"Because you enjoyed it," he counters, stepping closer with that infuriating confidence. "Every second. Every risk. You enjoyed not knowing if we'd be caught. Enjoyed the danger of it."
I hate that he's right. I hate the flush creeping back up my neck, the way my body is already responding to his proximity again despite the close call.
I shove at his chest. Solid as a wall. "Let me down."
He complies, setting me on my feet with surprising gentleness. I immediately feel the loss of his warmth, his support. My legs are still unsteady.
My skirt is wrinkled. My blouse is half-unbuttoned. My carefully styled hair has come loose from its clips.
"I look like I was physically assaulted by a wild animal," I mutter, dabbing ineffectually at the reddened skin.
"Technically speaking," Thraka says, and his grin widens into something absolutely feral, "you were. Just not the way HR would define it."
I grab a paper towel from the shelf, dampening it at the small utility sink in the corner. My reflection in the polished metal paper towel dispenser is appalling. Smudged eyeliner. Kiss-swollen lips. A visible mark on my neck that will definitely show above my collar.
"This is a nightmare."
"This is the most relaxed I've seen you." He buttons his suit jacket, somehow managing to look only slightly rumpled despite what we just did. Unfair. "You should thank me."
"Thank you?" I spin to face him, wielding the damp paper towel like a weapon. "You just compromised my entire professional reputation."
"No one saw," he says, as if that somehow absolves us of this catastrophic lapse in judgment. As if the absence of witnesses makes it acceptable that I just let him bend me over a shelf full of office supplies.
"That's not the point," I snap, scrubbing at my neck harder than necessary, watching in the distorted reflection as the mark only seems to darken with my efforts.
"Then what is the point, Little Manager?" He steps closer, invading my space again. Always invading my space. "That you can't control this? That you wanted it as badly as I did?"
Yes. That's exactly the point. I can't control this, whatever this is. The attraction that makes my professional walls crumble the second he touches me.
I've built my entire career on control. On plans and protocols and predictable outcomes. Thraka is chaos in a poorly fitted suit, and I just let him wreck me in a supply closet.
"We can't do this again." I straighten my collar, trying to cover the mark he left. Impossible. I'll need concealer. Lots of it.
"You said that last time," he points out, his a maddening note of amusement that makes me want to either strangle him or kiss him again. Neither is appropriate right now.
"There was no last time," I insist, dabbing futilely at my neck with the damp paper towel. The mark isn't budging. Of course it isn't. Nothing about this situation is cooperating with my attempts to restore order. "This was the first time. The only time."
"The elevator," he says simply, and the words land like a grenade in my argument.
My cheeks burn. The elevator doesn't count. That was just... tension. Proximity. A momentary lapse in judgment.
This was significantly more than a lapse.
"I'm serious, Thraka. This can't happen again. We work together. There are rules about workplace relationships, fraternization policies, conflict of interest forms?—"
"Forms." He says it like it's a foreign word. "You want me to fill out forms to touch you?"
"That's not... that's not how it works."
"Then explain how it works." He crosses his arms, watching me with that infuriating mix of amusement and interest. "Because from where I'm standing, what just happened worked perfectly."
I can't argue with that. My body is still humming with satisfaction, every nerve ending still singing from his touch.
But this is wrong. Reckless. Completely against every principle I've built my life around.
"Just..." I press my fingers to my temples, trying to think through the post-orgasm haze still clouding my judgment. "We need to maintain professional boundaries. Starting now."
"Professional boundaries." He tests the words, tilting his head. "Does that mean no more supply closets?"
