Hot Coffee & Cold Showers
567 Words
The morning started innocently enough.
Olivia had just finished printing out the quarterly reports when she heard Nathaniel’s voice from behind her.
“Morning, Miss Lane.”
She turned around with a bright, too-practiced smile. “Mr. Blackwell.”
“Sleep well?”
His eyes sparkled, mischievous.
She blinked. “Like a rock.”
“Hmm. Pity. I didn’t.”
She walked away without responding, cheeks already warm.
But fate, apparently, wasn’t done with her. Because five minutes later, with a tray of coffees in hand and her eyes on her phone, she turned a corner—and slammed right into him.
The tray tilted. The cups wobbled. And before she could react, splat—coffee poured down her blouse, hot and humiliating.
She gasped, freezing, as the dark liquid soaked through the white silk. Her bra—lacy and black, of course—immediately became visible.
Nathaniel’s eyes dropped.
And stayed there.
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.
“I—uh—I’ll… buy you a new one?” he offered, clearly trying not to smirk.
“You’re staring.”
“Because you’re scalded. Medically concerned, of course.”
“You’re going to combust.”
He cleared his throat, but his eyes lingered far too long.
“Go. Change,” he said, sounding strained. “I’ll… clean this up.”
She turned on her heel and stormed toward the bathroom, but not before hearing him mutter under his breath:
“…not how I imagined seeing that bra today.”
---
The damage was minimal. A bit of redness on her chest. Her pride? Shattered. She dabbed herself dry with paper towels and cursed her life choices.
One night stand. With your boss. Great idea, Olivia.
Back at her desk, she typed furiously, ignoring the occasional glances from across the glass wall of his office. When lunchtime rolled around, she made the mistake of entering the break room.
He was already there.
“Hey,” he said softly, offering her a mug. “Peace offering.”
She took it warily. “Does it come with a restraining order?”
He grinned. “You can sue me if you like. I’ve got good lawyers. But I’m pretty sure they’d be too distracted by the sight of you in that soaked blouse to focus.”
She nearly choked on her sip.
“Do you ever stop?” she muttered.
He stepped closer. Too close. His voice dropped.
“Only when I’m sleeping. And even then… I dream about that night.”
Her body betrayed her—shivering slightly at the way his voice dipped.
“I remember everything, Olivia. The way you begged. The way you gasped. How you tasted when I—”
“Stop.”
He leaned in, his lips inches from her ear.
“Why? You’re shaking.”
“I’m angry.”
“You’re aroused.”
She backed away. “I’m going to lunch.”
He watched her leave, eyes burning. “Enjoy your cold shower.”
---
That night, she did take one.
And she hated how long she stayed under it.
And how her hand drifted between her thighs, remembering the sound of his voice, the heat in his eyes, the way he said her name—
“Olivia.”
She bit her lip.
And came harder than she wanted to admit.
Alone.
---
- Writer
