Overtime

Marina hated overtime. But the quarterly report wasn’t going to write itself, and the deadline was tomorrow at nine. By eight o’clock, the floor was already empty. Fluorescent lights, automatic air conditioning, silence. She kicked off her shoes, let her hair down, and poured another coffee. At nine-thirty, she heard footsteps in the hallway. The glass door opened. — Good evening. Still here? Rafael. Night security. Mid-thirties, broad shoulders in the black uniform, trimmed beard. He made his rounds every night at ten. Marina always noticed when he passed by. — Report — she said, pointing at the screen. He leaned against the doorframe. — Need anything? What she needed wasn’t in his job description. Or was it? — Coffee would be great. Rafael returned five minutes later with two cups. He sat in the chair beside her. Too close. His scent—woody, strong—filled the space. — Do you always stay this late? — he asked. — Only when I have to. And do you always patrol this floor? — Only when there’s someone beautiful to check on. Marina laughed. His gaze didn’t waver. Locked onto her eyes, then drifted down to the neckline of her blouse, which she’d unbuttoned in the heat. — Rafael... — Yeah? — Close the door. He stood slowly. Locked the glass door. Returned. This time, he didn’t sit—he stood right in front of her. Marina rose from her chair. The first kiss was urgent. Hot mouth, firm tongue. His hands went straight to her waist, pulling her body against his. Marina felt the bulge in his uniform pants. — How long have you been thinking about this? — he whispered. — Months. He turned her around. His hands slid up her stomach, squeezing her breasts over her blouse. Marina moaned softly, arching against him. — Aren’t there cameras here? — she asked. — I know exactly where they are and where they aren’t. That excited her even more. He knew. He’d planned this. Rafael unbuttoned her blouse from behind. Unclasped her bra. Warm hands on her bare breasts. He pinched her nipples, and Marina bit her lip. He guided her to the conference table. Large, made of glass. Marina pressed her hands against the cold surface. — Skirt off — he ordered. Marina hiked up her pencil skirt to her waist. Black lace panties. Rafael knelt behind her. Pulled the panties to the side. — Soaked — he murmured against her skin. His tongue touched her, and Marina nearly cried out. She gripped the edge of the table as he licked her—slow, deep, teasing. — Rafael... please... He stood. Marina heard the belt, the zipper. Felt him position himself. — Look at me. She turned her face. He entered slowly, holding her gaze. They both groaned. It started slow. Each thrust deep, controlled. The glass table creaked. Marina clutched the edge. — Faster. Rafael obeyed. The sound of their bodies echoed in the empty room. He gripped her hips tightly, picking up the pace. — Like this... don’t stop... — I won’t. The orgasm hit like a wave. Marina stifled her cry with her own hand. Her whole body trembled. Rafael kept going for a few more seconds before coming with a rough groan. They stayed leaning against the table, breathless. — My report... — she began. — You can finish it in the morning. My shift doesn’t end until six. Marina smiled, pulling him by the collar of his uniform. — Then we have all night. The report was turned in on time. No one ever found out how.