The office was a ghost town by the time Alex shut his laptop.
Outside the tall glass windows, the city was a blur of rain-slicked lights, but inside, the only sounds were the low hum of the HVAC and the faint clack of heels echoing across the floor.
Emma.
She was still here too.
He looked up to see her in the dim corridor, gathering files against her chest, her dark hair falling forward. The overhead lights caught the curve of her mouth as she glanced toward him, a small, knowing smirk forming.
“You’re still here?” she asked, voice low in the hush of the empty floor.
“Could ask you the same.” His tone was casual, but his gaze lingered, tracking the way her blouse stretched over her chest, how the pencil skirt hugged her hips.
She set the files down on the edge of his desk and leaned forward just enough to make his pulse spike. “Had to finish a few things. But…” Her voice dropped, conspiratorial. “It’s quieter when everyone’s gone.”
Alex let the silence stretch, the air between them tightening. They’d been dancing around this for months — stolen glances during meetings, fingertips brushing when passing papers, comments with edges sharper than professionalism allowed.
“You know,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “that’s dangerous talk.”
Her smirk deepened. “Maybe I like dangerous.”
He pushed his chair back slowly, the wheels squeaking against the carpet, until he was standing in front of her. They were close enough now that he could smell her perfume; soft, floral, intoxicating… layered over the faint electric scent of rain coming in through the open window a few desks away.
“Say that again,” he murmured.
Her chin tilted up in a subtle challenge. “I like dangerous.”
He stepped closer. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating off her. One hand lifted, fingertips brushing the side of her jaw, trailing down to her throat. She didn’t move away. Instead, her lips parted, a breath catching in the space between them.
It was all the invitation he needed.
His mouth crushed against hers, the kiss deep and unrestrained. She made a soft sound, one that lit him up from the inside. His hands slid down her sides, gripping the curve of her waist, pulling her flush against him.
She pressed into him with equal heat, fingers tangling in his hair. He could feel her nails against his scalp, her hips shifting, the friction sparking low in his body.
Somewhere in the blur, the files slid to the floor with a soft thud.
He spun her around and guided her back until she was pressed against the edge of his desk. Her breath was fast, eyes dark.
“Tell me you’ve thought about this,” he said, voice rough.
“Every damn day,” she whispered.
That was all it took. He tugged her blouse free from her skirt, hands sliding underneath, palms skimming over her warm skin. She gasped when his thumbs brushed the sides of her breasts, then arched into his touch when he cupped them fully.
“God, you feel good,” he muttered.
She made quick work of his belt, the metallic clink echoing in the empty office. The sound of the zipper lowering felt scandalous in the stillness, matched only by the rasp of her breathing.
He slid her skirt up over her hips, revealing black lace that made his control slip even further. He hooked his fingers in the waistband, tugged her panties down just far enough, and then lifted her onto the desk.
Papers scattered under her, but she didn’t care, not when he stepped between her thighs, pushing them open, not when he pressed himself against her, the heat of him achingly close.
Her legs wrapped around him instinctively. “Please,” she breathed.
That single word undid him.
He pushed into her in one slow, deep stroke. Her head fell back, a soft moan breaking the quiet. His hands gripped her hips hard enough to leave marks, his own breath ragged as he began to move.
The desk creaked under them, the rhythm growing faster, rougher, their bodies finding the pace they’d both been holding back for too long. Her fingers clawed at his back through his shirt, pulling him closer, deeper.
“Alex—” she gasped, her voice breaking on his name.
He silenced her with another kiss, swallowing the sound, thrusting harder, feeling the way she trembled around him.
She was close — he could feel it in the way her nails dug into him, in the tightening of her thighs. He angled his hips, finding the spot that made her cry out, over and over, her breath coming in short, desperate bursts.
“Come for me,” he ordered, low against her ear.
Her body seized, back arching as the orgasm ripped through her. He didn’t stop — couldn’t — riding the wave of her release until his own crashed into him. He groaned against her skin, shuddering as he spilled into her, holding her there while they both caught their breath.
For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the lights and the rush of blood in their ears.
Then came another sound.
A slow, deliberate clearing of a throat.
They froze.
Alex turned his head just enough to see movement in the doorway — an older man in coveralls, holding a mop, eyebrows arched high.
The night janitor.
He didn’t look surprised. In fact, there was the faintest twitch of a grin as he shook his head. “Don’t mind me,” he said, his voice dry. “Just… try not to break the furniture.”
Emma’s face went crimson as Alex stepped back, both of them fumbling for clothing.
The janitor lingered just long enough to mop the same spot twice, then moved on down the hall, whistling off-key.
They looked at each other, breathless, disheveled, caught.
And then, as if they hadn’t just been caught mid-act, Emma smirked again.
“Same time tomorrow?”