Under the Corporate Moonlight

**Under the Corporate Moonlight** The air conditioning hummed softly, a constant buzz blending with the muffled sound of Clara’s fingers tapping on her laptop keys. The screen’s bluish light illuminated her face in precise angles, highlighting the firm line of her jaw, the gentle curve of her slightly parted lips as she nibbled on the tip of her pen. The office, usually a hive of voices and ringing phones, was now a cathedral of silence, broken only by the occasional creak of a chair or the rustle of papers. Clara adjusted her thin-framed glasses, her fingers sliding over her temple in an automatic gesture. The week’s reports were nearly done, but something kept her from wrapping up. Maybe it was the fear of turning in imperfect work, or maybe it was just the comfortable loneliness of that hour, when the building’s cold walls seemed to belong only to her. She liked staying there, among numbers and spreadsheets, as if the outside world had stopped spinning. Or as if, for a few hours, she could just be a woman in front of a screen, without labels, without expectations. The elevator dinged at the end of the hallway, a metallic sound that echoed through the empty floor. Clara instinctively looked up but didn’t move. It was probably the security guard on his nightly rounds. Or some colleague as obsessed as she was, lost in their own professional ghosts. She turned her attention back to the screen, but then she heard footsteps—firm, rhythmic, nothing like old Mr. Jorge’s dragging steps. Daniel’s heels cut through the silence like knives. She knew that sound. Knew the way he walked, as if each step were a statement, as if the office floor were his territory and he, the king. Clara held her breath without meaning to, her fingers freezing over the keyboard. She shouldn’t be surprised—Daniel was always the type to come back for what he’d forgotten, be it a cell phone, a pen, or, like now, a damn document that could very well wait until Monday. He appeared in the hallway, his silhouette outlined by the dim light of the emergency lamps. His tie was slightly loosened, his blazer draped over his forearm, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms marked by veins Clara had glimpsed in meetings but never dared to stare at so intently. He paused for a second, as if also surprised by the lifelessness of the floor, and then his eyes met hers through the glass of the meeting room. Clara felt the heat rise in her neck. Daniel smiled. Not that professional, rehearsed smile he used in client presentations, but something slower, more intimate. As if they shared a secret. He raised his hand in a casual greeting, but his fingers lingered in the air a second longer than necessary, as if hesitating between waving or inviting her closer. — Still here? — His voice was low, almost hoarse, as if he’d spent the day talking and now only wanted to whisper. Clara took off her glasses, folding them carefully before placing them on the desk. The gesture was unnecessary, but she needed something to do with her hands. — And you too — she replied, trying to sound natural. — Forgot something? — A file. — Daniel shrugged, as if the reason were trivial. — The client wants to review it tomorrow morning, and I’d rather not have to explain why I missed a detail. She nodded, though she knew he was lying. Daniel wasn’t the type to worry about details—he delegated, trusted his team, knew the work would get done. If he’d come back, it wasn’t because of a file. It was for something else. Or someone else. — You’ve always been dedicated — she said, and the phrase sounded more loaded than she’d intended. Daniel tilted his head, his dark eyes fixed on her. The screen’s light reflected in his pupils, giving them an almost predatory glow. — And you always stay late. — Someone has to make sure the numbers add up. — Or someone likes being alone. Clara felt her heart beat faster. He’d noticed. Of course he had. Daniel wasn’t just charming—he was observant, the kind who noticed things others pretended not to see. Like the way she tied her hair when she was focused, or how her fingers drummed on the table when she was nervous. Like now. — Maybe I like the silence — she admitted, and the confession hung between them like an invitation. Daniel took a step forward, then another, until he was standing in the doorway. His scent reached her first—a mix of woody cologne and something warmer, more intimate, like the smell of skin after a full day of work. Clara held her breath. — Silence is good — he murmured. — But I think I prefer company. She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. The whole office seemed to hold its breath with her, as if the building knew something was about to happen. Daniel extended his hand, not to touch her, but as if offering to guide her. Clara looked at those long fingers, at the wedding ring he didn’t wear—she knew he was divorced, but she’d never thought about what that meant until now. — Want to grab a coffee? — he asked, his voice soft, almost a whisper. — The machine should still be on. Clara hesitated. She knew she should say no. She knew she should grab her things and leave, that this moment was dangerous, that the office walls weren’t made of bricks and cement but of unwritten rules and judgmental glances. But then Daniel smiled again, and something inside her broke. — Alright — she said, standing up. — But just one. He didn’t answer. He just smiled, as if he knew one coffee was only the beginning. The hallway stretched before her like a tunnel of possibilities, the emergency lights casting pools of pale amber on the gray carpet. Clara adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, her fingers still tingling with the residual heat of Daniel’s hand—or was it just the memory of it? With each step, the sound of her heels echoed, multiplying against the empty walls, as if the building itself were whispering warnings she refused to hear. Behind her, the meeting room door closed with a soft click, the sound as final as a period at the end of a sentence she didn’t want to finish. Then she saw him. Daniel stood under the faint halo of a ceiling light, his arms crossed, his dress shirt slightly wrinkled at the shoulders—a sign of a long day, of meetings that had dragged into the night. His tie, once impeccable, now hung loose around his neck, the knot undone as if he’d tugged at the fabric impatiently. When their eyes met, something reignited between them, a spark Clara would’ve sworn she saw dancing in the air, visible only to the two of them. — *You too?* — His voice broke the silence, low and rough, as if the words had been stored away for too long. Clara smiled, but it was a fragile, almost uncertain gesture. — *I could ask you the same.* — She stopped a few steps away, close enough to keep up appearances, near enough to feel the heat radiating from him, as if Daniel’s body were a lit fireplace in the cold air conditioning. — *Forgot something important?* He lifted a manila envelope, waving it slightly. — *The Megacorp contract. Need to review a few details before signing tomorrow.* — A pause. — *And you? You don’t usually stay this late.* — *Reports.* — She shrugged, trying to sound casual, but the word came out laden with something more, as if “reports” were code for everything that couldn’t be said. — *That Curitiba branch project. The numbers weren’t adding up, and I didn’t want to leave it for Monday.* Daniel nodded, but his eyes didn’t leave hers. They traced her face with an intensity that made Clara hold her breath—not from fear, but from anticipation. It was as if he were seeing her for the first time, not as the efficient analyst who always met deadlines, but as something new, something *dangerous*. — *Interesting* — he murmured, taking a step forward. — *I always thought you had a… healthy relationship with deadlines.* She laughed, a short, nervous sound. — *Healthy?* — *Yes.* — Another step. Now he was close enough for Clara to distinguish his scent: old coffee mixed with something deeper, woody, like sandalwood or aged leather. — *You never leave anything for the last minute. Never late. Never… improvise.* The word hung between them, heavy with meaning. Clara felt its weight in her chest, as if “improvise” were an invitation, a half-open door. She moistened her lips, suddenly aware of how her lipstick had faded throughout the day, of how her silk blouse clung slightly to her back from nervous sweat. — *And you?* — she asked, trying to shift the focus. — *What makes you improvise, Daniel?* He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he tilted his head, as if assessing how far he could go. — *Sometimes, the best things happen when you stop planning.* The hallway seemed to narrow. Clara felt the air grow denser, hotter, as if oxygen had been replaced by something heavier, more intoxicating. She knew she should step back, that she should come up with an excuse—a urgent call, a forgotten appointment—but her feet refused to obey. Instead, she found herself leaning slightly toward him, like a plant seeking light. — *And what did you plan for today?* — The question slipped out before she could stop it, her voice lower, almost a whisper. Daniel smiled, slow and deliberate. — *Nothing.* — He extended his hand, not to touch her, but to indicate the way. — *Shall we? The break room’s just over there.* Clara hesitated. The break room. A safe, neutral place. A place where they could pretend this was just coffee between colleagues, that the tightness in her chest was just exhaustion, that the gleam in his eyes was just the reflection of the dim light. But when her fingers brushed his—accidentally, or not—she knew there was no turning back. — *Alright* — she agreed, following him down the hallway. Their footsteps echoed in sync, as if they were dancing a rehearsed choreography. Every time Daniel’s shirt sleeve brushed her arm, Clara felt a shiver run up her spine, like an electric current coursing through her skin. He walked slowly, deliberately slowly, as if he knew she needed time to get used to the closeness, to his scent, to the way her body seemed to gravitate toward his without her having to think. — *You’re trembling* — he observed, without looking at her. — *Cold* — Clara lied, though the office was stuffy, the air conditioning turned off hours ago. Daniel stopped suddenly, turning to face her. They were in the middle of the hallway now, far from the rooms, far from the cameras—or at least that’s what Clara wanted to believe. The light there was even dimmer, turning his features into shadows and angles, like a sculpture carved in twilight. — *Clara* — he said, and the way he pronounced her name made her feel as if he were touching her. — *If you want to leave, I understand.* She should have said yes. Should have nodded, turned around, and run out of that building, out of that moment, away from that man who looked at her as if he wanted to devour her. But instead, she found herself stepping forward, closing the distance between them until she could count the stubble on his jaw, until she could see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, marks of sleepless nights and tough decisions. — *I don’t want to leave* — she admitted, her voice almost inaudible. Daniel didn’t move. Didn’t touch her. But something in his posture changed, as if he’d released a breath he’d been holding for a long time. — *Are you sure?* She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she raised her hand—slow, hesitant—and brushed her knuckles against the back of his hand. His skin was warm, almost feverish, and Clara felt her own heart race, as if she’d been electrocuted. Daniel closed his eyes for a second, as if her touch were too much, as if he needed a moment to compose himself. When he opened them again, there was something new in them. Something hungry. — *Last chance* — he murmured. Clara smiled, a smile that was both challenge and surrender. — *I don’t run from challenges.* For a moment, they just stared at each other, the air between them charged with unspoken promises, with things they both knew would happen but neither dared to name. Then, as if reaching a silent agreement, Daniel extended his hand again, this time more firmly. — *Let’s get that coffee* — he said, his voice rough. — *Before I change my mind and do something we’ll both regret.* Clara intertwined her fingers with his, feeling the roughness of his palm against her softer one. — *Or something we’ll both want to repeat.* The smile Daniel gave her was slow, dangerous. — *That too.* And then, together, they started walking down the hallway again, their steps now lighter, as if they were floating. Clara knew they were heading toward the break room, but she also knew the coffee was just an excuse, a reason to stay longer in that limbo between professional and personal, between allowed and forbidden. And when they reached the break room door, Daniel stopped, turning to her with an expression that made Clara’s stomach clench. — *Just one more thing* — he said, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. — *If we’re going to do this…* — *We’re not doing anything* — she interrupted, but the playful tone in her voice betrayed the seriousness of her words. Daniel chuckled, a low, intimate sound. — *Yet.* — He leaned in, close enough for Clara to feel his warm breath against her ear. — *If we’re going to do this, Clara, I want it to be because we both want it. Not from pressure, not by chance. Because when it happens…* — He paused, his lips almost touching her earlobe. — *I want it to be unforgettable.* She closed her eyes, feeling her whole body tingle. When she opened them again, Daniel was pulling back, but his smile said everything she needed to know. The coffee could wait. The hallway seemed narrower now, as if the walls had moved closer to witness what would happen between them. Clara walked ahead, her heels lightly tapping against the polished marble floor, each step echoing in the empty office’s silence. Daniel followed half a step behind, close enough for the citrus scent of his deodorant to mix with the sweet fragrance of her perfume—something floral, with a hint of vanilla that he’d already unconsciously associated with her. She didn’t look back when she turned left toward the break room, but she felt his presence like an electric current running down her spine. Clara’s hand trembled slightly as she gripped the frosted glass door’s edge, her fingers brushing the cold metal. Daniel reached out to push it open, and for a second—one second that felt like an eternity—their knuckles touched. It was quick. Accidental. But the contact sent a jolt straight to Clara’s core, as if someone had lit a match inside her. She held her breath, her lips parting in a silent gasp, and Daniel, noticing her reaction, let his hand linger in the air a moment longer than necessary before pulling back. — Sorry — he murmured, his voice rough, but his eyes fixed on hers, as if he knew exactly the effect that minimal touch had caused. Clara swallowed hard, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. — It’s fine. It was an accident. — Was it? — The question hung between them, laden with something neither dared to name. She looked away, pretending to adjust her bag’s strap on her shoulder, but Daniel didn’t move. He was too close, the heat from his body radiating against hers even without contact. The air between them felt dense, as if oxygen had been replaced by something heavier, more intoxicating. — Let’s go — she said, finally, her voice a little higher than she’d intended. — The coffee’s going to get cold. He nodded but didn’t step back immediately. Instead, he leaned in slightly, as if about to whisper something, and for a moment Clara thought he was going to kiss her right there, in the middle of the hallway, under the cold neon lights. But then he pulled back, running a hand through his dark hair, mussing it in a way that made her stomach knot. — After you — he said, gesturing toward the break room with exaggerated gallantry, as if they were at a ball instead of an empty office at eleven at night. Clara entered first, flicking on the light with a dry click. The break room was small, functional, with an old coffee machine that gurgled like a dying animal and a fridge that hummed softly. She approached the sink, pretending to wash her hands—anything to keep her fingers busy, to not think about how his body seemed to fill the space behind her. Daniel leaned against the counter, crossing his arms, watching her with an intensity that made her feel exposed. — Do you always stay this late? — he asked, breaking the silence. — Only when I have a deadline — she replied, drying her hands on a paper towel with more force than necessary. — And you? — Forgotten documents. — He shrugged, but his eyes didn’t leave hers. — Or maybe I just liked the idea of having the office to myself. Clara laughed, a nervous sound that echoed oddly in the small space. — That’s kind of creepy. — Depends on your point of view. — He stepped closer, slowly, as if approaching a wild animal. — Some things are more interesting when there’s no audience. She felt the heat rise in her neck, burning her cheeks. — Are you talking about the office or something else? Daniel smiled, slow and dangerous. — You decide. The air between them was charged, like before a storm. Clara could feel the weight of his gaze on every inch of her skin, as if he were tracing invisible lines with his eyes—from her neck to her collarbone, down the curve of her breasts, stopping at her waist. She held her breath when he reached out, but instead of touching her, he just picked up the mug she’d left on the counter, his fingers lightly brushing hers in the process. — Do you take sugar? — he asked, his voice low, as if they were sharing a secret. — No — she replied, her throat dry. — Just black. — Like me. — He filled the mug, the dark liquid splashing slightly, and when he handed it to her, his fingers lingered a second longer than necessary. — Careful. It’s hot. Clara held the mug with both hands, feeling the heat spread through her palms. — Thanks. They stood there in silence, drinking coffee as if it were the most normal thing in the world, while the clock on the wall ticked away the seconds with an irritating rhythm. Each sip Clara took seemed to burn more than the last, not from the liquid’s heat, but from the tension growing between them, relentless. — You’re trembling — Daniel observed, his voice soft. — I’m not. — You are. — He stepped closer, until the fabric of his blazer brushed her arm. — Is it the coffee or something else? Clara didn’t answer. She couldn’t. If she opened her mouth, she was afraid of what would come out—a sigh, a moan, a confession she wasn’t ready to make. Instead, she looked at him, her dark eyes meeting his, and saw there the same hunger she felt, reflected, multiplied. Daniel didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just watched, as if waiting for a sign, a consent, a permission she wasn’t yet brave enough to give. But then, as if making a decision, he reached out again, this time deliberately, and touched her wrist with his fingertips. It was a light touch, almost imperceptible, but Clara felt as if he’d plunged his hand into her chest and squeezed. A shiver ran through her body, and she closed her eyes for a second, trying to compose herself. — Daniel… — His name came out as a whisper, a question, a plea. He didn’t answer. Instead, he slid his fingers up her arm, slowly, as if memorizing the texture of her skin, until he reached her elbow. Then, with an almost imperceptible movement, he pulled her closer, until their bodies were almost touching, separated only by a thread of charged air. — I can stop — he murmured, his voice rough. — If you want. Clara opened her eyes. He was so close she could see the tiny golden flecks in his dark irises, could feel the scent of coffee on his breath, mixed with the woody perfume she already associated with him. And then, without thinking, without letting reason stop her, she raised her hand and touched his face, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, the rough stubble against her sensitive skin. — Don’t stop — she said, her voice steady despite the tremor. Daniel closed his eyes for a moment, as if savoring the moment, and when he opened them again, there was something wild in them, something that made Clara’s heart beat even faster. He cupped her face with both hands, his thumbs caressing her cheekbones, and then, finally, leaned in. But he didn’t kiss her. Instead, he stopped just inches from her lips, his warm breath mingling with hers, their noses almost touching. — Are you sure? — he asked, his voice a whisper. Clara didn’t answer with words. Instead, she closed the distance between them, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that started soft, hesitant, but quickly turned into something more urgent, more hungry. Daniel groaned against her mouth, his hands sliding to the nape of her neck, pulling her closer, as if he wanted to fuse their bodies into one. The forgotten coffee grew cold on the counter. The break room lights flickered, as if protesting the darkness enveloping them. And somewhere, far away, the clock kept ticking the seconds, indifferent to the fact that, in that moment, time had stopped. The coffee had long since lost its heat, but neither seemed to notice. The steam that had once risen in lazy spirals from Clara’s cup had dissipated in the office’s cold air conditioning, leaving only the bitter smell of roasted beans and the weight of the silence between them. Daniel was still too close, his body leaning forward as if balanced on the edge of a precipice, his fingers lightly drumming against the counter’s edge. The rhythm was irregular, following the erratic beat of his breathing. Clara watched those hands, the tanned skin contrasting with the white marble, the knuckles marked by small scars—traces of adventures she could only imagine. When he finally looked up, there was something in his eyes that made her hold her breath: a contained hunger, yes, but also a vulnerability she hadn’t expected. As if, behind that confident posture, he too was on the verge of something. — You’re thinking about something — he murmured, his voice low, almost hoarse. It wasn’t a question. She moistened her lips, tasting the lipstick that had faded hours before. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed; Daniel’s eyes followed the movement of her tongue, darkening. — I’m thinking that… — Clara hesitated, but the truth was already on the tip of her tongue, burning like a long-kept secret. — That I’ve always found you attractive. Since the first time I saw you, at the onboarding meeting. You were standing by the window, wearing that blue shirt that brought out your eyes. And I… I couldn’t stop looking. The words hung in the air, heavy, charged. Daniel didn’t move, but something in him changed. His posture relaxed, as if an invisible weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He let out a short, humorless laugh and ran a hand through his hair, mussing it even more. — Damn, Clara — he said, and her name in his mouth sounded like a confession. — I thought it was just me. She felt her heart pound against her ribs, as if trying to escape. The lights above them flickered again, a quick flash that illuminated his face for an instant, revealing the shadow of stubble and the tense line of his jaw. When the darkness returned, it was as if the world had shrunk, reduced only to that space between them. — And why didn’t you say anything? — she asked, her voice almost a whisper. Daniel took a step forward, closing the distance even more. Now she could feel the heat of his body, the way the air between them seemed charged, as if a storm were about to break. — Because you were the new analyst. Because I was your manager. Because… — he paused, his eyes fixed on hers, and then smiled, a slow, dangerous smile. — Because I didn’t know if you’d slap me or kiss me if I tried. Clara laughed, but the sound came out shaky. She raised her hand, hesitant, and touched his chest, feeling the rapid rhythm of his heart beneath his dress shirt. His skin was warm, almost feverish. — I wouldn’t have slapped you — she admitted. Daniel’s fingers closed around her wrist, not with force, but with an intensity that made her shiver. He guided her hand upward, until her palm was against his neck, feeling the accelerated pulse beneath his skin. — Then what would you have done? — he asked, his voice a thread of sound. She didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned forward, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered: — This. Daniel let out a low groan, almost a growl, and suddenly his hands were on her waist, pulling her against him. Her body collided with his, and Clara felt every inch of that closeness—the bulge of his erection pressing against her belly, the rigidity of his muscles beneath his clothes, his scent, a mix of woody cologne and something more primal, masculine. — Clara — he murmured, her name sounding like a prayer. His lips brushed her temple, then her cheek, descending toward her mouth, but never quite touching. It was torture, a deliberate provocation. She closed her eyes, feeling his warm breath against her skin, the way his fingers tightened on her waist, as if he were fighting the urge to tear her clothes off right there. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, laden with desire: — I want to kiss you. But not here. Clara opened her eyes, confused. — Where, then? Daniel looked around, as if only now realizing where they were. The empty break room, the glass walls reflecting only the office’s darkness, the flickering lights above them like distant stars. He smiled, a slow smile full of promises. — There’s a meeting room upstairs. No windows. No cameras. Her heart skipped a beat. — What if someone comes in? — No one’s coming in — he said, his voice firm. — Not at this hour. Clara felt her whole body tremble, not from fear, but from anticipation. She knew she should think about the consequences, about what this meant, about the fact that they were crossing a line with no return. But in that moment, with his hands on her waist and the promise of more on his lips, she couldn’t bring herself to care. — Take me there — she whispered. Daniel didn’t need any more encouragement. He took her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers, and pulled her out of the break room. The hallway was even darker now, the emergency lights casting a bluish glow on the walls, turning the office into a maze of shadows. Clara felt the cold air against her exposed skin, the excitement growing with each step, each ragged breath. When they reached the meeting room, Daniel pushed the door open with a gentle shove and pulled her inside. The room was plunged in darkness, but he didn’t turn on the lights. Instead, he closed the door behind them and pinned her against it, his hands braced on the wood on either side of her head, trapping her there. — Last chance — he murmured, his lips so close to hers that Clara could taste the desire in his mouth. — If you want to stop, now’s the time. She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she reached up and pulled his tie, undoing the knot with a quick motion. Daniel let out a low, satisfied laugh, and then, finally, their lips met. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was hungry, desperate, as if both were trying to make up for lost time. Daniel’s hands slid downward, gripping her thighs and lifting her, making her wrap her legs around his waist. Clara moaned against his mouth, feeling his hardness pressing exactly where she needed it most, the thin fabric of her panties and his dress pants the only barrier between them. — Damn, Clara — he growled, his teeth nipping at her lower lip. — You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this. She couldn’t answer. She couldn’t. Words had been lost somewhere between his mouth and the sensation of his hands moving up her back, pulling her blouse out of her skirt, his hot fingers against her bare skin. When he finally let her go, it was only to spin her around and push her against the meeting table, the cold surface against her back. — I want to see you — he said, his voice rough, his dark eyes fixed on hers as he unbuttoned her blouse with quick, precise movements. — All of you. Clara arched her back when his fingers brushed the lace of her bra, her nipples already hard, sensitive. He didn’t waste time; with a quick motion, he unclasped it and pulled the garment down, exposing her breasts to the office’s cold air. She shivered, but not from the cold. His gaze on her was like a physical touch, burning her from the inside. — Beautiful — he murmured, and then his mouth was on her, his lips closing around one nipple, his tongue swirling, teasing. Clara moaned, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. Daniel obeyed. One hand slid downward, finding the zipper of her skirt and pulling it down with a quick motion. The garment fell to the floor, leaving her in just her panties, her high heels still on. He pulled back for a moment, his eyes roaming over her body, lingering on her curves, the marks of her lingerie on her skin. — You’re perfect — he said, and then his hand was between her legs, his fingers sliding under the elastic of her panties, finding her already wet, ready. Clara arched against the table, her hips moving instinctively against his hand, seeking relief from the pressure building inside her. Daniel didn’t make her wait. With a groan, he knelt in front of her, pulling her panties aside and replacing his fingers with his mouth. The first touch of his tongue was like an electric shock. Clara cried out, her hands gripping the edge of the table, her knuckles white. Daniel wasn’t gentle. He devoured her, his tongue working in quick, precise movements, his lips sucking, his teeth lightly grazing her clit. It was too much and not enough at the same time, and Clara felt the orgasm approaching like a wave, ready to sweep her away. — Daniel, I… — she moaned, the words lost in a sigh. He lifted his head, his lips glistening, his eyes dark with desire. — Come for me — he ordered, and then he went back to licking her, two fingers sliding inside her at the same time. It was enough. Clara came with a muffled cry, her whole body trembling, her legs tightening around his head as waves of pleasure coursed through her. Daniel didn’t stop, prolonging the orgasm until she was limp, powerless, her moans reduced to weak sighs. When he finally stood up, there was a satisfied smile on his face, his lips still wet. He leaned over her, his arms braced on the table on either side of her body, and kissed her, letting her taste herself on his mouth. — That was just the beginning — he murmured against her lips. Clara smiled, weak but full of promise. — Then show me the rest. The air between them was already charged, dense like the smell of old paper and reheated coffee that permeated the office at that hour. Clara could barely breathe when Daniel took her wrist, his warm fingers wrapping around her skin with a firmness that brooked no retreat. There was something predatory in the way he pulled her to him, as if every second of hesitation were an unforgivable waste. She stumbled a step, but he caught her with his other arm, fitting her against his body before she could protest—not that she intended to. The meeting room was dark, lit only by the silvery moonlight filtering through the half-open blinds, drawing pale stripes on the gray carpet and the polished mahogany table. The security cameras, Daniel had assured her in a rough whisper as he guided her down the hallway, were turned off for maintenance. No one would see them. No one would interrupt them. That thought should have scared Clara, but instead, it ignited something inside her, a boldness she didn’t know she possessed. He pushed her against the wall with a fluid motion, his body pressing against hers before she could catch her breath. Daniel’s hands moved up her arms, slow, possessive, as if memorizing every curve through the thin fabric of her blouse. Clara arched instinctively, seeking more contact, and he chuckled softly, his warm breath against her neck. — You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do this — he murmured, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below her ear. Clara shivered. The words were dirty, forbidden, and that only excited her more. — Show me — she whispered, her voice barely audible. Daniel didn’t need further encouragement. He captured her mouth in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was hungry, desperate, as if both were starving for something they’d only now realized they’d denied themselves for too long. His lips were soft, but the way he kissed her was far from tender. It was a claim, a mark. Clara responded with the same intensity, her nails digging into the fabric of his blazer as her tongue met his, dueling, exploring. The taste of coffee and mint invaded her senses, mixed with the woody perfume she already associated with Daniel—and which now became part of a memory she knew would haunt her long after that night. His hands moved down to her waist, gripping her tightly before sliding up her back, pulling her even closer. Clara felt the hard bulge against her belly and a shiver ran through her, a mix of excitement and urgency. She needed more. She needed *him*. — Daniel… — she murmured between kisses, her voice hoarse, almost unrecognizable. He responded by pulling her blouse out of her skirt, his fingers sliding under the fabric to find the bare skin of her back. Clara moaned when he touched her, the tips of his fingers hot, tracing slow circles, descending to the curve of her waist. She squirmed, impatient, and he laughed against her mouth, a dark, satisfied sound. — Patience — he murmured, but his own hands betrayed the calm he tried to impose. With a quick motion, he unbuttoned the first buttons of her blouse, exposing the black lace bra she wore—a subconscious choice, as if part of her had known this night would end this way. Daniel pulled back just enough to admire what he’d revealed, his dark eyes gleaming in the moonlight. — Fuck, Clara… — he cursed, his voice rough. She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she grabbed his tie and pulled him back into a kiss, this time more desperate, more urgent. Daniel’s hands went to the remaining buttons of her blouse, opening them one by one with torturous slowness, until the fabric parted completely, revealing her pale skin and hardened nipples beneath the lace. He didn’t waste time. He leaned in and captured one between his lips, his hot, wet tongue working through the thin fabric. Clara arched her back, a moan escaping her lips as he sucked, nipped, teased. The sensation was almost unbearable—the contrast between the cold air conditioning and the heat of his mouth, the dampness of the lace clinging to her skin, the way he alternated between her breasts, as if he couldn’t decide which he preferred. — Daniel, please… — she begged, her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. He lifted his head, his lips swollen and wet, a wicked smile playing at the corners of his mouth. — Please what? — he teased, his fingers moving to the clasp of her bra. Clara didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled his tie with force, making him laugh before capturing her in another kiss. This time, she took the initiative, pushing him against the opposite wall with a strength that surprised them both. Daniel raised an eyebrow, amused, but didn’t protest as she began unbuttoning his shirt with trembling hands. — Impatient, huh? — he murmured, but his voice was rough, his eyes fixed on her fingers as they worked the buttons. — You have no idea — she replied, her voice low and challenging. When the shirt finally parted, revealing his muscular, lightly tanned chest, Clara couldn’t resist. She leaned in and pressed her lips to his skin, tasting the salty flavor and the scent of soap mixed with the light sweat. Daniel groaned when she ran her tongue over one nipple, his fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her closer. — Damn, Clara… — he growled, his voice strained. She smiled against his skin, satisfied with his reaction. She continued exploring, descending with kisses and light nips until she reached the waistband of his pants. Daniel held his breath when she unbuckled his belt, her nimble fingers working the zipper. The metallic sound echoed in the silent room, amplified by the tension between them. — You’re going to kill me — he murmured, but he didn’t do anything to stop her. Clara didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled his pants and underwear down in one swift motion, freeing him. Daniel was hard, the tip already wet, and she couldn’t resist the urge to wrap her fingers around him, feeling the hot pulse beneath her palm. — Fuck — he groaned, his hips moving instinctively toward her hand. Clara stroked him slowly, watching his reactions—his eyes closed, his ragged breathing, the muscles of his abdomen contracting with each movement. She leaned in and replaced her hand with her mouth, her tongue tracing slow circles around the tip before taking him deeper. Daniel cursed under his breath, his hands tightening in her hair. Clara took him to the back of her throat, feeling him pulse against her tongue, and he groaned something incomprehensible, an animalistic sound that made her own body throb with desire. — Enough — he ordered suddenly, pulling her up with a rough motion. Before Clara could protest, he spun her around and pushed her against the wall, his hands moving up her skirt until they found the edge of her panties. She held her breath when he pulled them aside with a quick motion, his fingers finding her wet and ready. — Always so ready — he murmured against her ear, his voice laden with satisfaction. Clara couldn’t respond. Daniel slid two fingers inside her at once, and she moaned loudly, her nails digging into his shoulders. He began moving his fingers, slow at first, then faster, while his other hand squeezed her breast, his thumb circling her nipple through the lace. — You like that, don’t you? — he whispered, his teeth grazing her earlobe. — Like being touched like this, in the middle of the office, where anyone could walk in? Clara moaned, her body trembling under his touch. The words were dirty, forbidden, and that only excited her more. — Yes — she admitted, her voice breaking. Daniel smiled, satisfied, and increased the pace, his fingers moving with a precision that left her on the edge of the abyss. Clara felt the orgasm approaching, a hot, inevitable wave, but before she could reach climax, he stopped abruptly, withdrawing his fingers. — Not so fast — he murmured, bringing his wet fingers to his mouth and licking them slowly, his eyes fixed on hers. Clara nearly came just from that sight. — Daniel… — she pleaded, her voice broken. He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled her skirt up, exposing her completely, and then lifted her, her legs wrapping around his waist. Clara felt the tip of him pressing against her entrance and held her breath, waiting. — Do you want this? — he asked, his voice rough, his eyes dark with desire. Clara didn’t hesitate. — Yes — she whispered. — Please. Daniel didn’t need any more encouragement. With a quick motion, he thrust into her, filling her completely. Clara cried out, her body adjusting to the invasion, her inner walls clenching around him. Daniel groaned, his fingers digging into her hips as he began to move, slow at first, then faster, deeper. The meeting room filled with the sound of bodies colliding, muffled moans, ragged breathing. Clara clung to him, her nails marking his back as he fucked her against the wall, each thrust more intense than the last. She felt the orgasm building again, a delicious pressure growing inside her, and knew she wouldn’t last much longer. — Daniel, I’m going to… — she managed to say, her voice broken. — Come for me — he ordered, his voice harsh. — Come on my cock. The words were enough. Clara came with a cry, her body trembling violently as waves of pleasure coursed through her. Daniel didn’t stop, continuing to move inside her, prolonging the orgasm until she was limp in his arms, her moans reduced to weak sighs. He held her tightly, his hips still moving in an relentless rhythm, until he finally groaned, burying himself deep inside her as he found his own release. Clara felt his warmth spreading inside her, both of them panting, their sweaty bodies pressed together. For a long moment, neither moved. Daniel rested his forehead against hers, his warm breath against her lips. Clara closed her eyes, savoring the feeling of fullness, the weight of him against her, the scent of sex and sweat mixed with the office’s perfume. — That — he murmured, finally, his voice rough — was better than I imagined. Clara smiled, weak but satisfied. — And did you imagine it a lot? Daniel chuckled, a low, satisfied sound, and kissed her again, slow and deep. — More than you can imagine. He set her down carefully, their bodies separating with a wet sound that made Clara blush. Daniel watched her as she adjusted her clothes, his dark eyes roaming over every inch of exposed skin, as if memorizing the moment. — We’re going to have to do this again — he said, his voice full of promises. Clara didn’t answer. Instead, she looked at the meeting table beside them, the scattered folders and reports, the laptop screen still on, displaying graphs and numbers that, at that moment, seemed completely irrelevant. — Yes — she agreed, a slow smile forming on her lips. — But not here. Daniel raised an eyebrow, intrigued. — No? Clara shook her head, her eyes gleaming with a boldness he hadn’t yet seen in her. — Here was just the beginning. — She took a step toward the door, glancing over her shoulder. — There are other places in this building I want to explore with you. And with that, she left the room, leaving Daniel standing there, his body still vibrating, his mind already imagining all the possibilities that night—and all the others to come—still held. Daniel could still feel the heat of Clara’s skin on his fingertips, as if every touch had left an invisible but indelible mark. The air in the meeting room was thick with their scent—sweat, her citrus perfume, the faint woody aroma of the soap he’d used that morning, now mixed with the saltiness of arousal. The fluorescent lights, once cold and impersonal, now seemed to pulse in time with the slow beats of their hearts, as if the building itself were breathing with them. Clara pulled away first, her lips swollen from kissing, her hair slightly disheveled where his hands had tangled. She looked around, as if only then noticing the chaos they’d left behind: open folders on the table, an overturned coffee cup, his tie hanging from a chair back like a sleeping snake. A low, half-embarrassed, half-triumphant laugh escaped her throat. — I think we’re going to need a good excuse for the cleaning crew tomorrow — she murmured, running her fingers along the collar of her shirt, now unbuttoned halfway down her chest. Daniel followed the movement, the sight of her fingers brushing her own skin sending a delayed shiver down his spine. He stepped closer, picking up his tie from the floor with a slow, deliberate gesture, as if still not ready to let her go. When he spoke, his voice was rougher than usual. — Or we could just say we had a *very* productive meeting. Clara arched an eyebrow, a wicked smile playing on her lips. — Productive? — She stepped toward him, her high heels echoing on the marble floor. — I don’t know if that’s the word I’d use. — No? — Daniel coiled the tie around his fist, pulling her slightly toward him. — Then what would you call it? She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she leaned in, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered: — *Unforgettable.* His warm breath made Daniel close his eyes for a second, fighting the urge to pull her back against him. When he opened them, Clara was already stepping away, picking up the bag she’d dropped on the floor in their haste. She adjusted her skirt, smoothed her blouse with her hands, as if she could erase the traces of what they’d done with practical gestures. But Daniel knew it wasn’t that simple. There was something between them now, something palpable, that no clothing adjustment could disguise. — We need to get out of here — she said, glancing at the clock on the wall. — It’s almost eleven. Daniel nodded but didn’t move. Instead, he watched her with an intensity that made Clara hesitate, as if he were trying to memorize every detail: the way her fingers trembled slightly as she zipped her bag, the flush still coloring her cheeks, the way her lips, now without lipstick, seemed softer, more inviting. — You go first — he said, finally. — I’ll wait ten minutes. Clara frowned. — Why? — Because if we leave together, someone might see. — He tilted his head toward the security cameras in the corner of the room. — And while I don’t care what they think, I don’t want you to have to deal with gossip tomorrow. She opened her mouth to protest, but something in his expression made her stop. It was a protective gesture, yes, but also one of possession. As if he were saying: *You’re mine, but only I can decide when the world will know.* — Alright — she agreed after a moment. — But don’t take too long. Daniel smiled, slow and dangerous. — I won’t. Clara turned to leave, but before she could take more than two steps, he called her. — Clara. She looked over her shoulder. — Yes? — Monday. — He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. — At my place. Eight o’clock. She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she let the silence stretch, savoring the power she held in that moment. Then, with a smile that promised much more than words, she nodded. — Monday. And she left. --- The hallway was empty, lit only by the emergency lights, which cast long shadows on the walls. Clara walked with firm steps, but inside, she felt as if she were floating. The air conditioning, now colder than before, made her skin prickle, but it wasn’t just the cold—it was the memory of Daniel’s hands, his lips, the weight of his body against hers. She passed the break room, where they’d had coffee hours earlier, and for a second, she almost laughed. *So innocent*, she thought. As if coffee could have disguised the tension that already existed between them. As if anything could have stopped what was destined to happen. When she reached the elevator, she pressed the button harder than necessary. While she waited, she took her phone from her bag and pretended to check messages, but really, she was just trying to steady her breathing. She didn’t want the night security guard to see her like this—disheveled, with swollen lips, her eyes shining with a satisfaction no work report could explain. The elevator doors opened with a soft *ping*. She stepped in, pressed the button for the ground floor, and as the doors began to close, she saw Daniel appear at the end of the hallway. He was standing there, watching her, his hands in his pockets, his posture relaxed, but his eyes—*those eyes*—still burning with the same intensity as before. For a second, she thought about calling him, about asking him to come down with her. But then the doors closed, and Clara was left alone with her reflection in the elevator mirror. And what a reflection it was. Her hair, once tied in a perfect bun, now fell in loose waves over her shoulders. Her blouse, once buttoned up to her neck, was open, revealing the curve of her breasts and the red mark of a hickey just below her collarbone. Her lips were red, her eyes dark, her pupils dilated. She looked like a woman who had just been *devoured*—and had enjoyed it. The elevator reached the ground floor. The doors opened, and Clara took a deep breath before stepping out, squaring her shoulders as if she could leave behind, right there, the version of herself that had surrendered to pleasure without reservation. The lobby was empty except for the night security guard, a middle-aged man with a prominent belly and a bored air. He looked up from his newspaper when she passed but didn’t say anything. Clara silently thanked him for that. — Good night, Ms. Clara — he murmured, returning his attention to the sports pages. — Good night — she replied, her voice surprisingly steady. And then she was outside. The night air was cool, carrying the scent of wet asphalt and the faint perfume of the trees lining the sidewalk. Clara took a deep breath, feeling the wind caress her skin, as if the universe itself were trying to soothe her. But there was no soothing possible. Not after what had happened. Not after what was still to come. She walked to the nearest taxi stand, her heels clicking against the sidewalk in a rhythm that echoed her racing heartbeat. While she waited, she took her phone from her pocket and opened the messaging app. There was a notification from Daniel, sent seconds earlier. *"Monday. Don’t be late."* Clara smiled, typing a quick reply. *"Not a chance."* And then, when the taxi stopped in front of her, she got in, closed the door, and let the city swallow her, taking her away from that building—but not away from *him*. --- Meanwhile, in the empty office, Daniel was still standing in the same spot, looking down the now-deserted hallway. He ran a hand over his face, feeling the stubble scratch his palm. His body still throbbed, the adrenaline of the night still coursing through his veins. He turned and walked back into the meeting room, where the scent of sex still lingered in the air. For a moment, he considered staying, letting the memory of what they’d done envelop him for a few more minutes. But then his gaze fell on the table, on the scattered papers, on the overturned coffee cup. *Monday*, he thought. *Just two more days.* And with that, he turned off the lights and left.