Overtime in the Office Silence

**Overtime in the Office Silence** The clock on the office wall read 8:47 PM when Clara lifted her eyes from the monitor, rubbing her neck with cold fingers. The bluish glow of the screen reflected in her thin-framed glasses, highlighting the fatigue already marking her eyelids. Outside, the city breathed in neon and shadows, the distant lights of buildings flickering like stars trapped in concrete. She let out a long sigh, feeling the weight of the past few weeks—sleepless nights, endless reports, the constant pressure from the board. But there, in that silence broken only by the hum of the air conditioning, there was something almost intimate in the shared solitude. Rafael appeared in the doorway as if conjured by her thoughts. He carried two steaming cups of coffee, the vapor dancing between them before dissipating in the air-conditioned space. The strong scent of roasted beans filled the room, mingling with Clara’s discreet perfume, something floral and slightly citrusy, which he had noticed before, in hallway meetings. — I thought you might need this — he said, offering one of the cups. — Or would you prefer I take it back and pretend I never offered? Clara smiled, accepting the drink with a slow gesture, her fingers brushing against his for a second longer than necessary. The touch was brief, almost imperceptible, but enough for both to feel the heat rise up their arms. — You’re a lifesaver — she replied, bringing the cup to her lips. The liquid burned her tongue, but she didn’t mind. She needed that burn to stay awake. — I don’t know how you manage to work late and still have energy to be kind. Rafael laughed, a deep, raspy sound that echoed through the empty walls. He leaned against the edge of her desk, crossing his arms over his chest. His dress shirt, now slightly wrinkled, molded to his broad shoulders, and Clara noticed, not for the first time, how the first few undone buttons revealed the base of his neck, where a vein pulsed slowly. — Kindness is strategy — he joked, tilting his head. — If I’m an asshole, you won’t want to help me finish this project on time, and then I get fired. And nobody wants to see an unemployed consultant. — Ah, so it’s pure self-interest — she teased, raising an eyebrow. — Should I be offended? — No. You should be impressed by my honesty. Most of the office was dark, except for the emergency lights and the glow of computer screens. The cubicles, once filled with voices and keyboards, now looked like dark caves, and the glass-walled meeting rooms reflected only the two of them, as if they were the last inhabitants of a suspended world. Rafael looked around, absorbing the quiet. — It’s strange, isn’t it? — he murmured. — The empty office has something... voyeuristic about it. Like we’re invading a place that doesn’t belong to us. Clara followed his gaze, observing the empty desks, the forgotten sticky notes, the half-empty coffee cups left behind. There was something erotic about it, the idea of a space usually occupied by dozens of people, now surrendered only to them. She felt a shiver run down her spine. — Or like we’re the only ones left — she replied, lowering her voice almost to a whisper. — Like the world out there stopped, and only the two of us are still here. Rafael looked at her, his dark eyes fixed on hers. For a moment, neither spoke. The air between them felt charged, like before a storm, and Clara felt the weight of that proximity, the way his body occupied the space beside hers, the way his scent—something woody, with a hint of leather—mingled with hers. — Then let’s enjoy being the last ones — he said, finally breaking the silence. — Before the world starts turning again. Clara nodded but didn’t move. There was something in his tone, in the way the words sounded like an invitation, that made her hesitate. She knew they should get back to work, that the report needed to be delivered by morning, but in that moment, with the city lights twinkling outside and the heat of the coffee still burning in her hand, all she wanted was to stay there, suspended in that threshold between professional and personal. Rafael moved away from the desk slowly, as if testing how much she would let him approach. He picked up the air conditioning remote and adjusted the temperature, making a warmer breeze circulate through the room. — Are you cold? — he asked, though he knew it wasn’t that. Clara shook her head but said nothing. She just watched as he approached again, this time stopping so close she could feel the heat of his body radiating against hers. For a second, she thought about stepping back, about returning to the safety of her desk, but something kept her in place. — Clara — he murmured, and the sound of her name on his lips was almost a caress. She looked up, meeting his eyes. There was something there, a question neither dared to ask aloud. The office, once just a backdrop, now seemed to pulse around them, every shadow, every surface, every empty corner laden with possibilities. — Yes? — she replied, her voice softer than she intended. Rafael smiled, a slow, deliberate smile, as if he knew exactly the effect he was having on her. — Let’s finish this project before I do something we’ll both regret. Clara felt her heart beat faster, but she didn’t step back. Instead, she turned back to the computer, adjusting her glasses with a gesture she knew was seductive without needing intent. — Then we’d better get started — she said, clicking the keyboard with fingers that trembled slightly. — Because I’m not sure I want you to regret it. The air between them grew even denser, charged with something neither dared to name. Rafael moved closer to her desk, pulling up a chair to sit beside her. The proximity was almost unbearable, their arms nearly touching, their knees so close Clara could feel the heat of his leg even through the fabric of his pants. — Let’s go — he said, his voice rough. — Let’s finish this. And so, beneath the lights of the sleepless city, they returned to work, every mouse click, every breath, every furtive glance laden with a tension that grew with each passing second, like a taut rope about to snap. The clock on the wall read twenty to nine when Clara pushed her chair back with a sigh, stretching her arms above her head. The movement lifted her silk blouse slightly, revealing a glimpse of the soft skin of her waist, and Rafael didn’t look away in time. The fabric settled back against her body like a second skin, but the image was already imprinted—the soft outline of her ribs, the subtle curve of her hip, the way the air seemed to cling to her. — Coffee? — she asked, her voice slightly hoarse from fatigue but still steady. — Or are you one of those who works better on pure adrenaline? Rafael smiled, standing up as well. Most of the office was dark, except for the lamps in the meeting room where they worked, and the yellowish light cast long shadows on the walls. — Adrenaline is overrated — he said, following her to the small break room at the end of the hallway. — I prefer something that keeps me awake without making my hands shake. Clara laughed, a low, musical sound that reverberated in the empty space. She took two cups from the cabinet, her fingers brushing against the cold porcelain before placing them under the coffee machine. The strong, bitter aroma began to spread, mingling with the scent of paper, ink, and her subtle perfume—something citrusy with a hint of vanilla that seemed to linger in the air. — So you’re the type who needs external stimuli? — she teased, turning to face him as the machine gurgled. Rafael leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. His posture was casual, but his eyes weren’t. They roamed her face with an intensity that made Clara hold her breath for a second—the defined jawline, the full lips, the way her chestnut hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, held only by a clip that seemed about to give way. — Depends on the stimulus — he replied, his voice lower now, almost a murmur. She looked away first, taking the cups and handing one to him. Their fingers touched for an instant, and the contact was like a spark—brief but enough to leave a trail of heat. Clara brought the cup to her lips, watching him over the rim. Rafael didn’t drink. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on her, as if waiting for something. — You’re really good at what you do — he said, finally breaking the silence. — The way you organized those reports, how you anticipate problems... It’s impressive. Clara felt the compliment like a physical touch, something that spread through her chest and down to her stomach. She smiled, but there was a trace of vulnerability there, something she didn’t usually show. — Thank you. But you’re not so bad yourself. — She tilted her head, studying him. — Especially for someone who’s only been here two weeks and already turned half the office’s heads. Rafael laughed, a deep, raspy sound that made something inside her tighten. — Only half? — Well, the other half is still recovering from the shock of having someone who knows what they’re doing. He took a step forward, closing the distance between them. The counter behind Clara left little room to retreat, and she didn’t try. Instead, she lifted her chin, challenging him to come closer. — And you? — he asked, his voice almost a whisper. — Which half are you in? Clara didn’t answer right away. She brought the cup to her lips again but didn’t drink. She just let the hot steam caress her face, buying time. When she finally spoke, her words were careful, measured. — I’m still deciding. Rafael smiled, slow and dangerous. He reached out, taking a strand of her hair between his fingers, twirling it slowly. The touch was light, almost casual, but the gesture carried an intimacy that made the air between them even thicker. — Then I still have a chance — he murmured. Clara felt her heart beat faster. She should have stepped back. Should have laughed, made a joke, anything to ease the tension. But she did none of that. Instead, she leaned slightly forward, her lips parting, her warm breath mingling with his. — Maybe — she said, her voice almost inaudible. For a second, neither moved. The world seemed to have stopped—the distant hum of the air conditioning, the ticking of the clock, even the city outside with its blinking headlights. Only they existed, the heat of their bodies so close, the promise of something neither dared to name. Then, Rafael let go of the strand of hair and stepped back, breaking the spell. Clara exhaled, only then realizing she had been holding her breath. He took his cup, finally taking a sip of coffee, his eyes never leaving hers. — We’d better get back — he said, his voice returning to a professional tone, but with a trace of something more, something he couldn’t hide. — We still have work to do. Clara nodded but didn’t move immediately. She needed a second to compose herself, to adjust her glasses on her nose and pretend her whole body wasn’t vibrating, as if every nerve ending were awake and alert. — Yes — she agreed, finally. — Let’s finish this. They walked back to the meeting room in silence, but the air between them was different now. Heavier. More alive. Every step echoed on the wooden floor, every breath seemed louder, more conscious. When they reached the table, Clara sat down, but Rafael didn’t take the chair beside her. Instead, he approached from behind, leaning over her shoulder to point at something on the computer screen. — Here — he said, his warm breath brushing against her ear. — This data needs adjusting. Clara felt her whole body react to the contact. Her fingers trembled slightly as she moved the mouse, and she knew he noticed. Knew he was doing it on purpose, testing the limits, seeing how far he could go without either of them saying anything. — Like this? — she asked, her voice a little higher than she would have liked. Rafael didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned in closer, his lips almost touching the sensitive skin of her neck. Clara closed her eyes for a second, feeling his heat, the scent of coffee and something more—something masculine, woody, that made her want to turn around and pull him closer. — Perfect — he murmured, finally stepping back with a slow, deliberate movement. Clara took a deep breath, trying to ignore the tingling on her skin where he had been. She clicked the keyboard, but the words on the screen seemed blurry, indistinct. All she could think about was the way he looked at her, as if he were about to devour her right there on the meeting table. — Are you okay? — Rafael asked, his voice laced with false innocence. Clara turned to him, her dark eyes shining with something that wasn’t just fatigue. — I am — she lied. He smiled, knowing she was lying. And then, without another word, he returned to his chair, leaving Clara with the feeling that something had changed between them—something that couldn’t be undone. The silence that followed was charged, electric. Every movement, every breath, seemed amplified. Clara typed something on the computer but couldn’t concentrate. The numbers on the screen danced, and the only thing she could think about was his proximity, the way their gazes met and lingered, the tension that grew with each passing second, like a thread about to snap. Rafael shifted in his chair, crossing his legs. The movement made the fabric of his pants tighten around his thighs, and Clara couldn’t help but glance quickly, appreciatively. When she looked up, she met his eyes—dark, intense, full of a question neither was ready to answer. — Clara — he began, his voice rough. But she cut him off before he could continue. — We need to finish this — she said, her voice firm, though her fingers still trembled slightly on the keyboard. — Before we do something stupid. Rafael didn’t answer. He just nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. And so, beneath the artificial lights of the office, they returned to work, every mouse click, every page turned, every held breath carrying the promise of something yet to come. The meeting room was steeped in a thick silence, broken only by the rustling of pages and the low hum of the air conditioning. The city lights outside painted the window glass in shades of blue and orange, as if the sky itself were in slow combustion. Clara adjusted her glasses on her nose, trying to focus on the spreadsheet in front of her, but Rafael’s presence beside her was a constant distraction—the scent of his cologne, something citrusy and woody, mixed with the heat of his body, so close she could feel the slight brush of his shirt against her arm. They were bent over the meeting table, documents scattered between them like a minefield. Every time one of them leaned in to point something out, the space between them shrank, and the air seemed thicker, charged with an electricity that made the hairs on Clara’s arms stand on end. — Here — Rafael said, pointing to a line in the spreadsheet. — The numbers don’t match the previous report. Clara leaned in, her shoulder brushing against his. The contact was brief, almost imperceptible, but enough for both to feel the jolt. She held her breath for a second, her fingers hovering over the laptop keyboard. — You’re right — she murmured, trying to ignore how his body seemed to react to the proximity, the way the muscles in his arm tensed beneath his shirt sleeve. — It must be a typo. Rafael didn’t move. He just stayed there, his eyes fixed on the screen, but Clara could swear he was aware of every inch of exposed skin between them—her wrist, where the vein pulsed faster, her neck, where a strand of hair had escaped her bun and now brushed against the collar of her blouse. — I’ll fix it — she said, her voice a little lower than intended. Rafael’s fingers slid across the table, near hers. It wasn’t an intentional touch, but it wasn’t entirely accidental either. The side of his hand brushed against hers, and Clara felt the heat spread up her arm, rising to her face. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she let her fingers linger a second longer than necessary, as if testing the limit. Rafael turned his face slowly, his lips slightly parted. The air between them seemed to vibrate. — Clara — he began, his voice rough, as if the words had to push through a barrier of desire before coming out. She looked up, meeting his eyes. There was something raw and urgent there, something that made her stomach clench. But then, as if waking from a dream, she blinked and pulled back slightly, crossing her arms over her chest. — We need to finish this — she said, her voice firm, but the tone betraying the tension still coursing through her. — Before we cross the line. Rafael didn’t answer right away. He just watched her for a long moment, his dark eyes roaming her face, as if memorizing every detail. Then, with a slow movement, he leaned back in his chair, breaking the contact. — You’re right — he murmured, running a hand through his hair. — But it’s hard to focus when you’re like this. Clara felt her face flush. — Like what? — Like this — he repeated, his voice low, almost a whisper. — With that blouse clinging to every curve, that vanilla scent lingering in the air when you walk by, those glasses giving you that naughty-teacher vibe. She laughed, but the sound came out strangled, because the image his words painted in her mind was dangerously vivid. — Rafael... — I know, I know — he cut in, raising his hands in surrender. — Overtime is for working. But the smile he shot her was anything but professional. It was the kind of smile that promised things, that made the heart beat faster and the breath catch in the throat. They returned to the documents, but the tension didn’t ease. Every time one of them moved, the other reacted—a held breath, a shift in posture, a furtive glance. Clara felt her whole body on alert, as if waiting for something, even if she didn’t know exactly what. Then, when Rafael reached for a pen at the same time she did, their fingers touched again. This time, it wasn’t an accidental brush. It was deliberate. Clara didn’t pull her hand away. Neither did Rafael. For a second, they stayed like that, fingers intertwined on the table, the air between them so charged it seemed about to explode. Clara could feel the heat of his skin, the slightly rough texture of his fingertips, the way his thumb—unintentionally, or perhaps intentionally—caressed the back of her hand. — This is a terrible idea — she murmured, but she didn’t pull away. — Probably — he agreed, his voice low, his eyes locked on hers. — But when have we ever followed the rules? Clara felt her whole body tingle. She knew she should step back, should return to work, should maintain professionalism. But the truth was, she didn’t want to. Not in that moment. Not with him. And then, as if he had read her thoughts, Rafael leaned forward, his lips almost touching her ear. — How about a break? — he whispered. — Just to clear our heads. Clara swallowed hard, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. — What kind of break? — she asked, her voice faltering. Rafael smiled, slow and dangerous. — I think you know. And before she could answer, he stood up, offering her his hand. Clara looked at those long fingers, at the open palm, and knew that if she accepted, there would be no going back. But in that moment, she didn’t want to go back. Clara hesitated for only a second before placing her hand in his. Rafael’s skin was warm, his fingers firm as they wrapped around hers, and that simple contact sent an electric current up her arm, down her spine, and settled between her legs. He pulled her gently but with a determination that left no room for doubt—she was choosing this. Choosing *him*. The meeting room was at the end of the hallway, one of those glass-walled rooms that reflected the city lights like fallen stars on the floor. Rafael opened the door and gestured for her to enter first, a half-smile playing on his lips. Clara passed by him, aware of how his eyes followed her, of how his breath seemed to catch for a moment when she brushed against him. The wide, inviting black leather sofa occupied one corner of the room. Rafael closed the door behind them—not locking it, but the sound of the latch echoed like a period at the end of any possibility of return. Clara sat down first, her legs crossed, her hands resting on her knees. He settled beside her, not so close as to be invasive, but close enough that she could feel the heat of his body radiating, the woody scent of his cologne mingling with the smell of leather and old paper in the office. — So — he began, leaning back with a feigned casualness —, what’s the verdict? Do we really need this break? Clara laughed, a low, nervous sound that betrayed her attempt to seem indifferent. — You suggested it. I thought you had a plan. — Oh, I do — Rafael murmured, his dark eyes fixed on her. — But first, I want to know what *you* need. The question hung in the air, laden with meaning. Clara felt her throat go dry. She could have answered with a joke, a professional comment, anything to ease the tension. But she didn’t. — I don’t know — she admitted, her voice softer than she intended. — Maybe... something that makes me forget we’re at work. Rafael smiled, slow, as if she had just given him the answer he wanted. — That I can provide. He leaned in a little more, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers intertwined. Clara watched the way his forearm muscles moved beneath his shirt sleeve, the way his veins stood out slightly—details she had never noticed before. Or perhaps she had, but never dared to admit. — Are you always like this? — she asked, trying to keep the conversation light but failing. — So... confident? — Only when I’m sure — he replied, his voice low. — And right now, Clara, I’m sure of a few things. — Like what? — Like the fact that you’re just as curious as I am. — He moved closer, his knee brushing against hers. — That you feel the same heat I do when we touch. And that if I kissed you now, you wouldn’t stop me. Her heart raced. His words were a provocation, a challenge, and she knew it. But she also knew he was right. — You’re so full of yourself — she murmured, but she didn’t pull away. — It’s not arrogance. It’s observation. — Rafael lifted his hand, his fingers lightly brushing her arm, tracing a slow path from her elbow to her wrist. Clara held her breath. — For example, I noticed you hold your breath when I get close. That your lips part when you think I’m not looking. That your pupils dilate when I say something that turns you on. She should have felt exposed. Vulnerable. But instead, she felt *alive*, as if every nerve ending in her body were lit up, waiting for the next touch. — And what else have you observed? — she asked, her voice almost a whisper. Rafael smiled, pleased she had taken the bait. — That you like to pretend you don’t want this. — His fingers moved up her arm, stopping at the curve of her shoulder. — But your body gives you away. Clara swallowed hard. She *wanted* to deny it. Wanted to say he was wrong, that she was professional, that this was madness. But the truth was, she couldn’t think of anything but those fingers, that heat, that rough voice that seemed to reverberate inside her. — Maybe I’m just... — she began, but the words died when Rafael leaned in even closer, his lips almost touching hers. — Maybe you’re just scared — he finished, his warm breath against her mouth. — But you don’t have to be. And then, before she could respond, he closed the distance. It wasn’t a soft kiss. It wasn’t a request. It was a statement, a declaration that yes, they were doing this, and there was no turning back. His lips were firm, demanding, and Clara responded in kind, her hands rising to grab his shirt, pulling him closer. Rafael groaned softly against her mouth, a sound that made her body burn, and in one swift motion, he pulled her onto his lap, her legs parting to accommodate him between them. Clara arched her back as he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring hers with an intimacy that made her tremble. His hands slid down her back, pulling her against him, and she felt the proof of his desire pressing against her thigh—hard, insistent. A wet heat gathered between her legs, and she moved against him instinctively, seeking relief from the growing pressure inside her. Rafael broke the kiss with a rough sigh, his lips trailing down her jaw, along her neck. — Fuck, Clara — he murmured, his teeth lightly grazing the sensitive skin just below her ear. — You have no idea what you’re doing to me. She made a sound that was half-laugh, half-moan. — I think I have an idea. He laughed, low and dangerous, and then his hands were on her hips, pulling her closer, making her feel every inch of him. — Then tell me — he whispered, his lips against her ear. — What do you want? Clara hesitated for only a second. But then, with a courage she didn’t know she had, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him again, slower this time, deeper, letting her actions speak for themselves. And Rafael understood. His hands slid beneath her blouse, his fingers hot against the bare skin of her back, and Clara gasped against his mouth. He pulled her closer, until she was practically straddling him, their bodies aligned in a way that left no doubt about what would come next. — Fuck — she murmured, his name a plea on her lips. — I know — he replied, his voice rough. — Me too. And then, with a quick movement, he laid her down on the sofa, covering her body with his, and Clara knew there was no going back. Not that she wanted to. The synthetic leather sofa creaked softly beneath their combined weight, a sound almost imperceptible in the silence of the office but one that seemed to echo between them like an invitation. Rafael didn’t wait. With a fluid motion, he laid her down on the soft cushions, his body covering hers in a perfect fit, as if they had been made for this. Clara felt his weight, the firmness of his muscles beneath his dress shirt, the delicious pressure between her legs—and moaned softly, her fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. Rafael’s lips found hers again, but this time there was no hesitation. It was a hungry, urgent kiss, his teeth grazing lightly, his tongue exploring with an intimacy that made her arch her back, seeking more contact. He nipped at her lower lip, pulling it gently before devouring her again, as if he couldn’t get enough. Clara responded with the same hunger, her nails lightly scratching the back of his neck, feeling the short hairs there rasp against the sensitive skin of her fingers. — You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this — he murmured against her mouth, his voice rough, the words lost between kisses. — Me too — Clara admitted, surprised by her own boldness. — Since you walked into that meeting room on the first day. Rafael chuckled, a dark, satisfied sound, and slid one hand up her thigh, lifting her pencil skirt to her waist. His fingers found the bare skin above her stockings, and he traced lazy circles there, as if he had all the time in the world. Clara shivered, her hips moving instinctively against his hand, seeking more pressure. — So hot — he whispered, his lips now on her neck, sucking lightly, leaving a mark only the two of them would see. — So hot I could barely concentrate on anything today. She laughed, but the sound turned into a moan when he bit lightly at the curve of her shoulder. Rafael’s free hand slid beneath her blouse, his warm fingers against the lace of her bra, gently squeezing her already hardened nipple. Clara gasped, her whole body responding to that touch, the wetness gathering between her legs. — Rafael... — she moaned, his name a plea on her lips. — What? — he teased, his lips now at her ear, his warm breath tickling. — Want me to stop? — Don’t you dare. He laughed again, but obeyed. With a quick movement, he pulled her blouse up, exposing her black lace bra. Rafael didn’t waste time—he lowered his head and took one nipple into his mouth, his tongue circling the hard peak through the thin fabric. Clara moaned loudly, her hands tangling in his hair, holding him there as he sucked, nipped, and licked, each movement sending waves of pleasure straight to the center of her legs. — Fuck — she murmured, her hips moving on their own, seeking relief. Rafael lifted his head, his lips glistening, his eyes dark with desire. — Not yet — he said, his voice rough. — I want to taste you everywhere. Before she could respond, he pulled her up, making her sit on the sofa, and knelt between her legs. Clara felt her heart race as he slid his hands up her thighs, pushing her skirt even higher, exposing her stockings and the black lace panties beneath. Rafael looked at her, a slow smile spreading across his face. — Beautiful — he murmured, his fingers tracing the outline of her panties. — Already so wet. Clara bit her lip, embarrassed and aroused at the same time. Rafael didn’t wait—with a quick movement, he tore the stockings in the middle, exposing the bare skin of her thighs and her damp panties. She gasped, but didn’t have time to protest, because he was already pulling the fabric aside and burying his head between her legs. The first lick was slow, deliberate, his hot, wet tongue sliding from her clit to her entrance, making her tremble. Clara moaned loudly, her hands gripping the sofa cushions, her hips moving instinctively against his mouth. Rafael held her firmly, his hands on her hips, keeping her in place as his tongue worked, exploring every fold, every sensitive spot, until she was panting, her moans turning into incoherent pleas. — Rafael... please... — she murmured, her fingers tangling in his hair. He lifted his head just enough to look at her, his lips glistening, his eyes dark with desire. — Please what? — he teased, his fingers now sliding inside her, one, then two, moving in a slow, torturous rhythm. — I want you — she admitted, her voice trembling. — Inside me. Rafael didn’t need to hear it twice. With a quick movement, he stood up, pulling her with him, and led her to the nearest meeting table. Clara felt the cold of the glass top against her back as he laid her down, the scattered papers fluttering to the floor in a muffled rustle. Rafael didn’t care—he was already unbuttoning his pants, his eyes fixed on her, watching every reaction as she writhed on the table, her legs spread, her skirt still bunched at her waist. — Do you have any idea how much I’ve wanted to fuck you here? — he asked, his voice rough, as he pulled his pants down, freeing his hard, pulsing erection. Clara swallowed hard, her eyes fixed on him, her whole body trembling with anticipation. — Show me — she challenged, spreading her legs wider. Rafael didn’t hesitate. With a rough groan, he positioned himself between her thighs, the tip of his erection brushing against her wet entrance. Clara gasped, her fingers gripping the edges of the table, her hips lifting instinctively, seeking more contact. — Fuck, Clara — he murmured, his fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs. — You’re going to kill me. And then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he entered her. The moan that escaped Clara’s lips was loud, almost a cry, her whole body arching against the table as he filled her, inch by inch, until he was completely inside her. Rafael paused for a second, his eyes closed, his breath ragged, as if he were holding back from losing control right then. — So tight — he murmured, his fingers tightening on her hips. — So perfect. Clara couldn’t respond. The pleasure was too intense, the feeling of having him inside her, filling her in a way that made her feel complete. She moved first, her hips lifting, seeking more, and Rafael got the message. With a rough groan, he began to move, his hips slamming against hers in a slow, deep rhythm, each thrust drawing a moan from Clara’s lips. The table creaked beneath them, the sound mingling with their moans and ragged breathing, creating a symphony of pleasure that echoed through the empty office walls. Rafael leaned over her, capturing her lips in a hungry kiss as he continued to move, each thrust deeper, more intense, until Clara was writhing beneath him, her moans turning into incoherent pleas. — Rafael... I’m going to... — she murmured, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her nails scratching his skin. — Come for me — he ordered, his voice rough, his hips quickening the pace. — I want to feel you. And Clara obeyed. With a muffled cry, her whole body contracted around him, the orgasm washing over her in intense waves, leaving her breathless. Rafael didn’t stop—he kept moving, prolonging her pleasure until, with a rough groan, he came too, his body trembling as he spilled inside her. For a moment, the two of them stayed like that, panting, their bodies still joined, their heavy breathing filling the silence of the office. Rafael leaned in to kiss her again, a slow, sweet kiss, full of unspoken promises. — It’s not over yet — he murmured against her lips, his fingers tracing lazy circles on the sweaty skin of her back. Clara smiled, feeling her body still tingling, the desire already beginning to rekindle. — No? — No — he confirmed, his eyes dark with desire. — We still have the whole office to explore. And with a quick movement, he pulled her up, making her sit on the edge of the table, their bodies still connected, their lips meeting again in a kiss that promised so much more. The mahogany table still held the warmth of their entwined bodies, the polished varnish reflecting the soft glow of the city lights filtering through the half-open blinds. Clara ran her fingers over the surface, feeling the smooth texture beneath her fingertips, while Rafael leaned back, the muscles of his back defined beneath his wrinkled shirt—now unbuttoned halfway down his chest, revealing skin marked by light scratches, silent witnesses to the urgency with which they had surrendered. The air conditioning hummed softly, mingling with the distant sound of a car accelerating on the avenue, but inside the room, the only noise was their breathing, still uneven, as if their bodies refused to believe the desire had been, at least for now, sated. — You’re going to make me hungry again — she murmured, turning to face him. Her lips were swollen, her lipstick smudged, and her hair, once neatly tied in a bun, now fell in damp strands over her shoulders. Rafael smiled, that slow, dangerous smile she had already learned to recognize as the prelude to something more. — That’s the idea — he replied, reaching out to pull her back against him. Clara didn’t resist. The contact of their bare, still sweat-dampened skin sent a shiver down her spine. He wrapped his arms around her, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on the curve of her waist, as if memorizing every inch. — But I think, for today, we’ve already pushed the company’s tables enough. She laughed, a low, husky sound, and lightly bit his earlobe. — Pushed? I’d say we were *efficient*. — Efficient *and* creative — Rafael added, tilting his head to capture her lips in a soft kiss, almost chaste, if not for the tongue that slid between them, slow and deliberate. Clara moaned against his mouth, her body reacting instantly, but Rafael pulled away with a theatrical sigh. — Unfortunately, if we keep this up, we’ll end up sleeping here. And tomorrow, the cleaning crew will have *a lot* to explain. Clara looked around, noticing for the first time the signs of the night they had spent: papers scattered on the floor, a chair knocked over, a cold cup of coffee forgotten on the edge of the table. A genuine, light laugh escaped her. — God, if Dona Marta saw us now, she’d have a heart attack. — Or give us a raise — Rafael joked, helping her up. The movement made their bodies brush against each other again, and Clara felt his still semi-hard member pressing against her thigh. She arched an eyebrow, challenging. — Don’t look at me like that, or we *will* end up sleeping here. — Promises, promises — she teased, but stepped back, picking up her panties from the floor and sliding them up her legs. The black lace fabric was damp, clinging to her skin, and Rafael watched every movement with dark, hungry eyes. Clara knew he was holding back, and that excited her as much as his touch. They dressed in silence, exchanging knowing glances as they adjusted their clothes. Clara ran her fingers through her hair, trying to tame the rebellious strands, but gave up when Rafael approached from behind and pushed her hands away, replacing them with his own. His fingers were firmer, more confident, and she closed her eyes when he tilted his head to kiss the curve of her neck, his warm lips against her sensitive skin. — You’re going to leave me all marked — she murmured, but made no move to stop him. — Good — he replied, his voice rough. — That way, tomorrow, when you’re in that client meeting, you’ll remember me. Clara turned in his arms, her eyes shining. — As if I could forget. Rafael smiled, but there was something more serious behind that smile. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs caressing her cheekbones. — Clara... this was... — He hesitated, searching for the right word. — Unexpected. — A good unexpected? — she asked, teasing, but there was a hint of vulnerability in her voice. — The best kind of unexpected — he replied, and the sincerity in those words made her smile. Rafael leaned in to kiss her again, a slow, deep kiss, as if he wanted to seal something between them. When he pulled away, his eyes were darker, more intense. — But it doesn’t have to be just today. Clara felt her heart race. — No? — No — he confirmed, his voice low. — I liked this. Liked *you*. And if you want to do it again... well, I think we can find a few more urgent projects that need overtime. She laughed, but there was something warm and liquid spreading through her chest, something that went beyond desire. — Are you suggesting we turn the office into our... personal playground? — I’m suggesting we explore all the possibilities — Rafael corrected, his fingers sliding to the nape of her neck, pulling her in for another kiss. This time, it was quicker, more urgent, as if he couldn’t help himself. — And if that includes desks, sofas, elevators, and even the filing room, I’m in. Clara bit her lower lip, feeling her body react to the idea. — You’re dangerous. — And you love it — he murmured against her lips. She didn’t deny it. The clock on the wall read nearly midnight when they finally said goodbye. Clara slipped on her heels, feeling the weight of fatigue in her bones, but a good kind of fatigue, the kind that left the body light and the mind alert. Rafael walked her to the office door, his hand resting on the small of her back, as if he didn’t want to lose contact. — Tomorrow? — he asked as they reached the elevator. Clara looked at him, her eyes shining under the cold light of the hallway. — Tomorrow — she confirmed. — But this time, I choose the place. Rafael laughed, a low, satisfied sound, and pulled her in for one last kiss, long and slow, as if he wanted to ensure she wouldn’t forget his taste until the next day. When the elevator doors opened, Clara stepped in, turning to face him as the doors closed. Rafael raised his hand in a wave, his smile still on his lips, and she felt something tighten in her chest. The elevator descended, taking her away from that floor, that moment, but Clara knew she wasn’t really leaving. She was just saving it—those touches, those whispers, that heat—for next time. And, for the first time in a long while, she couldn’t wait for tomorrow.