By KBC Associate 
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The office was nearly silent, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the occasional distant ring of a phone in the overnight call centre. Most of the staff had left hours ago, the fluorescent lights above flickering off one by one as employees packed up and went home. But two desks remained occupied in the dim glow of desk lamps, their owners immersed in unfinished projects, the quiet between them thick with unspoken tension.
She stretched in her chair, arching her back as she let out a soft sigh, feeling the long workday settle deep in her muscles. He glanced up from his laptop, catching the movement, his gaze lingering longer than it should have. The stretch of fabric across her chest, the way her fingers lazily brushed over her neck—it was innocent, subconscious, but it made his pulse kick up just a little.
“You still here?” His voice was smooth, deep, cutting through the quiet.
She turned her head slightly, a small smirk playing at her lips. “Looks like you are, too.”
He chuckled, leaning back in his chair, rolling his stiff shoulders. “Didn’t expect to have company this late.”
“Neither did I.”
There was something in the way she said it, a hint of curiosity mixed with something else—something darker, something tempting. He closed his laptop, his fingers drumming lightly against the desk as he let his gaze settle on her fully. The air felt different now, charged, shifting away from the professional distance they kept during daylight hours.
She stood, crossing the room to the coffee station, filling her cup slowly. He watched as she stirred the liquid, the rhythmic motion mesmerizing, the dim light casting soft shadows over her features. When she turned, her eyes met his, unreadable yet inviting.
“Want some?” she asked, voice laced with something more than casual conversation.
“Not coffee.” His answer was quiet, deliberate.
She exhaled a soft laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes. They remained locked on him as she took a slow sip, lips parting just enough to let the steam curl around her mouth. It was a simple action, but damn if it didn’t feel like a deliberate tease.
He stood, moving towards her with an unhurried confidence, closing the distance between them. She didn’t step back. If anything, her posture shifted, a silent acknowledgment of the moment stretching between them. The weight of it was intoxicating.
The first touch was subtle, his fingers grazing her wrist as he reached past her to discard his empty cup. Her breath hitched, almost imperceptibly, but he caught it.
“You know we shouldn’t,” she murmured, but she didn’t move away. They had done this once before, and it was feeling all too tempting not to do it again.
“And yet,” he said, his fingers sliding up her arm, just barely skimming the fabric of her blouse, “you’re still here.”
A slow inhale. A pause. The unspoken words heavy in the air.
Then, she moved first.
Her hands found his collar, pulling him down just enough to crash her lips into his, a soft moan vibrating in the back of her throat as he met her with equal urgency. His hands found her waist, fingers pressing into the curve of her hips as he backed her against the counter, trapping her between his body and the cool surface.
The kiss deepened, his tongue sweeping against hers in a slow, claiming stroke. She arched into him, pressing herself flush against the solid heat of his frame, her nails digging into his shoulders as he gripped her tighter. The office around them faded into nothing, the only thing that mattered was the way their bodies moved together, the friction igniting something dangerously addictive.
Her blouse came undone with a flick of his fingers, sliding down her arms in a whisper of silk. His mouth followed, trailing heat down the column of her throat, over her collarbone, lower. She gasped when his lips closed around the peak of her breast, his teeth grazing just enough to make her thighs press together in a desperate search for relief.
He smirked against her skin. “You like that.”
She only responded by tilting her head back, baring herself to him, silently begging for more…and he was more than willing to give it.
The heat between them built, each touch growing bolder, each movement fuelled by weeks—maybe months—of restraint, now obliterated by the reality of their need. She felt his hands slide beneath her skirt, his fingers tracing slow, torturous patterns up the inside of her thigh. A soft whimper left her lips as he finally, finally touched her where she needed him most.
“Fuck,” he muttered, his breath hot against her ear as he felt just how ready she was for him. “You’re soaking.”
Her response was a roll of her hips, pressing herself against his hand, wordlessly pleading for more. He didn’t make her wait.
The office, once a space of meetings and deadlines, became their playground. Desks were cleared with little care, papers scattered as he lifted her onto the hard surface, spreading her open for him. She gasped as his mouth found her again, tongue flicking against sensitive flesh, fingers gripping her thighs to keep her still as he worked her with skilled precision.
She shattered beneath him, her release a silent cry lost in the late-night air. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow, not until he had wrung every last tremor from her body.
When she finally opened her eyes, he was watching her, his own restraint hanging by a thread.
“Your turn,” she whispered, voice hoarse with pleasure.
Then she was on her knees, pulling him free from the confines of his slacks, taking him into her mouth with a hunger that made his head fall back, a curse slipping past his lips. Her hands gripped his hips, setting a rhythm that sent fire shooting through his veins.
It wasn’t long before he was lifting her again, her legs wrapping around him as he pressed her back against the nearest wall. Their bodies moved together, fast, desperate, lost in the overwhelming need that had finally boiled over.
The office walls bore witness to every moan, every whispered name, every frantic, fevered thrust that brought them both crashing over the edge together.
When the haze of pleasure began to fade, they stayed there, bodies entwined, breaths still uneven. The weight of what had just happened hung between them, but neither spoke. Not yet.
Finally, she let out a breathless laugh. “Well, that was one way to make overtime worth it.”
He smirked, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “Think we should stay late more often?”
She grinned, pressing one last slow kiss against his lips before slipping back into her clothes. “I guess we’ll have to see how much work piles up.”
The night wasn’t over, and neither was this.
Not by a long shot.