing and decorum slowly fell to the ground, the thin boundaries of society's conventions being peeled away, one layer at a time.
The portrait of the queen gazed down in disapproval. Surely two agents of Her Majesty's Government should not behave like this in the workplace. Surely this was both the wrong place and the wrong time for such primitive desires. But of course, neither of them cared as silk gave way to skin and the lover's embrace ensued.
His fingers ran down her back as she ran hers through his hair. The moment was perfect, nothing could break this magic spell as the whiff of his personal smell intoxicated her. Like fresh pies in a bakery. Cinnamon and apples. She licked him. And he tasted good. Before she knew it, she had bit gently into his collarbone, and he was sniffing her hair. The final shreds of their clothing—
"How's the surveillance going?"
Anthea snapped out of her fantasy. "Just fine, sir," she replied. "We have the cameras up and broadcasting."
"Thank you," replied Mycroft, returning to his desk.
To him, she was nothing. To her, he was everything. It was good to work for the British government. It was good to have her job.