The Meeting That Escalated

**The Meeting That Escalated** The office breathed in silence, a dormant organism whose heartbeat was the distant hum of servers and the occasional flicker of fluorescent lights. Clara glided between the empty desks like an elegant shadow, the stiletto heels of her Italian leather shoes muffled by the thick carpet, yet still producing a rhythmic, almost musical cadence. Every step was calculated, every movement a choreography of efficiency. She knew this space better than the lines on her own palm—the corners where dust gathered, the switches that flickered before dying, the way moonlight seeped through the blinds and drew silver stripes across the conference table. The main room, where Daniel would soon wait for her, was a sanctuary of mahogany and glass. Clara adjusted the executive chair one last time, smoothing the backrest with her palm, as if she could sense his imminent presence through the fabric. The air conditioning was set to 22 degrees—the perfect temperature, cool enough to keep the mind sharp but not so cold as to require a jacket. She checked the thermostat, her fingers brushing the cold metal, and smiled to herself. Daniel hated when the room was too warm; he said heat dulled the mind. Clara, on the other hand, knew the real danger wasn’t the heat—it was the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. The projector was on, the screen displaying the first slide of the presentation: *Quarterly Goals – Expansion Department*. She ran her fingers over the remote, testing the buttons, and imagined Daniel walking through the door, his overcoat still damp from the night’s drizzle, his dark eyes scanning the room with that impenetrable expression he cultivated like armor. He always arrived after the agreed time, as if punctuality were too great a concession. Clara had learned not to comment. Instead, she prepared everything with meticulous anticipation, so that when he finally appeared, nothing would be out of place—not a misaligned pen, not a half-empty glass of water. She leaned over the table to adjust the notepads, and the fabric of her pencil skirt rode up a few inches above her knees, revealing the soft curve of her thighs. Clara wasn’t the type to wear provocative clothes to work—no daring necklines or scandalous slits. But there was something about Daniel that made her choose pieces which, without being vulgar, accentuated her silhouette: the way the skirt hugged her waist, how the silk blouse molded to her breasts when she moved, how the heels elongated her legs until they seemed endless. It was a subtle game, a body language only the two of them understood. The clock on the wall read 8:47 PM. He would arrive in thirteen minutes. Clara took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill her lungs, and allowed herself a moment of weakness: she closed her eyes and imagined the scene that would unfold soon. Daniel entering, the scent of his cologne—something woody, with notes of bergamot and leather—filling the room before he even spoke. He would take off his overcoat, revealing the dark gray suit she knew matched his eyes perfectly, and sit at the head of the table, his hands clasped over the glass surface. *"Let’s begin,"* he would say, his voice low, almost hoarse, as if the words were a secret between them. And then, inevitably, their eyes would meet. Clara opened her eyes and shook her head, as if she could shake off the thought. Not yet. Not now. She walked to the window and slightly parted the blinds, watching the illuminated city below. The buildings glowed like artificial constellations, and for a moment, she felt like a goddess observing her kingdom. But Clara’s kingdom wasn’t made of concrete and glass—it was made of stolen moments, of glances that lasted a second too long, of "accidental" touches that made her skin tingle. The sound of the elevator door opening in the hallway made her straighten her posture. Firm, decisive footsteps echoed in the silence. Clara didn’t need to look to know it was him. Daniel had a unique way of walking—not hurried, but not slow either; it was the rhythm of a man who knew exactly where he was going and had no patience for distractions. She turned slowly, as if absorbing every second of that encounter, and saw him standing in the doorway, watching her with an intensity that made her stomach clench. He didn’t smile. He never did. But his eyes—those dark, almost black eyes—traveled up and down her body, lingering a little longer than professionalism would allow. — *You’re early,* — he said, his voice deep, as if the words carried weight. Clara smiled, a soft, almost imperceptible gesture. — *And you’re late.* Daniel entered the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The sound reverberated through the space, and Clara felt the air between them crackle with electricity. He took off his overcoat and hung it on the rack with precise movements, as if each action were part of a ritual. When he turned to her, his eyes met Clara’s, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. — *Let’s begin,* — he said, finally. Clara nodded and gestured toward the table with an elegant wave. — *After you.* Daniel didn’t move. Instead, he continued to watch her, as if trying to decipher a riddle. Clara felt the heat rise in her neck but kept her gaze steady. She knew he liked that—liked the way she challenged him, even if subtly. Finally, he approached the table and pulled out the chair, sitting with the posture of a king on his throne. Clara positioned herself beside the projector, ready to start the presentation, but before she could press the button, Daniel spoke again: — *You changed your perfume.* She hesitated, her fingers hovering over the remote. It wasn’t a question, but an observation. Clara looked at him, surprised. — *Yes. It’s new.* — *I like it,* — he said, simply. And then, as if nothing had happened, he clasped his hands on the table and waited. Clara took a deep breath, feeling her heart beat faster. She knew this night wouldn’t be like the others. There was something in the air, something beyond quarterly goals and performance charts. It was as if, for the first time, the two of them were about to cross a line from which there would be no return. She pressed the button on the remote, and the screen lit up. — *Let’s talk about numbers,* — she said, her voice steady, but her eyes shining with a promise neither of them dared to name. The first blade of bluish light from the projector cut through the dark room, illuminating the ascending bar graph as if it were steps toward an inevitable fate. Clara adjusted her posture, her heels sinking slightly into the thick carpet, and began to speak. Her voice, usually firm and clear, now carried a barely perceptible tremor, as if each word were a misstep on a high-tension wire. — *The results from last quarter exceeded projections by twelve percent, mainly due to the expansion strategy in the Asian market,* — she said, pointing to the screen with the red laser from the remote. The dot danced over the numbers, but Daniel wasn’t following the movement. His eyes were fixed elsewhere. On Clara’s legs. She wore a tight black pencil skirt, snug enough to accentuate the curve of her thighs without being vulgar, and a gray silk blouse that clung to her body like a second skin. But it was the way she moved that hypnotized him. Every time she leaned forward to change the slide, the skirt rode up a few inches, revealing more of that soft skin he had already imagined countless times beneath his fingers. The fabric stretched over her knees, and he could swear that if he got closer, he would feel the heat radiating from her. Daniel crossed his legs, trying to disguise the growing evidence between his thighs. It was no use. Her perfume—that damn new perfume, sweet and spicy at the same time—invaded his nostrils with every breath, mingling with the scent of leather from the armchair and the faint aroma of coffee still lingering in the air. He cleared his throat, trying to focus. — *And how can we maintain this growth?* — he asked, his voice hoarse. Clara turned to him, her lips parted in a professional smile. But there was something in her eyes, a shadow of provocation, as if she knew exactly the effect she was having. — *Well, Daniel, I think we need to set more… ambitious goals,* — she said, dragging out the last word as if it were an invitation. The laser stopped on a line of the graph, highlighting a number in red. — *And, of course, ensure that everyone involved is… motivated.* The silence that followed was thick, charged. Daniel felt his jaw tense. He knew she wasn’t just talking about numbers. There was something beneath those words, an undercurrent pulling them closer, despite all the protocols, all the unspoken rules. — *Motivated how?* — he asked, his voice low, almost a growl. Clara bit her lower lip, a quick, almost involuntary gesture. The movement made Daniel’s heart race. She approached the table, resting her hands on the polished surface, her long, elegant fingers spread as if ready to grab something—or someone. — *Motivated to go beyond expectations,* — she murmured, her eyes locked on his. — *To push limits. To not settle for the basics.* Daniel let out a dry, humorless laugh. — *You’re playing with fire, Clara.* She tilted her head, her dark hair falling over one shoulder. — *Maybe I like the heat.* The air between them seemed to vibrate. Daniel could hear his own blood pulsing in his ears, the muffled sound of the city outside, the faint hum of the projector. He shifted in his chair, feeling the fabric of his pants tighten against the erection that wouldn’t relent. Clara noticed. Of course she noticed. Her eyes dropped for a fraction of a second, too quick to be accused of indiscretion, but slow enough for him to know she had seen. And then, as if the universe conspired to test his resistance, she crossed her legs. The movement was smooth, elegant, but enough for the skirt to ride up a few more inches, revealing the edge of her black stockings. Daniel swallowed hard. He could imagine how it would feel to slide his hand beneath that fabric, to feel the warm skin, the tense muscles beneath his fingers. He could almost hear the sound she would make when he touched her there, that sensitive spot just above the knee. Clara let out a sigh. It wasn’t just any sigh. It was long, trembling, laden with something neither of them dared to name. The sound echoed in the empty room, ricocheting off the walls like a call. Daniel felt his entire body react, his muscles tensing, his breath growing shorter. — *Clara…* — he began, but he didn’t know what to say. Warn her? Ask her to stop? Beg her to continue? She didn’t wait. With a deliberate movement, she uncrossed her legs, leaving them slightly open. Not enough to be obvious, but enough for him to understand the message. Daniel stood up. The sound of the chair scraping against the floor was like a gunshot. Clara didn’t retreat, didn’t look away. She stood there, motionless, her lips parted, her breasts rising and falling in a quickened rhythm. He took a step forward, then another, until he was close enough to feel the heat of her body, to see the tiny beads of sweat forming at the base of her neck. — *You have no idea what you’re doing,* — he murmured, his voice rough. Clara lifted her chin, defiant. — *Or maybe I know exactly.* His fingers brushed against hers as he took the remote from her hand. The touch was brief, almost accidental, but enough to send an electric shock through Clara’s entire body. She gasped, a low, almost inaudible sound, but one that made Daniel lose what little control he still had. He dropped the remote onto the table with a dry *click*. — *The presentation is over,* — he declared, his voice firm, but his eyes burning. — *Now let’s talk about goals that really matter.* Clara didn’t answer. She just smiled, a slow, dangerous smile, and took a step back, leaning against the conference table. The projector kept running, casting its bluish light over them both, as if illuminating them for a show about to begin. And then, without warning, Daniel lunged. Daniel lunged as if the air between them had turned solid, an obstacle to be broken by the force of desire. The space that separated them—just a few steps, but an eternity of unspoken rules—vanished in a second. Clara didn’t retreat. She didn’t look away. She just tilted her hip slightly, leaning against the edge of the table with a confidence that made his blood boil. The projector hummed softly, casting graphs and numbers on the wall behind her, but Daniel saw nothing but the glistening wetness on Clara’s parted lips, the way her tight blouse outlined the curve of her breasts as she took a deep breath. He stopped inches away, close enough to feel the heat of her body, to notice how her nipples already stood out beneath the thin fabric. — *Goals,* — he repeated, the word coming out like a growl. — *You talked about goals.* Clara raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. — *So what? Isn’t that what we do here? Achieve objectives.* — *Not like this.* — *Like what, Daniel?* — Her voice was a provocative whisper, her fingers playing with the edge of the table, as if she were about to push papers aside. — *Don’t you like breaking records?* He let out a short, humorless laugh. The scent of her—floral, with a hint of vanilla—filled his nostrils, mingling with the sweat beginning to trickle down his temples. Daniel reached out, not to touch her, but to brace himself on the table beside her, trapping her between his arms. The movement made his shirt sleeve brush against her bare arm, and the contact, however light, made them both hold their breath. — *You’re playing with fire,* — he murmured, his lips almost touching her ear. — *And I’m the only one here who knows how hot it can burn.* Clara turned her face, her lips almost touching his. Her warm breath caressed his mouth as she spoke: — *Then show me.* That was enough. Daniel grabbed her chin with one hand, his fingers firm, possessive, while the other slid to the nape of her neck, tangling in the loose strands of her hair. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was a clash of teeth and tongues, a muffled groan when Clara lightly bit his lower lip. The taste of coffee and mint exploded in his mouth, and he pulled her closer, feeling her body mold to his, her curves pressing against the hardness growing between his legs. She didn’t resist. On the contrary: Clara’s hands climbed his chest, lightly scratching the fabric of his shirt, as if she wanted to tear it off. When her fingers found the knot of his tie, she yanked it hard, making Daniel grunt against her mouth. — *Fuck, Clara,* — he growled, pulling back just enough to breathe. Her eyes were dark, her pupils dilated, and her breathing as ragged as his. Clara smiled, slow and dangerous, as she wrapped the tie around her fist. — *You’ve always been so controlled, Daniel. But I saw how you looked at me when you thought I wasn’t paying attention.* — She tugged the tie, bringing him back closer. — *I paid attention to everything.* He didn’t answer. Not with words. Instead, he grabbed her wrist, guiding her hand downward until her fingers brushed against the obvious erection beneath his pants. Clara didn’t pull away. She just squeezed lightly, making him let out a ragged breath. — *Is this what you want, boss?* — she whispered, her voice hoarse. — *Or are you going to keep pretending this isn’t what we both came here to do tonight?* Daniel closed his eyes for a second, as if trying to cling to the last shreds of sanity. When he opened them again, there was no more hesitation. — *You want to play?* — he asked, his voice rough. — *Then let’s play.* Before she could respond, he spun her around abruptly, pressing her against the table. The impact sent scattered papers flying, and the laptop wobbled dangerously on the edge. Clara let out a low laugh, but the sound died in her throat when Daniel grabbed her hips and pulled her against him, letting her feel exactly what she was provoking. — *First goal,* — he murmured, his lips brushing her ear as one hand slid up her thigh, lifting the tight skirt. — *I want to hear you moan my name before I take off that blouse.* Clara arched her back, pushing her hips back, seeking more contact. — *Second goal,* — she retorted, turning her head to face him. — *I want to hear you beg.* Daniel laughed, a dark and dangerous sound, as his fingers found the edge of her already damp panties. — *Be careful what you wish for, Clara,* — he whispered, his thumb pressing hard enough to make her gasp. — *Because I always meet my goals.* And then, without warning, he turned her again, pushing her onto her back on the table. Her heels hit the floor with a sharp *click*, and the projector continued its dance of blue lights over them, as if the outside world didn’t exist. Daniel leaned over her, his hands braced beside her head, pinning her there. — *Last chance,* — he said, his voice a thread of tension. — *There’s still time to stop.* Clara smiled, lifting one leg to wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. — *I don’t want to stop.* And then, with a rough groan, Daniel lowered his head, capturing her lips in a kiss that left no doubt about what was to come. The air between them was no longer air—it was pure electricity, a magnetic field pulling their bodies together as if the space between them were an offense. Clara barely had time to process what was happening when Daniel spun her with a sharp movement, his hands firm on her hips, and pushed her against the edge of the conference table. The impact sent scattered papers flying, some falling to the floor with a conspiratorial rustle, others remaining trapped beneath the weight of their now intertwined bodies. She didn’t resist. There was no room for resistance when desire was a current dragging her into deep waters. The cold wood of the table pressed against her back, but his body’s heat soon warmed her, as if Daniel were a furnace, radiating fire from every pore. He didn’t ask. He didn’t need to. His eyes, once dark as spilled ink, now burned with a hunger she recognized—because it was the same that burned inside her. — *You have no idea what you’re provoking,* — he murmured, his voice rough, almost a growl, as one hand slid up her thigh, pulling the tight skirt up with a slow, deliberate movement. His fingers found bare skin, and Clara shuddered, her muscles tensing beneath his touch. — *Days, weeks, months of looking at you and pretending I didn’t want this.* She should have responded with something clever, something to maintain control. But the words died in her throat when he leaned in, his lips brushing the lobe of her ear before descending down her neck, leaving a trail of fire. Clara arched her back, her fingers digging into his shoulders, feeling the expensive fabric of his jacket beneath her nails. Daniel’s scent—something woody, with a hint of leather and spice—invaded her senses, mingling with the smell of her own desire, wet and hot between her legs. — *I know exactly what I’m provoking,* — she managed to say, her voice trembling but firm. — *And so do you.* Daniel laughed, a low and dangerous sound, as his other hand slid up the side of her body, tracing the curve of her breast before gripping her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes gleamed with an almost animal intensity, as if he were about to devour her. And maybe he was. — *Then don’t pretend to be surprised when I take what’s mine.* And then, he kissed her. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It wasn’t a request. It was a claim, an invasion, his tongue plunging into her mouth with an urgency that made Clara moan against his lips. She responded with the same ferocity, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw a grunt, her hands climbing his broad chest until they found his tie. The silky fabric slid between her fingers as she pulled it loose in one swift motion, her knuckles brushing the warm skin of his neck. Daniel groaned when she tore off the tie, tossing it to the floor without ceremony, and his hands found the buttons of her blouse, undoing them with a haste bordering on violence. One, two, three—the fabric parted, revealing her black lace bra, her nipples already hard, visible through the thin material. He didn’t waste time. One hand cupped her breast, squeezing it firmly, while the other slid behind her, pulling her against him, eliminating any space that still existed between them. Clara felt his hard cock pressing against her stomach, even through the layers of clothing, and a shiver ran down her spine. She wanted more. Needed more. Her hands slid down his abdomen, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt, until they found his belt. Her fingers trembled—with anticipation, with desire—as she unfastened it, the sound of leather sliding through the loops echoing in the room like a prelude to what was to come. — *Fuck, Clara,* — he growled, pulling back just enough to look at her, his lips swollen, his eyes half-lidded. — *You’re going to kill me.* She smiled, pulling him back for another kiss, her nails lightly scratching the nape of his neck. — *Then die happy.* The table creaked beneath their weight as Daniel pushed her further back, her legs parting instinctively to accommodate him. Her skirt rode up to her waist, and he didn’t waste time sliding a hand between her thighs, his fingers finding the damp lace of her panties. Clara moaned loudly when he pressed his thumb against her clit, moving it in slow, torturous circles, while his other hand continued to tease her breast, pinching her nipple hard enough to make her arch her back. — *You’re soaked,* — he whispered against her mouth, his voice laced with satisfaction. — *So ready for me.* She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. The words were lost in a moan when he moved her panties aside and slid two fingers inside her, thrusting slowly, as if savoring every sound he drew from her throat. Clara gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his shirt, feeling the pleasure coil in her belly, tighter and tighter, more intense with each passing second. — *Daniel…* — she gasped, his name coming out like a plea. — *I can’t… I can’t…* — *Can’t what?* — he teased, quickening the pace, his fingers curling inside her while his thumb continued to torture her. — *Come for me, Clara. I want to see you fall apart.* She tried to resist. Tried to hold on, to prolong that moment, but her body wouldn’t obey. With a muffled cry, she came, her inner walls clenching around his fingers, the orgasm tearing through her like a wave, leaving her breathless and trembling. Daniel didn’t stop. He kept moving his fingers, drawing out the pleasure until she was limp, her muscles relaxed, her breathing ragged. When he finally withdrew his hand, Clara watched as he brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. The gesture was so erotic, so primal, that she felt a new wave of desire course through her, stronger than before. — *You taste like sin,* — he murmured, his voice rough. — *And I’m not done with you yet.* Clara didn’t have time to respond. Daniel pulled her to the edge of the table, his hands firm on her hips, and before she could process what was happening, he spun her onto her back, pushing her against the cold surface of the wood. Her skirt rode up completely, exposing her ass, and she heard the sound of his zipper being undone, the fabric of his pants falling to the floor. — *Hold onto the table,* — he ordered, his voice a command she had no way to disobey. Clara obeyed, her fingers digging into the edge of the table as she felt the head of his cock press against her entrance, hot and throbbing. He didn’t enter all at once. Instead, he teased her with just the tip, making her moan and push her hips back, trying to force him deeper. — *Impatient?* — he laughed, darkly, as one hand slid up her spine, making her arch even more. — *I like you like this.* And then, with a quick movement, he buried himself inside her completely. Clara cried out, the sound echoing through the empty room, her inner walls stretching to accommodate him, the sensation of fullness almost unbearable. Daniel groaned, his hands gripping her hips tightly, his fingers leaving marks she knew would still be there in the morning. — *Fuck, Clara,* — he growled, beginning to move, his thrusts deep and relentless. — *You’re so tight… so perfect.* She couldn’t respond. The words were lost in a succession of moans and gasps as he fucked her, each movement drawing sounds from her she didn’t even know she could make. The table rocked beneath them, the remaining papers flying, the projector still casting its bluish light over their entwined bodies, as if the outside world had ceased to exist. Daniel leaned over her, one hand gripping her hair, pulling her head back as the other found her clit again, rubbing it in quick, precise circles. — *Come for me again,* — he ordered, his voice a rough whisper against her ear. — *I want to feel you clench around my cock while I fill you.* The words, combined with the relentless rhythm of his thrusts and the pressure of his fingers, were too much. Clara came again, the orgasm more intense than the first, making her scream as her inner walls contracted around him, milking him. Daniel groaned, his movements becoming more erratic until, with a grunt, he came inside her, the heat of his cum filling her as he buried himself to the hilt, their bodies pressed together. For a moment, there was no sound but their ragged breathing, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Clara felt her heart pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it. Daniel remained inside her, his arms wrapped around her waist, his head resting on her shoulder as they both tried to catch their breath. But then, he pulled away slowly, his cock sliding out of her, leaving a void she already hated. She turned to face him, her eyes meeting his, and saw something there—something beyond satisfied desire. Something that promised this hadn’t been just one night. Daniel smiled, a slow and dangerous smile, as he picked up the tie from the floor and wrapped it around his fingers. — *That was just the beginning, Clara,* — he murmured, pulling her in for another kiss, soft this time but no less intense. — *The meeting isn’t over yet.* Daniel still held the tie between his fingers, but now it was Clara who pulled it, wrapping it around her own wrist like an improvised leash. His eyes gleamed, dark and hungry, as she guided him backward until his back met the cold wall of the meeting room. The air conditioning hummed softly, insufficient to dissipate the heat radiating between them. — *Do you like being in charge, Clara?* — his voice was a rough growl, his lips still damp from their earlier kiss. She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she pressed her body against his, feeling the hardness of his erection through the fabric of his pants, and bit his lower lip hard enough to draw a groan. — *I like seeing you lose control,* — she whispered, dragging her nails down his chest, feeling the muscles tense beneath her touch. Daniel grabbed her hips tightly, his fingers digging into her soft flesh, and spun her so her back was against him. The conference table was right there, its polished surface reflecting the dim light from the emergency lamps. He pushed her against the edge, his hands sliding beneath her tight skirt, drawing a gasp from her when his fingers found the damp lace of her panties. Clara arched her back, her breasts pressing against the cold tabletop, as he pulled the fabric aside with a sharp motion. The first touch was deliberately slow, a finger tracing lazy circles around her clit, making her tremble. — *Fuck, Daniel…* — she moaned, her nails scratching the wood. He chuckled, low and satisfied, before replacing his finger with his mouth, his hot, eager tongue exploring every fold, every sensitive spot. Clara grabbed his hair, pulling him closer, her hips moving in sync with the movements of his tongue. When he slid two fingers inside her, curling them at just the right angle, she came with a muffled cry, her entire body trembling as waves of pleasure coursed through her. Before she could catch her breath, Daniel turned her around, lifting her onto the table in one swift motion. The scattered papers flew to the floor, forgotten. He unbuttoned her blouse with urgency, his fingers trembling with desire, and when her breasts were exposed, he didn’t waste time—he lowered his head and captured a nipple between his teeth, nipping until she arched her back, offering herself further. — *You’re insatiable,* — she murmured, but there was no reproach in her voice, only a challenge. Daniel smiled against her skin, his teeth leaving a red mark before he kissed his way up to her mouth, sharing the salty taste of her own pleasure. — *You make me this way,* — he replied, his voice rough, as he slid his hands down to the zipper of his pants. Clara didn’t wait. She slid off the table, pushing him back until he sat down on the leather sofa. The position put her in control, and she loved it. She knelt between his legs, her fingers deftly unbuttoning his pants and freeing his already hard, throbbing cock. — *My turn,* — she said, licking her lips before wrapping her mouth around the head, her tongue swirling in slow circles. Daniel groaned, his hands tangling in her hair, but not forcing—just guiding, letting her set the pace. Clara took him deep, until she felt the tip touch the back of her throat, before pulling back, her lips glistening with saliva. She repeated the motion, alternating between slow and fast sucks, until he was panting, his hips moving involuntarily. — *Enough,* — he growled, pulling her up by the arms. Clara laughed, a low and provocative sound, as she straddled him, her skirt still bunched around her waist. She positioned herself over his cock but didn’t lower herself immediately. Instead, she rubbed against the tip, feeling him pulse, before finally sinking down, taking him whole. They both groaned in unison. Daniel grabbed her hips, setting the rhythm, while Clara moved in circles, her inner muscles clenching around him with each thrust. The sofa creaked beneath them, the cold leather contrasting with the heat of their bodies. She leaned forward, her breasts brushing against his chest, and bit his earlobe. — *Do you like seeing me like this?* — she asked, her voice breathless. — *Out of control, just for you?* — *I like you,* — he replied, his voice rough, before capturing her mouth in a hungry kiss. His hands slid down her back, pulling her shirt off her shoulders, leaving her in just her bra and skirt, while she continued to ride him, each movement more intense than the last. When the orgasm approached, Clara pulled away, leaving him on the edge. She got off the sofa, her high heels clicking on the wooden floor, and leaned over the table, offering herself. Daniel didn’t hesitate. He stood in one fluid motion, positioning himself behind her, and entered with a single thrust, making her cry out. His hands gripped her hips tightly, his fingers marking her skin as he drove into her, each stroke deeper than the last. — *Like this…* — she moaned, pushing back against him, seeking more. Daniel obeyed, quickening the pace, the sound of their bodies colliding echoing through the empty room. When he reached between her legs, finding her swollen clit, Clara came again, the orgasm more intense than the first, making her scream as her inner walls clenched around him. He didn’t stop. He kept moving, drawing out her orgasm until she was limp, leaning against the table, her legs trembling. Only then did he allow himself to come, pulling her against him as he buried himself to the hilt, the heat of his cum filling her. The two of them stayed like that, panting, their bodies pressed together, until Daniel turned her around and kissed her slowly, as if they had all the time in the world. But time was against them. The clock on the wall showed hours that shouldn’t exist on a work night. Clara looked at it, her eyes still clouded with pleasure, and smiled. — *I think we broke the table,* — she murmured, pointing to the tilted surface, one of its legs broken. Daniel laughed, a low and satisfied sound, before pulling her in for another kiss. — *Worth it,* — he whispered against her lips. — *But we’re not done yet.* And with a quick movement, he lifted her into his arms, carrying her toward the floor, where the thick carpet awaited, ready for another round. The first ray of sunlight crept into the meeting room like a shy intruder, slipping through the half-open blinds and landing on their entwined bodies on the carpet. Clara woke first, feeling the warm weight of Daniel’s arm around her waist, his fingers still lightly gripping her skin, as if even in sleep he refused to let her go. The air smelled of sweat, sex, and the faint citrusy trace of his cologne, mingling with the sweet scent of her own body. She stretched slowly, feeling every muscle protest—some from pleasure, others from exhaustion—and a slow smile spread across her lips before she even opened her eyes. Daniel woke with the movement, his dark lashes fluttering before settling on her. For a second, there was that moment of disorientation, as if both needed to remember where they were, who they were, and how they had gotten there. But then he pulled her closer, burying his face in her neck, inhaling deeply as if he wanted to memorize the scent of her skin, marked by his teeth and nails. — *Good morning,* — he murmured, his voice rough from sleep and hours of overuse. His lips brushed her collarbone, sending a shiver down her spine. Clara laughed softly, running her fingers through his tousled hair. — *Good morning to you too. Or is it still night?* Daniel lifted his head, his dark eyes gleaming with lazy mischief. — *Depends. If we keep this up, I think the sun’s going to have to wait.* She pushed him lightly, but there was no strength in it. His body was a delicious weight, and the way he fit against hers—even now, even after everything—made her stomach clench in anticipation. — *We have to go,* — she said, but made no move to get up. Instead, she wrapped a leg around his, trapping him there. — *The office will open in a few hours.* Daniel sighed but didn’t resist. Instead, he rolled onto his side, pulling her with him until she was on top, her knees on either side of his hips. His hands slid up her thighs, squeezing lightly, as if testing her willingness. — *You’re right,* — he murmured, his thumbs tracing lazy circles on the inside of her legs, dangerously close to where she still throbbed. — *I need a shower. And coffee. Lots of coffee.* — *Me too. But first, I need to stop by the office to grab some things.* She raised an eyebrow. — *At six in the morning?* — *I’m a busy man,* — he replied, with a smile that left no doubt about what really kept him busy. Clara shook her head but couldn’t suppress her smile. — *Alright. Well, then… see you Monday?* Daniel hesitated for a second, as if he wanted to say something more. But then, he simply nodded. — *Monday. And Clara?* She stopped, turning to him. — *Yes?* — *Don’t forget to bring that presentation you prepared. I think… we need to review some details.* The double meaning was so obvious she almost laughed. Instead, she bit her lower lip and nodded. — *Of course. Some details.* He smiled, satisfied, and for a moment, the two of them stood there in the empty lobby, as if neither wanted to be the first to walk away. Then, Daniel stepped forward, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips in a gesture that was both elegant and desperately intimate. — *Until Monday, Clara.* She swallowed hard, feeling the warmth of his mouth against her skin. — *Until Monday, Daniel.* And then, he turned and walked toward the exit, his steps firm, as if he hadn’t spent the entire night losing control with her. Clara stood there for a few more seconds, watching him leave, before finally turning and walking in the opposite direction. --- The sun was already high when she got home, and the apartment was silent, as always. Clara kicked off her shoes as soon as she crossed the threshold, letting them drop to the floor with a sigh of relief. Every part of her body ached in a good way, and she allowed herself a moment to close her eyes and relive the past few hours—the kisses, the touches, the way he had looked at her as if she were the only woman in the world. Then, she headed to the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the hot water run over her body as she ran her hands over the places he had touched, as if she wanted to prolong the sensation a little longer. When she finally stepped out, she wrapped herself in a towel and went to the kitchen, making a strong cup of coffee while looking out the window. The weekend stretched before her, empty and silent. But for the first time in a long time, Clara didn’t mind. Because she knew that on Monday, everything would start again. And this time, she had no intention of maintaining professionalism.