After Hours
511 Words
The office emptied slowly, one employee at a time.
By 6:13 p.m., Olivia was the last one on the floor. Or so she thought.
She clicked save on her final email, stretched her arms overhead—and froze when she saw the reflection in the glass wall.
Nathaniel. Still here.
Still watching.
He leaned against his office doorway, tie gone, sleeves rolled, that same quiet hunger etched into every line of his body.
“I thought you left,” she said softly.
“I didn’t.”
“You’re staring again.”
“I am.”
She turned in her chair. “Why?”
He didn’t answer. Just walked slowly across the carpet until he was at her desk. Her breathing went shallow.
“I want to take you out,” he said simply.
She blinked. “Like—a date?”
“Yes. With food. And wine. And the very real chance I won’t make it to dessert before dragging you into the nearest bathroom.”
Her body throbbed.
“But,” he added, stepping closer, “if you’d rather skip all that—” he reached for her wrist, pulled her to her feet “—I can take you right here.”
He kissed her.
Slow. Deep. Unhurried.
Like they had all the time in the world.
Her hands curled into his shirt, her mouth opened for him, and he groaned—actually groaned—when her tongue touched his.
“You taste like coffee,” she whispered.
“You taste like trouble.”
“Prove it.”
His eyes darkened. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”
“I do.”
She didn’t even remember how they got to his office.
All she knew was she was against the glass, skirt rucked up, blouse unbuttoned, bra yanked down, his mouth on her breasts and his hips pressed against her heat.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he growled, tugging her panties aside.
She panted against his neck. “Then stop thinking.”
He didn’t tease. He slammed into her.
Hard.
She cried out—more in shock than pain—but he caught her mouth with his before she could be loud.
“Shh,” he whispered, f*****g her slow, deep, relentless. “You want everyone to hear you getting ruined by your boss?”
“Yes,” she whimpered.
He pulled back. Looked into her eyes.
Then really started moving.
Each thrust knocked the air from her lungs. She clawed at his back, nails dragging down muscle as her body gave in.
His hand found her throat—light, controlling.
“Mine,” he rasped. “You know you’re mine.”
“Yes, yes, yes—”
She came hard, clenching around him, and he followed with a low, savage groan, spilling deep inside her as he kissed her like he couldn’t help it.
They collapsed into the leather couch, breathless.
“Was that… your idea of a first date?” she gasped.
He smirked. “That was the appetizer.”
---
- Writer
