Forbidden Overtime

**Forbidden Overtime** The clock on the office wall read seven-thirty when Clara looked up from her computer screen, massaging the back of her neck with her fingers. The cold light of the monitors reflected off her thin-framed glasses, highlighting the fatigue settling at the corners of her green eyes—but also the determination that made them sparkle. Outside, rain lashed against the windows in relentless gusts, a sound that blended with the low hum of the servers and the occasional click of the keys. The floor was nearly empty, save for the distant murmur of some night-shift colleague lost among corridors lit only by emergency lights. She ran a hand through her chestnut hair, tied in a loose bun that was already coming undone, and sighed. The quarterly report couldn’t wait. The director had been clear: it needed to be on his desk by eight the next morning, reviewed, formatted, and flawless. Clara knew she was capable—she always had been—but the pressure of urgency weighed on her shoulders like a wet coat. That’s when she heard footsteps in the hallway, followed by a low, familiar laugh. — Still here, *analyst*? — Rafael’s voice echoed before he appeared in the doorway of the meeting room, where Clara had set up with her laptop and stacks of papers. He carried two cups of coffee on a cardboard tray, steam rising in lazy spirals. — Or are you already working on tomorrow’s report? Clara smiled, despite everything. Rafael had that effect: he made even exhaustion feel lighter. He was the kind of man who looked like he’d stepped out of an expensive cologne ad—broad shoulders under a slightly wrinkled dress shirt, dark hair always a little rebellious, as if tousled by impatient hands. The finance department adored him, not just for his efficiency, but for the way he could turn numbers into stories, graphs into irrefutable arguments. And, of course, for the charm that disarmed even the most skeptical. — If I say yes, will you leave me alone? — she teased, accepting the cup he offered. Their fingers brushed for a second, and Clara felt a shiver run up her arm, quick as lightning. Rafael laughed, sitting in the chair beside her with the ease of someone who had occupied that space for years. — Not a chance. The director called me twenty minutes ago. Said I needed to "support" you. — He made air quotes with his fingers, his smile widening. — Translation: he knows I’m the only one who can handle your perfectionist crises. — *Perfectionist crises*? — Clara raised an eyebrow, feigning indignation. — I just like to do things right. — And I like watching you try. — His eyes roamed her face, lingering on her lips a second longer than professional. — Especially when you bite your lip like that. Clara felt her face heat up. *Damn it.* She really did that when she was focused. And of course, Rafael had noticed. Before she could respond, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. — Come on, *analyst*. Let’s finish this before the rain floods the city and we get stuck here until Monday. The office, at that hour, had a different atmosphere. The main lights had been turned off, leaving only the desk lamps and the bluish glow of the monitors. The rain continued to fall, now accompanied by distant thunder, and the smell of fresh coffee mingled with the scent of paper, ink, and—Clara couldn’t deny it—the woody perfume that emanated from Rafael. It was a dangerous combination. She opened the report file on her computer, scrolling to the section that needed reviewing. — Alright. Let’s start with the cash flow analysis. Did you see the data Marcos sent? — I did. — Rafael pulled his chair closer, his knee lightly brushing hers. Clara didn’t pull away. — But I think there’s an error in the revenue projection. Look here. He reached out, pointing at the screen, and Clara leaned in to follow. The movement made their shoulders touch, and she held her breath for a moment. Rafael didn’t move. Instead, he turned his face slightly, his lips almost brushing her ear when he spoke: — You see it? Here, in the third quarter… Clara swallowed hard. His voice was low, intimate, as if they were sharing a secret. And perhaps they were. Because in that moment, with the rain beating against the windows and the empty office around them, they were no longer just colleagues working late. There was something else in the air, something that made her heart race and her skin tingle where the heat of his body touched hers. — I… I see it — she murmured, trying to focus. But it was hard when every nerve ending seemed tuned to him. Rafael smiled, as if he knew exactly the effect he had. — Great. Then let’s fix this before the director has a fit. They worked in silence for a few minutes, Clara’s fingers flying over the keyboard while Rafael reviewed the numbers aloud. But the tension between them didn’t ease. On the contrary: every time their eyes met, every time one of them leaned in to grab a pen or adjust the screen, there was a touch—accidental, perhaps, but charged with intention. At one point, Clara stood to grab a document from the printer. Rafael watched her, his eyes following the sway of her hips under the pencil skirt, the fabric clinging to her body like a second skin. When she returned, he couldn’t hold back: — You know, Clara… — His voice was a thread of silk, wrapping around her. — If we keep this up, we’ll never finish that report. She set the paper on the table, her fingers trembling slightly. — And why’s that? Rafael leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes gleaming with something she couldn’t decipher. — Because every time you lean in like that, I forget what I was doing. Clara felt the air leave her lungs. It wasn’t fair. He couldn’t say things like that and expect her to keep working as if nothing was happening. But before she could respond, another thunderclap boomed outside, making the lights flicker for a second. When they came back on, Rafael was standing, holding out his hand to her. — Come on. Let’s finish this in the meeting room. There’s more space. Clara hesitated for a second before taking his hand. His fingers closed around hers, firm and warm, and she let him guide her down the dark hallway. The rain kept falling, relentless, and the office seemed like a world apart—a place where the usual rules didn’t apply. And for the first time that night, Clara wondered if they’d actually finish the report. Or if, before that, something far more interesting would happen. The meeting room was neutral territory, but in that moment, it felt charged with possibility. The glass walls reflected the yellowish light of the desk lamps, casting a dance of shadows over the scattered papers and the faces of Clara and Rafael. He let go of her hand only to pull out a chair for her, an old-fashioned gesture she hadn’t expected but that made her smile as she sat down. The upholstery creaked slightly under her weight, and she crossed her legs, adjusting the pencil skirt that rode up a few inches above her knees. Rafael settled beside her—not across from her, as would be professional, but beside her, so their arms almost touched. The smell of the coffee he’d brought still lingered in the air, mingling with her citrusy perfume and the faint leather scent of the furniture. Clara took a deep breath, trying to focus on the numbers on her laptop screen, but his proximity made it nearly impossible. — Do you always work this late? — Rafael asked, leaning slightly to get a better view of the spreadsheet. His voice was low, almost a murmur, as if he feared breaking the sacred silence of the empty office. — Only when my boss threatens to cut my bonus — she joked, but her fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitant. — And you? — I like the peace. — He smiled, and his dark eyes met hers a second longer than necessary. — No interruptions, no unnecessary meetings. Just me, the numbers, and… — he paused deliberately — …the right company. Clara felt the heat rise in her neck. She knew he was flirting, but there was something deliciously dangerous in how he did it: unhurried, as if they had all the time in the world. As if the report wasn’t urgent, as if the rain outside wasn’t beating against the windows in an insistent rhythm. — The right company? — She arched an eyebrow, feigning indifference, but her tone came out softer than she intended. — Or just someone to share the blame when the report goes wrong? Rafael chuckled, a deep, rough sound that vibrated in his chest and made Clara wonder what it would feel like against hers. He leaned in a little closer, and now she could feel the heat radiating from his body, even without contact. — Do you always think the worst of me, Clara? — He picked up a pen from the table and twirled it between his fingers, a casual gesture that somehow seemed calculated. — Or are you just trying to provoke me? — Maybe both — she admitted, biting her lower lip lightly. The movement didn’t go unnoticed. Rafael’s eyes dropped for a fraction of a second before returning to hers, more intense. — Careful with that — he murmured, leaning in even closer, until his mouth was near her ear. — Or I’ll start to think you want to be provoked. The air between them felt thicker, charged with something beyond words. Clara could feel her own heartbeat quickening, the blood pulsing in her temples. She should have pulled away, should have gone back to work, but instead, she let her knees brush lightly against his under the table. A minimal touch, almost imperceptible, but enough to make Rafael hold his breath. — And if I do? — The question slipped out before she could stop it, and Clara immediately felt her face burn. She wasn’t the type to play these kinds of games, but something about Rafael made her want to break her own rules. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his fingers slid across the table until they found hers, intertwining for a second before letting go. It was a quick, almost innocent gesture, but enough to send an electric current through Clara’s body. — Then — he said finally, his voice rough — I’d say we’re wasting time with these numbers. Clara laughed nervously and pushed the laptop slightly to the side, as if rearranging the papers. But the movement made her arm brush against his, and she didn’t pull away. Instead, she let his sleeve slide against her skin, a light contact that made her shiver. — Are you always like this? — she asked, trying to regain control. — So… direct? — Only when it’s worth it. — Rafael picked up a document from the stack and pretended to examine it, but his eyes never left hers. — And you, Clara? Are you always this hard to read? — Depends on who’s trying. — She held his gaze, defiant, but her body betrayed her confidence. Her fingers gripped the edge of the table lightly, and she wondered if he could hear the sound of her quickened breathing. For a moment, neither spoke. The rain kept falling, a constant sound filling the silence between them. Rafael finally broke eye contact to look out the window, where the city lights shone through the curtain of water. — You know what I think? — he said, turning back to her. — I think we’re both tired of pretending we don’t notice this. — This? — Clara feigned ignorance, but her voice trembled. — This… tension. — He reached out and, with a finger, traced an imaginary line in the air between them, as if drawing the space that separated them. — Ever since you joined the finance department, I’ve seen you looking. And you’ve seen me looking back. Clara didn’t deny it. She couldn’t. Because it was true. Ever since Rafael had been transferred to the department, there had been something about him—the way he smiled, the confidence in his movements, the way his eyes always seemed to find hers when she least expected it—that left her unsettled. And now, there, alone in the empty office, it was as if all the barriers she’d built were crumbling. — And what do you want to do about it? — she asked, her voice barely a whisper. Rafael didn’t answer with words. Instead, his fingers found hers again, this time not for a quick touch, but to truly intertwine them. His thumb caressed the back of her hand, a slow, deliberate movement that made Clara hold her breath. — I want to find out — he said finally — if what I’m feeling is real. Before she could respond, another thunderclap echoed outside, louder than the last. The lights flickered again, and for a second, they were plunged into near darkness. When the electricity returned, Rafael was still holding her hand, their faces closer than before. — Clara — he murmured, and the way he said her name, as if it were something precious, made her stomach twist. She should have said no. Should have reminded him about the report, the work, the consequences. But when he leaned in, getting even closer, she didn’t pull away. Instead, her eyes closed slightly, and her lips parted, as if waiting for something she didn’t dare name. And then, when Rafael’s mouth was inches from hers, when she could feel his warm breath against her skin, he stopped. — But not here — he said, his voice rough. — Not like this. Clara opened her eyes, confused, but before she could ask what he meant, Rafael let go of her hand and stood, offering his again. — Let’s finish this in my office. There’s a better coffee machine. She hesitated, but only for a second. Because deep down, she knew it wasn’t the coffee he wanted. And for the first time that night, neither did she. Clara held her breath as Rafael pulled away, as if the air between them had become too thick to inhale. The heat of his hand still burned on hers, a ghost of contact that refused to fade. She watched, almost hypnotized, as he stood from the chair, his movements fluid, the muscles under his dress shirt contracting in a way that made her pulse quicken. He didn’t look back as he headed toward the small break room on the floor, but the silence he left behind was heavy with unspoken promises. The rain kept falling outside, beating against the office windows with a persistence that was almost lascivious, as if time itself were conspiring to keep them there, tangled in that slow, dangerous dance. Clara ran her fingers over her lips, still feeling the tingling from his nearness, the almost-kiss that hadn’t happened. The report, once an urgent priority, now seemed like a distant detail, something that could wait while she lost herself in those stolen seconds. When Rafael returned, he carried two steaming cups. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the scent of paper, ink, and the faint citrusy perfume she associated with him—something fresh, with a hint of spice, like bergamot and ginger. He placed one of the cups in front of her but didn’t step back. Instead, he leaned in slightly, resting one hand on the wooden surface, his body so close she could feel the heat radiating from him even without contact. — Black, no sugar — he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. — Just how you like it. Clara looked up, surprised. It wasn’t the first time they’d had coffee together, but she’d never noticed him paying attention to something so trivial. Or maybe it wasn’t trivial. Maybe it was just another sign that Rafael watched her in a way that went beyond mere professional courtesy. — You remember? — she asked, taking the cup. Their fingers brushed as she held it, a brief touch, but enough to send an electric current up her arm. She didn’t pull her hand away. Neither did he. — I remember more than you think — he replied, and there was something in the way the words came out, slow and deliberate, that made her stomach clench. Rafael straightened up but didn’t step back. Instead, he brought his own cup to his lips, watching her over the rim as he took a sip. The movement was casual, but his eyes—dark, intense—left no doubt: none of this was accidental. Clara brought the coffee to her mouth, letting the hot liquid slide down her throat, an excuse to buy time. The taste was strong, slightly bitter, but she didn’t mind. She needed that anchor, something to bring her back to the present, even if just for a second. — And what else do you remember? — she asked finally, her voice rougher than she intended. Rafael smiled, one corner of his mouth lifting in a way that made her heart race. He leaned in again, resting his free hand on the table, close enough that she felt the heat of his palm against the back of hers. It wasn’t a touch, not exactly, but a promise. — I remember the first time you wore that blue dress, the one that brings out your eyes — he said, his voice low, almost intimate. — You were nervous that day, fidgeting with your necklace the whole time. And I remember how you bit your lip when the director complimented you in the meeting. You do that when you’re trying not to smile. Clara felt her face heat up. It wasn’t fair. How could he remember details like that? How could he turn something so simple into something so… dangerous? — You’ve been watching me — she accused, but there was no anger in her voice. Just surprise. And something more, something she didn’t want to name. — It’s not watching — he corrected, leaning in a little more. — It’s paying attention. There’s a difference. She should have pulled away. Should have reminded him they were in the office, that anyone could walk in, that this was a terrible idea. But the words died in her throat when he reached out, his fingers lightly brushing the thin bracelet on her wrist—a birthday gift she wore almost every day. — And this bracelet — he continued, his voice even lower. — You never take it off. Clara held her breath. The bracelet was a silly detail, something she wore out of habit, without thinking. But the way he touched it, as if it were something precious, made her chest tighten. — It’s just a bracelet — she murmured, but her voice faltered. — It’s not — he said simply. And then, as if realizing he’d crossed a line, he pulled back, just enough to break the contact. But the tension remained, vibrating in the air between them, thick as honey. Clara took another sip of coffee, trying to compose herself. The liquid burned her tongue, but she barely felt it. She was too busy trying to ignore how her body reacted to his presence, how every nerve ending seemed to be on alert. — Have you always been like this? — she asked finally, trying to lighten the mood. — So… observant? Rafael chuckled, a low, rough sound that made her stomach flip. — Only with you — he admitted, and there was a sincerity in those words that left her breathless. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken things. Clara looked at the report in front of her, the scattered pages, the numbers blurred under the yellowish light of the lamp. She should get back to work. Should be professional. But when she looked up and met Rafael’s gaze, she realized neither of them wanted that. — What if someone walks in? — she asked, her voice barely a whisper. Rafael didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached out again, this time brushing his knuckles against her cheek, a light touch, almost imperceptible. But it was enough to make the heat spread through her body. — The door’s closed — he said finally. — And the rain outside will make sure no one shows up. Clara swallowed hard. It wasn’t an answer. Not really. But it was permission. And for the first time that night, she realized she didn’t want to resist anymore. Rafael pulled back then, returning to his chair, but the mood between them didn’t dissipate. On the contrary. Now, every movement seemed charged with intention, every word a veiled provocation. — Let’s finish this report — he said, picking up a pen. — Before I forget we still have work to do. Clara smiled, sensing the challenge in those words. She knew it wasn’t the report he wanted to finish. And for the first time, neither did she. Clara twirled the pen between her fingers, her eyes fixed on the laptop screen, but her mind elsewhere. The air conditioning hummed softly, mingling with the distant sound of rain beating against the office windows. The yellowish light from the lamps cast long shadows over the table, and the smell of stale coffee mixed with Rafael’s citrusy perfume, now stronger in the air. She ran her hand over the cold wooden surface, feeling the contrast between the smooth tabletop and the heat still pulsing under her skin. The air conditioning, now in silent night mode, blew a light breeze over her bare shoulders, raising goosebumps in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. — You’re too quiet — Rafael murmured, leaning slightly in his chair, elbows on the table. — Thinking about how you’re going to explain why these numbers don’t add up? She looked up, meeting his gaze. Rafael’s eyes gleamed with a mischief she knew well, but that night, it seemed more intense, as if the office’s darkness had amplified every detail. Clara smiled, slow and deliberate. — I’m thinking about how you manage to be so insufferable and charming at the same time. He laughed, a low, rough sound that reverberated in her chest. — It’s a gift. — Or a curse. Rafael leaned in a little closer, his fingers tapping on the wooden table. The movement was casual, but Clara noticed how his eyes roamed the modest neckline of her blouse before returning to her face. — You know what else is a curse? — he asked, his voice deeper. — Having to share a room with someone as distracting as you and still try to be productive. She arched an eyebrow. — Distracting? — Yeah. — He leaned back, crossing his arms. — You, this blouse, the way you bite your lip when you’re focused… — He paused, savoring the words. — It’s not fair. Clara felt the heat rise in her neck. She knew he was teasing, provoking, but the way he said it, with that tone, made her body react before her mind could protest. — So the problem is mine? — she shot back, feigning indignation. — I didn’t say that. — Rafael smiled, one corner of his mouth lifting. — I’m just stating a fact. Maybe we’d work better without so many… distractions. She threw her head back and laughed. — Oh, really? And how do you suggest we fix that? He leaned forward, his fingers lightly brushing her wrist as he picked up the printed report between them. The touch was quick, but enough to send a shiver down her spine. — Maybe we should test it. — Test what? — If we can concentrate better… somewhere else. She narrowed her eyes, feigning suspicion, but her heart was already racing. — Like where? Rafael tilted his chin toward the conference table on the other side of the room. It was larger, more spacious, with leather chairs and a privileged view of the city lit up by the rainy night. The distant building lights reflected on the windows, creating a play of shadows and glows that made the space even more intimate. — Over there. Less… personal. Clara bit her lower lip, tasting the lipstick that was already starting to fade. She knew he was playing with her, but she couldn’t resist. After all, it was just a game. Just a joke. — Alright — she agreed, standing up slowly. — But only if you promise not to complain when I prove I can concentrate better than you. Rafael laughed, standing up as well. They locked eyes for a moment, the space between them charged with something neither dared to name. — I promise. They moved toward the conference table, their steps muffled by the thick carpet. Clara felt Rafael’s gaze on her back, as if he could see through the fabric of her blouse. When she reached the table, she turned, resting her hands on the polished wooden edge. The coldness of the surface contrasted with the heat spreading through her palms. Rafael stopped a few inches from her, close enough to feel his body heat but without touching her. He took her laptop and placed it on the table, his fingers brushing against hers a second longer than necessary. — Better like this? — he asked, his voice low. Clara nodded but didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned slightly forward, pretending to adjust the computer screen. The movement made their bodies almost touch, and she heard Rafael hold his breath for a moment. — Much better — she murmured. He laughed, but the sound came out rougher than before. — You’re impossible. — And you love it. Rafael didn’t deny it. Instead, he moved even closer, his hands resting on the table on either side of her, trapping her between his arms. Clara felt his scent—the mix of his shampoo, sweat, and sex—still lingering between them. His body didn’t touch hers, but his presence was almost physical, as if every cell in her body was tuned to his. — I do — he admitted, his voice a whisper. — But this isn’t helping our productivity at all. Clara smiled, turning her face to look at him. His lips were inches from hers, so close she could feel his warm breath against her skin. — Then maybe we should stop pretending this is about work. Rafael didn’t answer with words. Instead, he closed the distance between them, his lips brushing hers in a light, almost experimental touch. Clara felt her whole body react, a shiver running down her spine as his hands slid around her waist, pulling her closer. But then, as quickly as it started, he pulled away, leaving her breathless. — We still have a report to finish — he said, his voice rough, his eyes dark with desire. Clara swallowed hard, feeling her body throb with frustration. She knew he was playing with her, teasing, but she couldn’t deny the game was working. — Then let’s finish it — she challenged, pushing him back slightly. — Before I forget this is still an office. Rafael laughed but didn’t retreat. Instead, he took her hand and pulled her toward the table, making her sit on the edge. Clara felt the cold wood against her thighs, but Rafael’s body heat soon warmed her as he positioned himself between her legs, his hands resting on the table on either side of her. — Last chance — he murmured, his lips almost touching hers again. — If you want us to stop, now’s the time. Clara didn’t answer. Instead, she cupped his face in her hands and pulled him into a kiss, this time without hesitation. Rafael’s lips were warm, soft, and when his tongue met hers, she moaned softly, feeling her whole body surrender. His hands slid down her back, pulling her closer, while hers tangled in his hair, pulling him tight. The kiss grew more intense, more urgent, as if both were trying to make up for weeks of repressed tension. When they finally pulled apart, breathless, Rafael rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed. — This wasn’t supposed to happen — he murmured. Clara smiled, running her fingers over her swollen lips. — But it did. He opened his eyes, looking at her with an intensity that made her heart race. — And now? She didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled him closer, their lips meeting again as his hands slid down her thighs, pulling her to the edge of the table. The report could wait. Clara’s breath still burned on Rafael’s lips when he pulled her closer, as if mere contact wasn’t enough to quench the hunger consuming them. His hands, once hesitant, now explored with urgency—one warm palm sliding over the curve of her waist, fingers digging into the thin fabric of her blouse as if he wanted to tear it away. The air between them was thick, dense, each breath mingling with the scent of stale coffee and paper, her citrusy perfume, and the faint sweat dampening their skin. — Do you have any idea what you do to me? — Rafael’s voice was rough, almost a growl, as his lips trailed down her neck, nipping at the sensitive skin just below her ear. Clara arched against him, her fingers tangling in his dark hair, pulling him closer. She felt the heat of his mouth against her collarbone, his tongue tracing a wet path to the base of her throat, where her pulse beat wildly. — Do I do *anything*? — she teased, but her voice trembled, betrayed by desire. Rafael chuckled, the sound vibrating against her skin before he pulled back just enough to look at her. His eyes, once controlled and brown, now burned with an intensity that made her catch her breath. Without a word, he cupped her face and kissed her again, slower this time, as if memorizing every curve, every texture. His teeth grazed her lower lip, pulling it gently, and she moaned, the sound muffled against his mouth. The office around them seemed to vanish. The city lights, reflected in the tall windows, painted the room in golden and blue hues, as if they were inside a bubble of desire and secrets. The scattered documents on the conference table—graphs, reports, hastily scribbled notes—were just a blur under their hands. Rafael lifted her effortlessly, sitting her on the edge of the table, and Clara instinctively parted her legs, letting him settle between them. The fabric of her skirt rode up a few inches, revealing the soft skin of her thighs, and he didn’t waste time—his hands slid over them, his thumbs tracing slow, torturous circles. — Rafael… — his name escaped her lips like a plea, and he smiled against her neck, his teeth marking her lightly. — Tell me what you want, Clara. — His voice was a rough whisper, his fingers gripping her flesh possessively. — Tell me *exactly* what you want. She hesitated for a second, but desire was stronger than any modesty. Leaning forward, her lips brushed his ear as she whispered: — I want you to touch me like there’s no tomorrow. Rafael didn’t need further encouragement. With a low groan, he pulled her to the edge of the table, his hands sliding under her blouse, tearing it off in one swift motion. Her black lace bra was next, his fingers working the clasp with a skill that made her gasp. When her breasts were exposed, he didn’t hesitate—his lips closed around one nipple, his tongue circling it with a pressure that made her writhe, her nails digging into his shoulders. — Fuck, Clara… — he murmured, his voice muffled against her skin. — You’re even hotter than I imagined. She laughed, but the sound turned into a moan when he bit down lightly, his teeth marking her before moving to the other breast, repeating the treatment. His hands didn’t stop—one slid downward, his fingers finding the zipper of her skirt and pulling it down in one quick motion. The fabric fell to the floor, leaving her in just her panties, her high heels still on her feet. Rafael pulled back for a moment, his eyes roaming her body with an intensity that made her feel more exposed than ever. But there was no shame, only a raw need, a desire burning between them like a living flame. — You’re beautiful — he said, his voice rough, before kneeling in front of her. Clara held her breath when he gripped her thighs, spreading them a little wider, his fingers tracing a slow path to the edge of her panties. He didn’t take them off right away—instead, he pressed his lips against the damp fabric, kissing her through the lace, his tongue tracing slow circles that made her arch her back and grip the edge of the table. — Rafael, please… — she begged, her voice breaking. He chuckled, a low, satisfied sound, before finally pulling her panties aside, exposing her completely. The first touch of his tongue was almost too much—he licked her slowly, from bottom to top, his fingers gripping her thighs hard enough to leave marks. — You taste like sin — he murmured before diving back in, his tongue working in precise movements, alternating between slow circles and sucks that made her tremble. Clara felt her legs weaken, pleasure building in waves that grew more intense. She tried to hold on, but Rafael didn’t relent—one hand slid up to squeeze her breast, his fingers pinching her nipple while his mouth continued to devour her. When he inserted one finger, then two, curling them inside her as his tongue didn’t stop, she couldn’t take it anymore. The orgasm hit her like a wave, her whole body contracting as she cried out his name, her nails digging into his broad shoulders. Rafael didn’t stop until she was completely limp, her moans turning into weak sighs. Only then did he stand, his lips glistening, his eyes dark with desire. He pulled her into a kiss, letting her taste herself on his tongue, and Clara moaned against his mouth, her hands sliding over his chest, feeling the tense muscles under his shirt. — Your turn — she whispered, her fingers already working on the buttons of his shirt, one by one. Rafael didn’t protest. He let her undress him, his eyes never leaving hers as his shirt fell to the floor, revealing a defined chest marked by a few old scars and a trail of dark hair that led down to his waistband. Clara didn’t waste time—her fingers slid over his abdomen, feeling the muscles contract under her touch, before reaching his belt. She undid it quickly, the zipper of his pants lowering with a sound that seemed to echo through the empty office. When she finally freed him, Rafael groaned, his hips moving instinctively toward her hand. Clara gripped him firmly, her fingers sliding over the hot, hard length, feeling him pulse against her palm. She stroked him slowly, exploring every inch, while Rafael closed his eyes and tilted his head back, his lips parting in a moan. — Clara… — he murmured, his voice strained. — If you keep doing that, I won’t last. She smiled, mischievous, and leaned forward, her lips brushing his ear. — Then don’t last. With a growl, Rafael pulled her close, kissing her hard as he lifted her again. This time, he turned her around, pressing her against the table, her body bent over the scattered documents. Clara felt his heat against her back, his erection pressing against her buttocks, and she arched instinctively, seeking more contact. — Are you sure? — he asked, his voice a rough whisper against her skin, his fingers tracing a slow path down her spine. — Absolutely — she replied without hesitation. Rafael didn’t need anything else. With a quick movement, he pulled her panties down, letting them fall to the floor before positioning himself behind her. Clara felt the tip of him brush against her entrance, and she moaned, her nails digging into the wooden table. — Please… — she begged, her voice breaking. And then he entered, slowly at first, letting her adjust to his size before starting to move with deep, rhythmic thrusts. Each push made the table creak slightly, the papers around them scattering even more, some falling to the floor. Clara cried out, pleasure mixing with the sensation of being completely filled, each of his movements sending waves of heat through her body. Rafael gripped her hips tightly, his fingers marking her skin as he picked up the pace, his groans growing louder, more desperate. Clara felt the orgasm approaching again, her whole body trembling as he penetrated her with an urgency that left no room for anything but pleasure. — Come for me — he ordered, his voice rough, one hand sliding forward, his fingers finding her clit and working in quick circles. It was enough. Clara cried out, her body contracting around him as the orgasm swept through her, waves of pleasure so intense she could barely breathe. Rafael didn’t stop—he kept moving, each thrust deeper, more desperate, until he too reached his limit, his whole body tensing before he spilled inside her with a rough groan. For a few seconds, the only sound in the office was their ragged breathing, their hearts beating in sync. Rafael leaned over her, his lips finding the nape of her neck in a soft kiss before pulling back slowly, leaving her empty. Clara turned around, her eyes meeting his, and for a moment, neither said anything. Then Rafael smiled, a slow, satisfied smile, before pulling her into a deep, lingering kiss. — I guess the report will have to wait a little longer — he murmured against her lips. Clara laughed, the sound light and free, before nestling against him, their bodies still warm and sweaty. — Or maybe… — she whispered, her fingers tracing circles on his chest — …we can find a way to work *and* have fun. The conference table, once the stage for unbridled passion, now served as a support for what remained of the report. The papers, once meticulously stacked, were now scattered like confetti after a party—some crumpled, others with sweaty fingerprints, one or two even with coffee stains that Rafael swore were "proof of a job well done." Clara ran her hand over the cold wooden surface, feeling the contrast between the smooth tabletop and the heat still pulsing under her skin. The air conditioning, now in silent night mode, blew a light breeze over her bare shoulders, raising goosebumps in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. Rafael sat beside her, his dress shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms still tense from hours before. He flipped through one of the folders with deliberate slowness, as if each page were an excuse to brush his fingers against hers. Clara watched the movement of his lips—those lips that had explored every inch of her body—as he murmured numbers and adjustments, his voice rough with satisfaction and fatigue. — Do you think anyone will notice this graph is crooked? — she asked, pointing to a line that indeed looked like it had been drawn by a less-than-steady hand. Rafael leaned over the paper, the scent of his shampoo mixed with sweat and sex still lingering between them. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his fingers slid down her thigh, under the skirt she’d pulled back to her hips but that was still wrinkled, as if it had been used for something far more interesting than a meeting. — Depends — he said finally, his voice low and full of promise. — If anyone asks, we can say it was a *creative error*. Clara laughed, the sound vibrating in her chest, and playfully nudged his shoulder. But Rafael didn’t move. Instead, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer, until their bodies fit together again, as if they were made for it. The fabric of his shirt brushed against her nipples, still sensitive, and Clara felt a shiver run down her spine. — You’re trying to distract me again — she accused, but made no move to pull away. — I’m trying to remind you what comes next — he corrected, his lips brushing her ear. — Because, Clara, I’m not done with you. Not even close. She should have focused. Should have picked up the pen, adjusted the numbers, done anything that didn’t involve melting against him like butter on hot bread. But her body had stopped obeying reason hours ago. Instead of pulling back, Clara tilted her head, exposing her neck, and Rafael didn’t waste time. His teeth grazed the soft skin just below her ear, followed by a slow lick, as if he wanted to memorize her taste. — Rafael… — his name came out as a sigh, a plea, and a surrender all at once. He chuckled, low and satisfied, before pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. His fingers were still on her thigh, tracing lazy circles that made her want to arch her back and beg for more. — I know — he murmured. — But the report won’t write itself. With visible effort, Rafael straightened up and picked up the pen, but his eyes never left hers. Clara took a deep breath, trying to ignore how her body reacted to every movement of his, every glance, every accidental touch. She picked up a blank sheet and started jotting down the final adjustments, but her hands trembled slightly. — You’re trembling — Rafael observed, his voice laced with masculine satisfaction that made Clara roll her eyes. — It’s the air conditioning — she lied. — Of course it is — he replied, not believing her for a second. Then, as if he couldn’t help himself, he leaned in and kissed her shoulder, his warm lips against her still-damp skin. — Better now? Clara didn’t answer. Instead, she pushed her chair back and stood, needing a moment to regain control. The office was silent except for the low hum of the computers in sleep mode and the distant sound of rain, now falling in a steady rhythm, as if time had slowed just for them. She walked to the window, her heels clicking softly on the wooden floor, and looked out at the illuminated city. The lights from the buildings reflected in the puddles, creating a spectacle of diffused colors that seemed to come from a dream. Rafael watched her for a moment, his gaze tracing the curves of her body, the tight skirt that barely covered what he already knew so well. Then, with a sigh, he stood and walked over to her, stopping just behind her. Clara felt his heat before he even touched her, and when his hands rested on her hips, she didn’t resist. Instead, she leaned back, resting her head on his shoulder. — Do you think anyone noticed? — she asked, looking at the dark windows of the neighboring buildings. — That we stayed here… doing this? Rafael chuckled, the sound vibrating against her back. — If they did, I hope they enjoyed the show. Clara playfully elbowed him but didn’t pull away. Instead, she turned in his arms, her fingers playing with the buttons of his shirt. — And now? — she asked, her voice soft but carrying a question that went beyond the report. Rafael cupped her chin, tilting her face up until their eyes met. There was something new there, something that hadn’t been present before—an intimacy that went beyond the physical, a mutual recognition that something had changed between them. — Now — he said, his voice rough — we finish the report. And then… — his lips brushed hers, a light, almost chaste kiss, but full of promises — …we see what else this night has in store for us. Clara smiled, feeling her heart race. She knew that, no matter what happened next, that night had already left its mark. It wasn’t just the report that was different. It was them. They returned to the table, but this time, Rafael pulled her chair closer to his, so their bodies touched with every movement. Clara didn’t complain. In fact, she liked the closeness, the way their knees brushed under the table, the way Rafael ran his fingers over her arm whenever he had a question, as if he needed that contact to focus. — This number here — he pointed to a cell in the spreadsheet — doesn’t match what’s in attachment three. Clara leaned in to see, the scent of her hair—a mix of vanilla and something sweeter—reaching him. Rafael took a deep breath, trying to ignore how his body reacted to her proximity. It wasn’t easy. Especially when Clara, on purpose or not, brushed her breasts against his arm as she reached for the folder. — You’re right — she murmured, her fingers sliding over the keyboard with calculated slowness. — I’ll fix it. Rafael watched as she typed, her lips parted in concentration, her tongue appearing now and then to moisten them. He knew he should be paying attention to the numbers, but it was impossible. Not when every movement of hers was a provocation, a reminder of what they’d shared and what they could still share. — Done — Clara announced finally, leaning back in her chair. — I think it’s all good now. Rafael didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took her hand and intertwined his fingers with hers, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss. Clara felt her heart race. — You’re amazing — he said, his voice low and sincere. — Not just for this. For everything. Clara blushed, something that rarely happened to her but seemed to be becoming a habit that night. She looked away, but Rafael held her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. — Don’t do that — he murmured. — Don’t hide from me. She swallowed hard, feeling his words like a physical touch. Then, with a sigh, she leaned in and kissed him. It was a slow, lazy kiss, full of everything they hadn’t yet said. When they pulled apart, Clara rested her forehead against his. — And now? — she asked again, but this time, the question was different. It was about them. About what would come after that night. Rafael smiled, a smile that was both tender and full of promises. — Now — he said — we send the report. And then… — his fingers slid down her thigh, making her gasp — …we go to my place. Or yours. Or anywhere we can keep doing this without worrying about deadlines. Clara laughed, the sound light and happy, and nodded. — Sounds like a great plan. They finished reviewing the last details in silence, but it was a comfortable silence, full of furtive glances and knowing smiles. When they finally sent the report, Clara felt a wave of relief mixed with a strange sense of loss. The night was coming to an end, but something new was just beginning. Rafael stood and held out his hand to her. — Ready? Clara took his hand without hesitation, letting him pull her close. They kissed again, a long, deep kiss that made the world around them disappear. When they pulled apart, Rafael rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed as if memorizing the moment. — I don’t want this to end — he admitted, his voice low. Clara smiled, feeling the same words echo in her own chest. — Then don’t let it — she whispered. And hand in hand, they left the office, leaving behind the forbidden overtime but carrying with them something far more valuable: the promise that this was just the beginning.