I could only nod, my world narrowing to the point where our bodies joined, along with the frantic circles of my own finger.
“Come for me, Gabriella,” he commanded, his voice a dark, dirty whisper in my ear. “Come all over my cock.”
That did it. The mix of his words, his body, and the pressure of my hand tipped me fast. The sound that came out of me wasn’t planned, and my back arched as everything tightened around him.
It hit quick and strong, my body clenching in sharp waves. For a few seconds, I couldn’t think or speak. I could only feel him, hear him say my name, and hang on.
As the last tremors subsided, I became aware of him again. His rhythm fractured, his thrusts becoming wild, desperate. He drove into me once, twice more, a guttural groan rumbling through his chest and into mine.
“Gabriella,” he cried out, my name a prayer and a curse as he found his own release.
I felt the final, shuddering collapse of his control. And then he slumped over me, his full weight a comforting, solid presence, his face buried in the crook of my neck. Our ragged breaths mingled in the quiet room, the only sound in the world that mattered.
The moment reality crashed back in, I felt it in the way Eli’s body tensed against mine. He pulled back, his breathing still ragged, and I watched something shift behind his eyes—heat giving way to awareness, then concern.
“Shit.” He stepped away, reaching for his clothes with movements that were too quick, too deliberate. “We’re in my conference room. Anyone could?—”
“It’s after eight.” I sat up, wrapping my arms around myself as the air between us cooled. “No one’s here.”
“That’s not the point.” He began dressing, starting with his boxers and pants. “The optics of this—you’re my employee, Gabriella. This could look like?—”
“Like what?” I slid off the table, finding my own clothes and pulling them on with shaking hands. “Like I slept with you to get ahead? Like you took advantage of your position?”
He turned to face me, and the conflict in his expression made my chest ache. “Yes. Both of those things. People will talk. They’ll assume?—”
“Let them assume.” I stepped toward him, refusing to let him retreat into whatever fortress he was building. “I don’t care what people think, Eli. I care about what happened between us. About what I feel when I’m with you.”
“You should care.” His voice was rough. “Your reputation matters. Your career?—”
“Is mine to manage.” I closed the distance between us, reaching up to cup his face and force him to look at me. “I’m not some naïve kid who doesn’t understand workplace dynamics. I know this is complicated. But I also know what I want.”
“What do you want?”
“You.” The word came out steady, sure. “I want you. Not my boss, not the CEO of Festive Media—just you. The man who helped me finish an article. Who ordered Thai food and listened to me talk about my overprotective parents. Who taught me what a real kiss feels like.”
Something in his expression cracked. “Gabriella?—”
“This isn’t about optics or HR policies or what anyone else thinks.” I held his gaze, willing him to hear me. “This is about us. About two people who found something real in the middle of a conference room surrounded by Thai food containers. And if you’re worried about how it looks, we’ll deal with it. Together. But don’t you dare pull away from me because you’re scared of what other people might say.”
He was quiet for a long moment, his hands coming up to cover mine where they rested against his jaw. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Even if it’s messy?”
“Especially if it’s messy.” I smiled. “Nothing about today has gone according to plan. Why start now?”
He kissed me then—soft and slow and filled with something that felt like promise. When he pulled back, there was a lightness in his expression that hadn’t been there before.
“Come on.” He laced his fingers through mine. “Let’s go home.”
Home. He said it so easily, like it was already decided. Like his penthouse wasn’t nine floors above my apartment. Like we hadn’t just met this morning in a catastrophe of glitter and falling awards.
But as we gathered our things and walked through the dark office toward the elevator, his hand warm and solid in mine, I realized something. It didn’t matter that his home wasn’t mine yet. It didn’t matter that we’d have paperwork to fill out and conversations to have and probably more than a few raised eyebrows to face.
What mattered was the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. The way he touched me like I was precious. The way he said my name like it meant something.
His home would be mine. I was sure of it.
