Under the Corporate Moonlight

**Under the Corporate Moonlight** The office breathed silence, a dense emptiness that seemed to swallow even the echo of footsteps. The fluorescent lights, usually cold and relentless, now flickered in lazy intervals, as if even they were tired of the day’s journey. Clara adjusted her thin-framed glasses, her fingers sliding over her temple as she massaged the tension building there. The computer screen cast a bluish glow over her face, illuminating delicate features—the slightly clenched jaw, the lips parted in concentration. The quarterly closing report tolerated no errors, and she knew it. Every number, every decimal, had to be flawless before tomorrow’s meeting. The air conditioning hummed softly, blowing an artificial breeze that lifted the loose strands of her chestnut hair, tied in a messy bun. She wore a cream silk blouse, snug enough to outline the curve of her shoulders, and a pencil skirt ending just above her knees. Nothing that drew attention, nothing that strayed from the unwritten corporate dress code—but in that moment, it all felt unexpectedly intimate. After all, who would see her there, besides the glass walls reflecting only her own image? Then, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway. Clara instinctively lifted her gaze, as if the sound had the power to pierce the frosted glass partitions. It wasn’t common for anyone to stay this late—especially not at ten o’clock at night, when even the cleaners had already come and gone, leaving behind only the scent of cleaning products and silence. But the footsteps were firm, decisive, approaching with a rhythm she recognized before she even saw him. Daniel. He appeared in the half-open door of the meeting room, a tall, lean figure, his broad shoulders filling the space with a presence that seemed to suck the air from the room. He wore a dark gray suit, his tie loose around his neck, as if he’d discarded it the moment the last meeting ended. His dark hair, slightly disheveled, fell over his forehead in rebellious strands, and his eyes—green, intense, like two emeralds under the artificial light—scanned the room until they landed on her. For a second, neither of them moved. Clara felt her heart race, an uneven rhythm echoing in her ears. It wasn’t the first time they’d been alone in the office, but something in the way he looked at her now—with an almost palpable intensity—made her skin tingle. Maybe it was the exhaustion, the loneliness of the late hour, or the fact that, for the first time, there were no colleagues around to witness this unexpected encounter. "Still here?" Daniel’s voice was low, rough, as if he, too, had been caught off guard. She smiled, trying to hide the almost imperceptible tremor in her hands. "And you too." She nodded toward the folder he carried. "Forgot something?" He lifted the folder, as if only then remembering why he was there. "Documents from yesterday’s meeting. Need to review a few details before sending them to the client." He paused, his eyes scanning the room before returning to her. "But you… you don’t usually stay this late." "The report won’t close itself." Clara shrugged, trying to sound casual, but her tone came out softer than intended. "Besides, I like the silence. It’s easier to concentrate." Daniel nodded, as if he understood exactly what she meant. And maybe he did. After all, he was the kind who preferred the dead hours, when the office became his own territory, free from interruptions and curious glances. "May I?" He indicated the chair in front of her with a tilt of his head. Clara hesitated for a second. There was no reason to refuse, of course. But something in the way he asked—as if the answer were already implied—made her stomach clench. "Of course. Make yourself comfortable." He approached, dragging the chair with a metallic scrape that echoed in the silence. The scent of his cologne—woody, with a hint of spice—reached her even before he sat down, mingling with the aroma of the cold coffee Clara had left on the table. Daniel crossed his legs, resting his elbows on the chair arms, and for a moment, he just watched her. "You’re different today," he murmured, as if talking to himself. Clara raised an eyebrow, pretending not to understand. "Different how?" "I don’t know." He tilted his head, his eyes moving over her face with deliberate slowness. "Maybe it’s your hair down. Or the fact that you’re not wearing that blazer you usually have over your blouse." She touched her bun, suddenly aware of how the strands escaped the elastic, falling over her neck in messy waves. It wasn’t common to leave it like that. But that night, with the empty office and the feeling that the world outside had stopped, it felt right. "I… didn’t think I’d run into anyone," she admitted, lowering her eyes to the computer screen. "Neither did I." Daniel smiled, a slow, almost lazy gesture. "But I’m glad I did." The air between them seemed to thicken, charged with something neither dared to name. Clara felt the heat rise up her neck, spreading across her cheeks. It was ridiculous, really. She’d known him for years—they’d worked together since he was promoted to manager three years earlier. Always professional, always cordial. But now, with the empty office and the night stretching ahead, everything felt different. "Do you think…" She hesitated, biting her lower lip. "Do you think anyone else is still in the building?" Daniel glanced at his wristwatch, a silver Rolex that gleamed under the artificial light. "Doubt it. Security makes their rounds around nine, and after that…" He shrugged. "Just the two of us." Just the two of us. The words hung in the air, heavy with possibility. Clara swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the silence that followed. The cursor on the screen blinked relentlessly, reminding her of the work still ahead. But suddenly, the numbers and graphs seemed less important than the way Daniel looked at her—as if, for the first time, he truly saw her. "I need to finish this," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "Tomorrow’s presentation, and—" "And you don’t want to make mistakes. I know." Daniel finished, his voice soft. He stood up slowly, as if not wanting to break the spell of the moment. But instead of moving away, he walked around the table until he stood beside her, his fingers lightly brushing the back of her chair. "If you need help with anything, just call." His voice was a whisper, so close that Clara felt his warm breath against her ear. "I’ll be right there." And then, with one last look that seemed to promise more than words could express, he stepped away, leaving her alone with the weight of that sudden closeness. Clara took a deep breath, trying to ignore the tingling on her skin. The report was still there, waiting. But now, every time the cursor blinked, she could only think of one thing: Daniel was just a few steps away. And, for the first time, she wasn’t sure she wanted him to leave. Clara kept her eyes on the screen, but Daniel’s reflection in the window glass betrayed her attention. He moved through the room with the confidence of someone who knew every corner of that space, his steps muffled by the thick carpet. The bluish light from the monitor illuminated only half of her face, leaving the other half in shadow, as if the office already knew something was about to happen. "Do you always stay this late?" His voice cut through the silence, closer than she expected. Clara slowly turned her chair, finding him standing just a few feet away, a black leather folder in his hands. The buttons of his white shirt were undone at the collar, revealing the soft curve of his clavicle, and his rolled-up sleeves exposed strong forearms, marked by discreet veins that seemed to trace a map beneath his skin. "Only when the report decides to sabotage me," she replied, trying to sound light, but her voice came out huskier than intended. Daniel smiled, that slow smile she’d seen in meetings, always accompanied by a glint in his eyes that made the interns blush. He placed the folder on the table beside her and leaned slightly, resting his hands on the wooden surface. "Sabotage is serious business. Let me see." Before she could protest, he walked around the table and stopped behind her, so close that Clara felt the heat of his body radiating against her back. His cologne—citrusy and woody, with a hint of leather—filled her nostrils, mingling with the scent of paper and cold coffee that permeated the office. "Did the system freeze again?" He leaned over her shoulder, his fingers hovering over the keyboard without touching. Clara swallowed hard. The screen displayed a spreadsheet with numbers that suddenly seemed to dance before her eyes. She tried to focus, but his presence was a physical distraction, almost palpable. "It’s the damn cash flow chart. It won’t update." "Let me try." His voice was a murmur, and when his fingers finally brushed against hers as he took the mouse, Clara felt a shiver run up her spine. Daniel moved even closer, his chest almost touching her back. She could feel his breath against her neck, warm and steady, as he clicked with precision, his long, agile fingers gliding over the keyboard. The space between them was minimal, almost nonexistent, and Clara had to hold back from leaning against him. "See?" He pointed to the screen, where the numbers finally aligned. "Just needed a little persuasion." Clara laughed, but the sound came out strangled. "Persuasion? You call that persuasion?" "Of course." His lips brushed her ear as he leaned in to whisper. "Sometimes, things just need the right touch." She closed her eyes for a second, feeling his warm breath against her skin. When she opened them, Daniel was looking at her with an intensity that made her stomach clench. "You’re good at this," she murmured. "At what?" "Making things work." He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his fingers slid down the arm of the chair until they found hers, intertwining lightly, as if testing the ground. "Not always," he admitted, his voice deeper. "But with you… it feels easy." Clara felt her heart beat faster. The office, once a cold and impersonal space, now seemed charged with electricity, as if every object around them was waiting for the next move. His hand tightened slightly around hers, and she didn’t pull away. "Daniel…" His name escaped as a sigh. "Yes?" "What are we doing?" He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he let go of her hand and stepped back just enough to turn the chair, making her face him. His knees brushed against hers, and Clara felt the heat of that closeness spread through her legs. "Something we should’ve done a long time ago," he said, his voice rough. She should’ve said no. Should’ve stood up, gathered her papers, left. But when he leaned in closer, his lips just inches from hers, Clara could only think about how good it would feel to give in. "What if someone walks in?" she asked, but there was no conviction in her voice. "The door’s closed." His fingers traced up her arm, leaving a trail of fire. "And I locked it." Clara raised an eyebrow. "You locked it?" "Precaution." He smiled, slow and dangerous. "You never know when an emergency might happen." She should’ve laughed. Should’ve pushed the chair back, put distance between them. But when his hand slid to the nape of her neck, pulling her closer, Clara didn’t resist. Daniel’s lips met hers in a soft kiss, almost hesitant, as if he, too, was testing the limits. But when she responded, tangling her fingers in his hair, the kiss deepened, became more urgent. His tongue explored hers with a hunger that made Clara moan softly against his mouth. He pulled her out of the chair in one fluid motion, and suddenly she was standing, pressed between his body and the table. Daniel’s hands slid down her back, pulling her against him, and Clara felt every muscle, every curve of his body against hers. "Clara…" he murmured against her lips, his voice thick with desire. She didn’t answer. Instead, she lightly bit his lower lip, drawing a rough groan from him. Daniel lifted her effortlessly, sitting her on the table and fitting himself between her legs. The fabric of her skirt rode up slightly, and she felt the cold air of the air conditioning against the bare skin of her thighs. "You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this," he confessed, his lips tracing a path of kisses down her neck. Clara tilted her head back, giving him access, her fingers tangling in his shirt, pulling him closer. "Then show me," she challenged, her voice trembling. Daniel didn’t need further encouragement. His hands slid down her thighs, squeezing lightly, while his lips returned to capture hers in a voracious kiss. Clara felt her entire body respond, every nerve ending alight, every breath faster. But then, as if the universe had decided to test them, a sharp sound cut through the air. The pen. It rolled off the table and clattered to the floor, breaking the spell for a second. Both froze, their bodies still entwined, their breaths ragged. Daniel looked down at the fallen object, then back at her, his eyes dark with desire. "I’ll get it," he murmured, but didn’t move. Clara didn’t either. And then, slowly, they both bent down at the same time. The pen rolled across the laminate floor with a dry sound, as if the office itself had held its breath. The metallic *clink* echoed between the empty walls, amplified by the silence of the late hour, and for a moment, neither moved. Clara felt the weight of the moment cling to her skin—the air conditioning had turned off hours ago, leaving the room stuffy, laden with the scent of reheated coffee and paper, but now there was something more: the heat radiating from Daniel’s body, so close she could distinguish the accelerated rhythm of his breathing, the slight tremor in the hands still resting on her thighs. It was he who broke the stillness first, leaning forward with a slow, almost lazy movement, as if time had stretched just for them. His fingers brushed the floor before hers, but Clara didn’t pull back. Instead, she followed the gesture, her knees bending at an awkward angle, the fabric of her skirt riding up a few inches above her thighs. The office, once a familiar territory of spreadsheets and deadlines, had transformed into a tiny stage where every detail took on a new intensity: the dull sheen of the floor under the yellowish glow of the emergency lights, the muffled sound of her own heartbeat, the way Daniel’s tie swayed slightly with the movement, like a pendulum marking the seconds until the inevitable. Their hands met halfway. It wasn’t an accidental touch—not exactly. Clara’s fingers were outstretched, her nails short and well-manicured, while Daniel’s were broader, the veins slightly raised beneath his tanned skin. When they touched, it was as if an electric current ran through them both, a soft shock that made Clara hold her breath. Daniel didn’t pull his hand away. Instead, he turned it slightly so his palm fit against hers, their fingers intertwining for a second that felt like an eternity. The contact was brief but enough for Clara to feel the heat of his skin, the roughness of the small scars on his knuckles—marks from hours of scribbling notes in endless meetings. "Sorry," she murmured, though she wasn’t sure what for. For the pen? For the touch? For the way her body reacted, betraying her with a shiver down her spine? Daniel didn’t answer right away. Instead, he slowly lifted his eyes, as if each centimeter of the movement were a deliberate choice. When he finally looked at her, Clara saw something she’d never noticed before: it wasn’t just desire in his eyes, but something deeper, a hunger that went beyond the physical. It was the same expression he wore when analyzing a complicated project, that absolute concentration that made everyone around him feel invisible. Only now, the object of his attention was her. "Don’t apologize," he said, his voice rough, almost a whisper. His hand still rested on hers, his fingers now tracing slow circles on the sensitive skin of her wrist. "Not for this." She should’ve pulled away. Should’ve picked up the pen, stood up, and gone back to the computer screen, pretending none of this had happened. But her body wouldn’t obey reason. Instead, Clara leaned slightly forward, her lips parted, as if about to say something. Daniel matched the movement, coming closer until their faces were inches apart. His breath smelled of mint and coffee, an oddly intimate combination, and Clara felt her chest rise and fall in an uneven rhythm. "What do you want me to do, then?" she asked, surprised by the steadiness in her own voice. It was a dangerous question, but she needed to hear him say it. Daniel smiled, a slow and dangerous smile, as if he knew exactly the effect he had. His fingers slid up her arm, leaving a trail of heat, until they reached her shoulder, where they lingered, squeezing lightly. "I want you to stop pretending you don’t feel this," he murmured, his mouth so close to hers that Clara could feel his words vibrating against her lips. "I want you to admit that every time I walk into a room, you hold your breath. That when I pass you in the hallway, you smell my cologne and wonder what it would be like to have it stuck to your skin." Clara swallowed hard. His words were a confession, but also a challenge, and she knew that if she answered, there would be no going back. Still, she couldn’t hold back. "And you?" she shot back, her voice trembling. "Do you think about it too?" Daniel didn’t hesitate. The hand on her shoulder slid to the nape of her neck, his fingers tangling in her loose hair, pulling her closer. The gesture was possessive, almost rough, and she felt her entire body respond, a liquid heat spreading between her legs. "Since the day you joined my team," he confessed, his lips brushing her earlobe. "Since the first time you crossed your legs under the table and I realized you were wearing stockings. Since the meeting where you bit your lip while presenting the numbers, and I had to stop myself from pulling you into the bathroom and kissing you until you forgot your own name." Clara let out a shaky breath. His words were torture, a promise of something she’d been denying herself for months. She wanted to protest, to say it was impossible, that they were professionals, that the office wasn’t the place for this. But the truth was, she’d already imagined it. Already dreamed of it—of his hands sliding under her skirt, of his mouth exploring every inch of her body, of the two of them locked somewhere no one could interrupt. "Daniel…" she began, but he cut her off with a kiss. It wasn’t a soft kiss. It wasn’t a test, a question. It was a statement, a seal on everything that had been said and everything yet to come. His tongue explored hers with a hunger that made Clara moan softly against his mouth, her hands clutching his shirt as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. He pulled her closer, their bodies pressed together, and Clara felt the evidence of his desire pressing against her stomach, hard and insistent. For a moment, the world around them disappeared. There was no office, no reports, no rules. There was only Daniel’s taste—coffee and something sweet, as if he’d sucked on a candy before coming down—and the way his hands explored her, as if memorizing every curve of her body. Clara responded with the same intensity, her teeth nipping at his lower lip, her nails digging into his broad shoulders. Then, as if the universe had a cruel sense of humor, a distant sound cut through the air: the hum of the elevator, followed by the noise of a door opening on the floor below. They froze. Daniel pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his breathing as ragged as hers. For a second, Clara saw doubt flicker across his face—a moment of hesitation, as if he were considering backing off. But then, his lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. "I think we’d better lock the door," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. Clara didn’t answer. Instead, she slowly stood up, her knees trembling, and held out her hand to him. Daniel intertwined his fingers with hers, pulling her close once more, his lips brushing hers in a quick, burning kiss. "After you," she whispered, her eyes shining with promise. And without another word, Daniel followed her toward the door, their steps silent but heavy with an urgency they both knew could no longer be contained. Daniel didn’t wait. The moment Clara held out her hand, he pulled her against him with a firm motion, his fingers intertwining with hers as if he already knew exactly where every curve of her body would fit against his. The first kiss wasn’t soft—it was a collision of mouths, tongues, and ragged breaths, as if both had spent months holding back that moment and now there was no room for gentleness. Clara tasted the coffee he’d had hours earlier, mixed with the warm wetness of his saliva, and moaned softly against his lips, her nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. "Fuck," Daniel murmured, pulling back just enough to breathe, his dark eyes fixed on hers. "You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do this." Clara smiled, a slow and dangerous smile, her lips still swollen from the kiss. "Oh, I have an idea," she replied, her voice husky, running her hand over his chest, feeling the accelerated rhythm of his heart beneath her palm. "But I think you’ll have to show me." He didn’t need further encouragement. With a low growl, Daniel pushed her against the nearest wall, his body pressing against hers from top to bottom, every inch hard and demanding. Clara arched her back, feeling his erection brush against her stomach, and bit her lower lip to stifle a moan. His hands slid down her thighs, lifting her pencil skirt until the fabric bunched at her waist, exposing the bare skin beneath her thin stockings. "This," he whispered, his fingers tracing lazy circles on the inside of her thigh, each touch sending sparks straight to the center of her legs. "You’re even more beautiful up close." Clara laughed, a breathless sound, and pulled his tie, bringing him in for another kiss. This time, she was the one exploring, her tongue invading his mouth with an urgency that made him groan. His hands moved to her ass, squeezing hard, and she rubbed against him, feeling how much he wanted her. "The door," she managed to say between kisses, her voice broken. "We need to lock it." Daniel didn’t answer with words. Instead, he stepped back just enough to turn the doorknob, locking it with a soft click that echoed in the silence of the office. The sound was like a trigger. Clara felt the air shift, the tension between them turning into something more primal, more urgent. "Now," he said, his voice rough, his eyes burning into hers, "where else can we do this?" She didn’t answer. Instead, she gently pushed him back, guiding him toward the meeting table in the center of the room. The glass top was cold under her hands as she sat on it, her legs automatically parting to accommodate Daniel between them. He didn’t waste time: his hands returned to her skirt, pulling it up until the thin stockings were the only barrier between them. "You’re a walking temptation," he murmured, his fingers sliding under the elastic of the stockings, finding Clara’s warm, wet skin. She moaned as he touched her, her hips moving instinctively against his hand. "And you’re taking too long," she shot back, pulling his shirt out of his pants, her eager fingers undoing the first buttons. Daniel’s skin was hot, his muscles tense under her hands, and she couldn’t resist: she leaned forward and lightly bit his chest, tasting the salty flavor of his skin. Daniel groaned, his hands tightening around her waist. "You’re going to kill me," he said, his voice strangled. "Not yet," she whispered, pushing him back until he sat in the leather chair at the meeting table. Clara got off the table, kneeling between his legs, her fingers working on his belt with a skill that made Daniel hold his breath. "Clara," he began, but she silenced him with a look. "Shhh," she murmured, pulling the zipper down and freeing his erection. Daniel was hard, the tip already wet, and Clara didn’t waste time: she leaned forward and took him in her mouth, her tongue swirling around the head while her hands held him at the base. Daniel arched his back, a groan escaping his lips. "Damn," he whispered, his fingers tangling in her hair. "That’s too good." Clara didn’t answer. Instead, she increased the pace, her lips sliding up and down while her hands stroked in sync. She could taste him, salty and masculine, and the way Daniel’s body trembled under her touch turned her on even more. But before he could finish, she pulled away, leaving him panting, his eyes dark with desire. "Not yet," she repeated, standing up and pulling him by the hand. "There are more places to explore." Daniel didn’t argue. He stood in one fluid motion, pulling her close and kissing her with a hunger that made Clara moan against his mouth. His hands slid down her back, finding the zipper of her dress and pulling it down in one quick motion. The fabric fell to her feet, leaving her in just her black lingerie, stockings, and high heels. "Fuck," Daniel murmured, his eyes roaming over her body with an intensity that made her shiver. "You’re perfect." Clara smiled, gently pushing him toward the leather sofa on the side of the room. "Then show me how much you think so," she whispered, sitting on him and guiding his hand to the clasp of her bra. Daniel didn’t need further encouragement. With a quick motion, he unhooked the bra, freeing her breasts. Clara arched her back as he cupped them, his thumbs caressing her nipples until they hardened and became sensitive. She rubbed against him, feeling his erection brush against her clit through the thin barrier of the stockings. "You’re killing me," he groaned, his lips finding her neck, his teeth lightly nipping as his hands continued to explore. "Then die happy," she replied, standing up just enough to pull the stockings down, letting them fall to the floor along with her panties. Daniel watched her, his eyes dark with desire, and when she sat back on him, there was nothing between them but skin. He pulled her into a deep kiss, his hands gripping her ass as she moved against him, each motion sending waves of pleasure through their bodies. Clara could feel how much he wanted her, his erection pressing against her, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before they both lost control. "Daniel," she whispered against his lips, her hips moving in a slow, torturous rhythm. "I need you." He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he lifted her just enough to position himself, and then, with a quick motion, pulled her down, filling her completely. Clara moaned, her fingers digging into his shoulders as her body adjusted to the invasion. "That’s it," Daniel murmured, his lips finding her neck as he began to move, his hips thrusting upward in a rhythm that made her lose her breath. "You feel so good." Clara couldn’t answer. Instead, she let herself be carried away by the rhythm, her hips moving in sync with his, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through her body. Daniel’s hands were everywhere—holding her breasts, squeezing her ass, pulling her closer as he penetrated her with an urgency that left her on the edge. "More," she managed to say, her voice trembling. "Please, more." Daniel didn’t make her wait. With a quick motion, he stood up, keeping her pressed against him, and carried her to the nearest wall. Clara wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his back as he thrust into her with force, each stroke deeper than the last. "Fuck," he groaned, his lips finding hers in a desperate kiss. "You’re going to make me come." "Then come," she whispered, her teeth nipping at his lower lip. "Come with me." Daniel didn’t need further encouragement. He increased the pace, his hips moving with an urgency that made Clara cry out, the pleasure building inside her until there was no turning back. With a rough groan, she came, her body trembling as waves of ecstasy washed over her. Daniel followed soon after, his fingers digging into her skin as he found his own release. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their ragged breaths and the weight of their entwined bodies. Clara rested her head on Daniel’s shoulder, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his back. "That was…" he began, his voice still rough. "Incredible," she finished, lifting her head to look into his eyes. "But I think we’re not done yet." Daniel smiled, a slow, satisfied smile. "No," he agreed, his lips brushing hers. "Definitely not done." And before Clara could respond, he picked her up and carried her toward the meeting room sofa, where the city lights shone outside, illuminating the path to what was yet to come. Daniel carried her in his arms as if she weighed no more than a budget dossier, the muscles of his arms firm under her fingers as she wrapped her legs around his waist. The air conditioning blew cold against their damp skin, but the heat radiating from their bodies was enough to warm the entire room. Clara bit her lower lip, feeling the throb between her thighs, the urgency to have him inside her burning stronger with each step. The meeting room was neutral territory, a space for cold decisions and performance charts, but now, under the bluish light seeping in from the neighboring building’s windows, it seemed like a stage set for sin. Daniel set her down on the synthetic leather sofa, the cool material against her back, while he knelt between her legs, his dark eyes devouring every inch of her. Clara arched her back, offering herself, and he didn’t resist—his lips found her stiff nipple, his tongue circling slowly before sucking hard, drawing a rough moan from her throat. "You’re beautiful like this," he murmured, his voice hoarse, his hands sliding down the sides of her body, gripping her hips. "Uncontrolled. Mine." Clara grabbed his hair, pulling him closer, feeling the weight of his body on hers. The scent of coffee and masculine cologne mixed with their sweat was intoxicating, a drug that made her want more, always more. She lifted her hips, rubbing against his erection, feeling the wetness trickle between her legs. "Don’t tease me," he growled, his teeth grazing the curve of her neck. "I don’t have the patience for games right now." "Then don’t waste time," she whispered, her nails digging into his broad shoulders. Daniel didn’t need further encouragement. With a quick motion, he pulled back just enough to unzip his pants, freeing his erection, already throbbing, thick and ready. Clara bit her lip at the sight, her hand instinctively wrapping around him, feeling the velvety, hot skin pulse under her fingers. He groaned, his hips pushing against her palm, and for a second, she lost herself in the power of having him like this, surrendered to her touch. But there was no time for foreplay. Not when desire burned like fire between them. "Now," she ordered, pulling him toward her. Daniel didn’t hesitate. With one hand, he held the base of his cock, guiding it to her entrance, and with a single, firm motion, he entered her completely. Clara arched her back, a muffled cry escaping her lips as he stretched her, every inch a delicious mix of pain and pleasure. He paused for a moment, his eyes closed, his breathing heavy, as if he needed to control himself to keep from coming right then. "Fuck," he groaned, his voice rough. "You’re so tight." Clara didn’t answer. Instead, she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him closer, demanding more. Daniel got the message. With his hands braced on the sofa arms, he began to move, his hips slamming against hers in a relentless rhythm, each thrust deeper than the last. The sound of skin slapping echoed in the empty room, mingling with their moans, an obscene chorus that only made them want more. Clara clung to his shoulders, her nails marking his skin as he fucked her with an urgency bordering on violence. But it wasn’t violence—it was need. It was hunger. It was two bodies recognizing each other after months of repressed tension, stolen glances, and accidental touches that were never enough. "Harder," she begged, her voice broken. "Please." Daniel didn’t disappoint. He stood up, pulling her with him, and in one fluid motion, sat on the sofa, letting her straddle his lap. Clara didn’t waste time. With her hands on his shoulders, she began to move, her hips circling slowly before rising and falling hard, taking him in completely each time. The new angle made him hit a spot inside her that made her see stars, and she moaned loudly, throwing her head back as she lost herself in the sensation. "That’s it," he whispered, his hands gripping her waist, guiding her movements. "Ride me, Clara. Show me how you want it." She obeyed, picking up the pace, her breasts bouncing with each movement, her stiff nipples brushing against his chest. Daniel leaned his head forward, capturing one in his mouth, sucking hard as she continued to move on him, faster and faster, deeper and deeper. The pleasure was a rising wave, a heat spreading from her belly to the rest of her body, leaving her dizzy, desperate. "I’m going to come," she warned, her voice trembling. "Inside me. Please." Daniel groaned, his fingers digging into her flesh as he pulled her down harder, burying himself to the hilt. Clara felt the first spasm of his orgasm, the heat spreading inside her as he groaned against her neck, his hips trembling. That was enough to push her over the edge. With a muffled cry, she came, her body convulsing as waves of pleasure washed over her, each one more intense than the last. For a moment, they stayed like that, still, their sweaty bodies pressed together, their ragged breaths mingling in the thick air. Clara rested her forehead on his shoulder, feeling his heart pounding against hers. Daniel wrapped his arms around her, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back, as if he never wanted to let her go. "That was…" he began, his voice still rough with pleasure. "Not over yet," she murmured, lifting her head to look into his eyes. Daniel smiled, a slow, dangerous smile, and before she could react, he flipped her onto her back on the sofa, covering her body with his. Clara felt his erection, already hard again, pressing against her thigh, and a shiver of anticipation ran down her spine. "You’re right," he whispered, his lips brushing hers. "We’re not done yet." And then, the city lights flickered outside, illuminating their entwined bodies as he began to move inside her again, each thrust slower, more deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world to explore every inch of her. Clara closed her eyes, surrendering to the moment, knowing that night was far from over. The air in the meeting room was thick, laden with the scent of sweat, sex, and the faint citrusy trace of Daniel’s cologne mixed with the floral aroma of Clara’s shampoo. The city lights, once accomplices to the moment, now seemed to watch through the half-open blinds, casting golden stripes over their still-trembling bodies, marked by kisses and scratches. Clara took a deep breath, feeling the weight of Daniel’s body on hers, his muscles slowly relaxing as reality seeped in between the imaginary sheets of pleasure. "Holy shit," he murmured against her shoulder, his voice rough, almost unrecognizable. His lips brushed her damp skin, and Clara shivered—not from the cold, but from that sense of vulnerability that only came afterward, when bodies no longer lied, when every touch, every sigh, had been wrung out without shame. She ran her fingers through his now-disheveled hair and pulled him into a slow, almost lazy kiss. Daniel’s tongue met hers with a familiarity that made her smile against his mouth. It was absurd how, in just a few hours, something so forbidden could become so intimate. "We should get up," she whispered, but made no move to do so. His fingers still traced lazy circles on her thigh, as if memorizing every curve, every texture. "We should," he agreed, but instead of pulling away, he lightly bit her lower lip, pulling it between his teeth before releasing it with a soft pop. "But I don’t want to." Clara laughed, a low, satisfied sound, and gently pushed him away. His body yielded easily as he rolled to the side, and she sat up, her muscles protesting slightly. The faux-leather sofa creaked under her weight, a jarring sound in the silence of the early morning. Around them, the office seemed different—less impersonal, less cold. The stacked folders on the meeting table were now witnesses. The pen she’d dropped hours earlier still lay on the floor near the door, a reminder of their first accidental touch. Daniel watched her with an expression she couldn’t quite decipher—something between admiration and possessiveness. He reached out and took her wrist, pulling her back to him. Clara fell against his chest, her breasts pressing against his warm skin, her nipples still sensitive. "You’re beautiful," he said, his voice deep, as if the words had been torn from somewhere inside him. "And I’m an idiot for taking so long to realize it." She smiled, running her thumb over his swollen lower lip. "Better late than never," she murmured, leaning in to kiss him again. But before their lips met, a metallic clatter echoed down the hallway—the unmistakable sound of the cleaning cart being pushed, accompanied by the janitor’s off-key whistling. They froze. "Shit," Daniel cursed, sitting up abruptly. Clara instinctively curled in on herself, as if being naked made her more visible. He grabbed his shirt from the floor, wrinkled and missing a button, and put it on hastily, his fingers fumbling with the fastenings. Clara stood, feeling the liquid between her thighs trickle down slowly. The cool air from the air conditioning hit her damp skin, sending a shiver through her. She searched for her scattered clothes—the torn panties (Daniel had been *very* enthusiastic), the skirt twisted like a tourniquet, the blouse with a suspicious lipstick stain on the collar. As she dressed, she noticed Daniel watching her, his dark eyes fixed on every movement, as if trying to memorize the scene. "What?" she asked, pulling her skirt down. "Nothing," he replied, but the smile spreading across his face was anything but *nothing*. "I’m just thinking this is the first time I’ve seen a woman get dressed in such a hurry after making her come three times." Clara shot him a look of feigned indignation, but couldn’t hold back her laughter. "Three times? You’re counting?" "Of course I am," he said, adjusting his tie with practiced ease. "And I plan to break my own record next time." She felt the heat rise in her neck. *Next time.* The words hung between them, heavy with promise. Daniel took her chin between his fingers, tilting her face up, and kissed her—a quick but intense kiss, as if sealing a deal. "Go," he murmured against her lips. "I’ll leave in five minutes. I don’t want your boss thinking you’re having an affair with the project manager." Clara rolled her eyes but obeyed. She grabbed her purse, which had been tossed in the corner during the frenzy, and walked to the door. Before opening it, though, she looked back. Daniel stood near the window, hands in his pockets, his hair still messy, his shirt half-unbuttoned, revealing his chest marked by scratches. He looked exactly like what he was: a man who had just been completely undone and put back together by a woman. "Daniel," she called softly. He lifted his eyes. "Next time, we lock the door from the start." His smile widened, slow and dangerous. "Next time, I won’t let you leave this room before dawn." Clara carefully opened the door, peeking into the empty hallway. The sound of the vacuum cleaner echoed in the distance, but the janitor hadn’t yet reached their floor. She stepped out, her heels clicking softly on the marble floor, and turned left toward the elevators. With each step, she felt her body still vibrating, as if Daniel’s hands were still on her. She didn’t look back. --- Five minutes later, as agreed, Daniel left the meeting room. He adjusted his tie one last time, took a deep breath, and walked toward the emergency stairs—the elevator would be too risky. As he descended the steps two at a time, he ran his hand through his hair, trying to tame the rebellious strands. Clara’s scent still clung to his skin, mixed with the expensive cologne he wore. He smiled to himself. In the lobby, the night security guard gave him a sleepy wave. "Working late, Dr. Daniel?" "Yeah," he replied, running his hand over his chin, where the stubble had scratched Clara’s skin in a few places. "Company stuff." The guard nodded, uninterested, and went back to his phone. Daniel pushed through the revolving door and stepped into the street, where the cool early morning air hit him like a slap. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of fatigue and satisfaction mix in his chest. *Next early morning.* He was already counting the hours.