I yank his tie loose, fumbling, laughing breathlessly when it catches. He smirks, that dark, ruined sort of smirk, and helps me pull it free, tugging it from around his collar with one sharp motion.
Then his hands are under my top, warm, confident, sliding higher, dragging the fabric with them.
He pauses. His forehead presses to mine. A tiny breath of space. A question.
“You should tell me to stop,” he whispers. I shake my head, my fists still clutching his shirt. “Fuck it,” he mutters. His mouth claims mine, fierce and hungry, like he’s been holding this in for years and it’sfinallyallowed to exist.
Clothes come away in frantic, fumbling movements, shirts lifted, buttons undone, fabric hitting the floor. He lowers me onto the desk, papers scattering as he shoves them away, then his body is between my knees, his hands roaming everywhere.
His mouth moves along my neck, down my chest, and he cups my breast, bringing it to his lips. His hot tongue circles the bud, and my head falls back in pleasure. It’s been too long since I last felt this kind of need, so I push all sensible thoughts from my mind as I loosen his belt. His eyes burn into mine, so full of desire, I can’t breathe. I wanthim,all of him, every rough edge and sharp corner and burning, aching need that lives beneath his skin.
The desk digs into the backs of my thighs, but I don’t care.His body crowds mine, firm and solid andthere.Kisses turn deeper, slower, like he suddenly needs to feel every second of this, to swallow every breath I take.
My back arches into him, fingertips tracing across my damp skin. He shudders when my nails drag lightly along his spine.
“Leoni …” he groans, the sound rough enough to make my whole body tremble.
His fingers find the lace of my underwear, moving it to one side and slipping his fingers there. He rubs slow circles over my swollen clit, and I pant breathlessly, knowing I need more.
As if he senses it, he lifts me again, his hands sure on my hips, and I wrap around him instinctively, trusting him to hold me like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His erection presses at my entrance, and as he slides into me, he fists my hair, tugging my head back and getting access to my neck. His kisses become frantic the deeper he sinks into me, and when I'm sure I can’t take any more, he presses me against the wall and slams into me harder. I cry out, and his hand finds my mouth, covering it to muffle the sound. We move together, breathing hard, mouths pressed to shoulders, neck, jaw, anywhere we can reach.Chasing each other, holding on, unravelling and coming undone at the same time.
The world falls away.
He follows me over the edge, his grip tightening, his forehead pressed to my shoulder, breath shaking against my skin like the world just shifted under his feet.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
We’re tangled. Breathing the same uneven breath in the dim light of the office.
And then he slides me down his body. My feet hitting the rough carpet. My heart is hammering against my ribs so hard it hurts.
Then he goes still.
A breath leaves him, slow and controlled, the way people breathe when they’re shutting doors in their own mind.
He steps back just enough that I feel cold where his body had been. He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t look anywhere. Just dragsa hand over his jaw like he’s trying to erase the last ten minutes from existence.
“This shouldn’t have happened,” he says, his voice empty, void of any emotion.
I swallow, my throat burning with humiliation. “Right. Yeah. I—I know.”
I don’t know. I don’t knowanything.
I reach for my blouse where it’s fallen to the floor, but my hands are shaking.Pathetic. I fumble the buttons three times before I even get one done.
He watches. Not helping. Justwatching.
His expression is unreadable, and somehow, that’s so much worse than anger.
“You said you didn’t want messy,” he mutters.
The words knock the air out of my lungs.
I pull my hair back, fingers trembling. “I said that because I knew this would happen.”
He flinches. It’s tiny, but I see it. Silence thickens between us. Heavy and suffocating.
I want to tell him I didn’t mean it like that. I want to tell him I didn’t expect any of this.I want to tell him that for the first time in days, hours, minutes—I didn’t feel hollow. Instead, I pull my skirt on, then collect my bra off the floor.
