Under the Lights of Dawn

**Under the Lights of Dawn** The night stretched over the city like a velvet cloak, speckled with artificial stars—lights blinking on skyscrapers, distant apartment windows glowing, car headlights weaving through the avenues. Down below, the world hurried along, but up here, on the thirty-second floor of the Veredas Building, time seemed to have slowed, suspended between glass and steel walls that reflected the cold glow of monitors. Clara adjusted her thin-framed glasses, her fingers trembling slightly as she flipped another page of the report. The air conditioning whispered softly, a cold draft that contrasted with the heat rising in her neck whenever she concentrated too hard. The laptop keys clicked in a steady, almost hypnotic rhythm, and the blue light from the screen bathed her face in cobalt tones, highlighting her parted lips, the tense line of her jaw, the damp gleam of her brown eyes scanning columns of numbers as if each digit were a clue to a greater enigma. She shouldn’t have been there. Not at this hour. But Clara had always been the type to lose herself in work. Not out of obligation—though deadlines were real—but because there was something addictive about the solitude of the empty office, the feeling that the outside world had stopped and only she, the data, and the silence remained. It was there, among spreadsheets and graphs, that she felt most alive, sharpest, as if every decision made at midnight were a secret shared only with the walls. The sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway. Clara looked up, her body tensing instinctively. It wasn’t common to hear someone at this hour—the cleaners had already come, the last employees had left long ago. The noise drew closer, measured, accompanied by the faint creak of a leather belt and the metallic jingle of keys. She held her breath as the shadow of a man stretched across the wall in front of her, elongated and imposing, before he appeared in the doorway. Daniel. The night security guard stopped there, his arms crossed over his broad chest, a lazy smile on his lips. The hallway light outlined his face—square jaw, stubble giving him a hint of restrained rebellion, green eyes that seemed to absorb the surrounding dimness. He wore the company’s standard uniform, but somehow, on Daniel, the navy-blue shirt and dark pants seemed more… *alive*. Maybe it was the way the fabric molded to his broad shoulders, or how the sleeves, rolled up to his elbows, revealed muscular forearms marked by veins Clara had noticed—and tried to ignore—on other occasions. "Working late again, Clara?" His voice was deep, a husky murmur that seemed to vibrate in the air between them. She swallowed hard, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. It wasn’t the first time they’d met like this, but there was something different about tonight. Maybe it was the fact that, with no one else around, his presence seemed to fill the entire space, as if the whole office had shrunk around them. "The quarterly report won’t analyze itself," she replied, trying to sound casual, but the almost imperceptible tremor in her voice betrayed her. Daniel tilted his head, his green eyes sliding over her face, lingering a second too long on the curve of her neck, where her blouse parted slightly, revealing pale skin. Clara felt a shiver run down her spine, as if he had touched her. "You should rest," he said, taking a step forward. "You have a meeting with the directors tomorrow, don’t you?" She nodded, her fingers gripping the mouse tighter than necessary. How did he know that? They barely exchanged words beyond greetings in the elevator, stolen glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking. "They won’t forgive me if I show up with dark circles," she joked, but the quip fell flat, swallowed by the tension settling between them. Daniel chuckled softly, a sound that reverberated in Clara’s chest like distant thunder. He took another step, entering the office, and his scent enveloped her—a mix of masculine soap, leather, and something more primal, something that made her stomach clench. He stopped beside the desk, close enough that she could reach out and touch the fabric of his shirt, close enough that if she leaned in just a little, she could feel the heat radiating from his body. "Dark circles don’t suit you," he murmured, his voice lower now, almost intimate. "You look better with red lips." Clara held her breath. *Red lips.* It wasn’t a casual observation. Not coming from him. Not with that tone, not with that look that seemed to strip her layer by layer, as if each piece of clothing were an obstacle to be removed. She should have said something. Should have laughed, changed the subject, pretended she hadn’t understood the innuendo. But the words died in her throat when he moved even closer, resting his hands on the edge of the desk, his fingers inches from hers. The movement made his shirt sleeve ride up a little more, revealing his wristwatch—a simple model, but on Daniel, it seemed like an extension of his masculinity. "You…" she began, but her voice failed. What was she going to say? *You shouldn’t be here?* *You shouldn’t look at me like that?* Daniel said nothing. He just held her gaze, his green eyes burning with an intensity that made Clara feel like she was plummeting from a great height. The silence between them stretched, charged, electric, until the sound of a car honking on the street below broke the spell. She blinked, as if waking from a dream, and leaned back in her chair, trying to regain control. Daniel straightened, but didn’t step away. Instead, he leaned in slightly, as if to share a secret. "If you need help with those reports…" he left the sentence hanging, his tone casual, but his eyes saying something else. "I pass by here every hour." Clara felt her heart beat faster. *Help.* With the reports. Or with something more? Before she could respond, he stepped back, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. But his presence lingered, like a mark on her skin, a heat that refused to dissipate. She stared at the empty doorway for a long time, her fingers still hovering over the keyboard, her body tense with the expectation that he might return. When she finally forced herself to go back to work, every number on the screen seemed to dance before her eyes, every line of the graph a reminder of the way he had looked at her. And then, as if fate were conspiring in her favor, her phone vibrated on the desk. A message. "You forgot to lock the file drawer. I can come back if you want me to check." Clara bit her lower lip, her entire body reacting to that simple sentence. It wasn’t about the drawer. She knew that. And for the first time that night, she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to come back just to lock a drawer. Or if she wanted him to come back for much, much more. Clara didn’t reply to the message right away. Instead, she closed her eyes for a second, feeling the weight of the silence around her—that kind of quiet that only exists after midnight, when even the buildings seem to hold their breath. The air conditioning hummed softly, but the heat rising in her neck didn’t come from the machine. It was him. The memory of the way Daniel had looked at her, as if he could see through her thin blouse, through the numbers on the screen, straight to what she was trying to hide: the desire to be touched. She typed a quick response—"The drawer is locked, thank you"—and deleted it before sending. A lie. The drawer was open, yes, but that wasn’t what mattered. What mattered was the excuse he had given, the disguised invitation. Clara exhaled slowly, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then, with a movement almost defiant, she wrote something else: "But if you want to check anyway, I don’t mind." She sent it. And the moment the message was gone, the office seemed to grow warmer. --- Daniel didn’t take long. Five minutes later, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway, steady, unhurried. Clara straightened in her chair, smoothing her skirt unnecessarily, as if she could erase the invisible creases desire had already left on her skin. When he appeared in the doorway, she pretended to be absorbed in a report, but his scent—something woody, with a hint of leather and clean sweat—arrived first, enveloping her like an invitation. "Good evening again," he said, his voice low, almost intimate. It wasn’t the same professional tone from the daytime shifts when they crossed paths in the elevator. Now, there was something more, a husky tone Clara had never heard before, but recognized immediately. She looked up. Daniel was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his broad chest, the muscles defined beneath his black uniform shirt. The fabric stretched slightly over his shoulders, and Clara wondered what it would be like to run her hands over them, to feel the contained strength beneath her palms. He wore his tie loose, as if he had loosened the knot over the course of the night, and the open collar revealed a patch of tanned skin, a vein pulsing in his neck. "Good evening," she replied, surprised by the steadiness in her own voice. "I thought you had finished your rounds." "I did." He took a step inside, his dark eyes scanning the room before settling on her. "But I saw the light on here. And I thought maybe you needed help." Clara arched an eyebrow, trying to ignore how her body reacted to his proximity. "With the reports?" "With anything." He took another step, stopping beside the desk. The heat from his body radiated, and Clara had to control herself not to lean toward that warmth. "You’ve been here for hours. You must be tired." She laughed, a light, almost nervous sound. "Tired, no. Just… swamped. These graphs don’t make any sense." Daniel moved even closer, until his thigh almost brushed against the arm of her chair. Clara held her breath. He smelled of fresh coffee and something more primal, something that made her stomach clench. "Can I take a look?" he asked, reaching for the papers scattered on the desk. Clara hesitated. It wasn’t just about the reports. It was about him being there, so close, invading her space as if he already had a right to it. And God, how she wanted him to have that right. "Sure," she murmured, pushing her chair back, giving him space. Or maybe it was an excuse to step away a little, because his proximity was making her skin too sensitive, every nerve ending alert. Daniel leaned over the desk, his long fingers flipping through the pages with a familiarity that surprised her. He wasn’t just a security guard. There was something more there—a sharp intelligence, an attention to detail that went beyond what was expected of someone who spent nights patrolling empty hallways. "You’re analyzing the last quarter’s sales data?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the papers. "Yes." Clara moved closer again, now curious. "How do you know?" He looked up for a second, a quick smile playing on his lips. "Because I’ve seen you here before. Always with these same reports. And always looking like you’re about to throw the computer out the window." Clara laughed, surprised. He had been watching her. Not just in the elevators, not just with those stolen glances she pretended not to notice. He had really seen her. "It’s just that these numbers don’t add up," she explained, pointing to a graph. "There’s something wrong here, but I can’t figure out what it is." Daniel leaned in closer, his shoulders brushing against hers. Clara felt the heat spread through her body, a tingling that ran down her spine. He smelled of night, of something forbidden, and she had to hold back from turning her face and burying her nose in the curve of his neck. "Here," he said, pointing to a line on the graph. "You’re comparing data from different regions, but the periods don’t match. That’s why it doesn’t add up." Clara frowned, leaning in even closer to see better. Now, their arms were almost touching, and she could feel the heat of his skin through his shirt. "How do you know that?" "I used to work in logistics," he replied, as if it were nothing important. "Numbers always made sense to me." Clara stared at him, surprised. He was full of surprises. "And why did you become a security guard?" Daniel shrugged, but his eyes didn’t leave hers. "Flexible hours. And I like the silence of the night." "The silence… or what happens in it?" The question slipped out before she could stop it, and Clara felt her face flush. Daniel’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. "Depends on what happens in it." The air between them grew thicker, charged with something Clara didn’t dare name. She swallowed hard, trying to focus on the papers in front of her, but all she could think about was the way his eyes roamed over her, as if they were touching her skin. "Do you always stay this late?" he asked, his voice lower now, almost a murmur. "Only when I have work to finish." "Or when you’re avoiding going home?" Clara looked up, meeting his gaze. There was something there, an understanding that went beyond words. He knew. He understood. "Sometimes," she admitted. Daniel nodded, as if that answer made perfect sense. Then, without warning, he reached out and brushed his knuckles against her arm, a light, almost casual touch. But there was nothing casual about the electricity that coursed through Clara’s body. "You know," he said, his voice husky, "I’ve always thought you were beautiful. Even when you just gave me a quick smile in the elevator." Clara felt her heart beat faster. This was it. The moment when everything could change. "And why didn’t you say anything?" "Because you always seemed so busy. So… untouchable." She laughed, a soft sound laced with irony. "And now?" "Now you’re here. Alone. And I’m tired of pretending I don’t want this." Clara didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. The way her eyes fixed on his lips said it all. Daniel moved even closer, until their bodies were almost touching. She could feel his heat, his hot breath against her skin. "Can I help you with anything else?" he asked, his voice a whisper. Clara knew he wasn’t talking about the reports anymore. "Yes," she murmured, her lips parting. "But not here." Daniel’s eyes darkened, desire evident in every line of his face. He reached out, his fingers brushing her chin, tilting her face up. "Where, then?" Clara didn’t answer. Instead, she took his hand and guided it to the desk, to the scattered papers, to the graph that still didn’t make sense. "Explain it to me again," she asked, her voice trembling. "Up close." Daniel didn’t move for a second, as if he were assessing how far he could go. Then, with a slow smile, he leaned over her, his lips almost touching her ear. "With pleasure." And when he began to speak, his voice low, his words mingling with the heat of his breath, Clara knew there was no turning back. The graph stretched before them like a labyrinth of sinuous lines, numbers dancing under the cold light of the monitors. Clara pointed to an ascending curve, her fingers trembling slightly, as if the paper burned beneath her skin. Her voice came out lower than intended, a thread of sound that coiled in the office’s silence. "Here… this is where the data diverges. It doesn’t make sense for the projection to drop like this, suddenly." She nibbled her lower lip, an unconscious gesture Daniel followed with his eyes, as if that small movement were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. He took a step closer, then another, until the heat of his body became an almost palpable presence beside her. His scent—something citrusy, mixed with the clean smell of soap and the faint sweat of someone who had been on the move for hours—invaded the space between them. Clara held her breath when his arm brushed against hers, the fabric of his dress shirt grazing the exposed skin at the neckline of her blouse. A shiver ran down her spine, slow and deliberate, as if every cell in her body were waking from a long sleep. "Maybe it’s a calculation error," he suggested, his voice husky, his lips so close to her ear that she felt his warm breath against the shell of it. "Or maybe someone manipulated the numbers." Clara turned her face, just enough for their eyes to meet. Daniel’s were dark, almost black under the artificial light, and there was an intensity in them that made her forget, for a moment, what she was talking about. The air between them seemed charged, as if a storm were about to break over the empty office. She swallowed hard, trying to focus. "No… it’s not an error." Her voice faltered, and she cleared her throat, trying to regain control. "It’s just that… I can’t see the logic." Daniel didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned in a little more, until their shoulders touched. Clara could feel the weight of his gaze on her, as if he were trying to decipher something far beyond the numbers on the paper. When he spoke, his words came out slow, measured, as if each one were a provocation. "Sometimes, logic isn’t enough." His fingers brushed the graph, sliding over the paper until they found hers. A light touch, almost accidental, but one that made Clara’s heart race. "Sometimes, you have to feel." She should have pulled away. Should have stepped back, crossed her arms, done anything to break that contact that left her so exposed. But she couldn’t. Instead, she turned fully toward him, the movement bringing their bodies even closer. Daniel’s chest rose and fell in an accelerated rhythm, and she realized he was affected too. That made her bolder. "Feel?" she repeated, her voice a whisper. "What do you mean?" Daniel smiled, a slow and dangerous smile, as if he knew exactly the effect he was having on her. He raised his hand, his fingers hovering in the air between them, not touching, but so close that Clara could feel the heat radiating from them. "Like when you look at something and know it’s wrong, even if all the numbers say otherwise." His fingers brushed her wrist, tracing a slow path to her elbow, as if memorizing the texture of her skin. "Or when you touch someone and know you shouldn’t, but you can’t stop." Clara held her breath. The touch was light, almost imperceptible, but enough to make her entire body shiver. She looked down, to where his fingers slid over her skin, and then back into his eyes. There was something there, a silent promise that left her breathless. "And if I don’t want to stop?" she asked, her voice barely audible. Daniel didn’t answer with words. Instead, he leaned in even closer, until his lips were inches from hers. Clara could smell the coffee he’d had earlier, mixed with the heat of his breath. The air between them seemed to vibrate, charged with an electricity that threatened to explode at any moment. "Then don’t stop," he murmured, his lips moving against hers as he spoke. Clara closed her eyes, her heart pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it. She wanted to move closer, wanted to close the distance between them, but something held her back. Maybe it was the fear of breaking the spell, of turning that moment of tension into something too real, too fast. Or maybe it was just the desire to prolong that feeling, to let the desire grow until it became unbearable. When she opened her eyes again, Daniel was still there, watching her with an intensity that made her feel naked. He didn’t move, didn’t press, but the expectation was there, hanging between them like a third presence. "You’re trembling," he said, his fingers finally closing around her wrist, his thumb tracing slow circles on her skin. "I’m nervous," she admitted, her voice faltering. "Why?" Clara hesitated. How could she explain that it wasn’t fear, but something much more dangerous? That every touch, every look, every whispered word was dismantling the barriers she had built so carefully? "Because I don’t know what’s going to happen now," she finally said. Daniel smiled, a smile that wasn’t triumphant, but full of complicity. He leaned in even closer, until his lips brushed her ear, his warm breath making her shudder. "Neither do I," he whispered. "But I think we both want to find out." And then, as if the universe had decided for them, a paper slipped from the desk, falling to the floor with a muffled sound. The noise was enough to break the spell, but not enough to extinguish the fire already burning between them. Clara looked down at the paper now scattered on the floor, and when she looked back at Daniel, she saw the same urgency in his eyes that she felt. Without a word, he crouched down, his fingers brushing hers as they both leaned in to pick up the paper. And in that moment, with his body so close, with his scent invading her senses, Clara knew there was no turning back. The paper that had fallen to the floor seemed to have dragged with it all the rationality Clara was still trying to hold onto. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for it, but before her fingers could grasp it, another document slipped from the stack balanced on the desk, as if it had a life of its own. One, two, three sheets floated in the air before scattering across the polished wooden floor, like leaves carried by an unexpected wind. "Damn it," she murmured, her voice coming out huskier than intended. Daniel was already moving before she finished the word, crouching beside her with a naturalness that made Clara’s heart race. The fabric of his dress shirt brushed against her bare arm as he bent down, and the contact, however brief, sent a shiver down Clara’s spine. She held her breath, as if the simple act of inhaling could break the fragile balance that kept them there, on the edge of something they both knew was inevitable. His fingers stretched out to pick up one of the papers, and hers, almost instinctively, did the same. That’s when it happened: their hands met. Not an accidental touch, but a slow, deliberate slide, as if both were testing the water’s temperature before diving in. Daniel’s skin was warm, slightly rough at the fingertips, and Clara felt the contrast with the softness of her own hands, still damp with nervousness. "Sorry," he said, but made no move to pull away. Clara didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her eyes were locked on his, and in the tiny space between them, the air seemed to vibrate, charged with something beyond words. His scent—a mix of fresh soap and something earthier, perhaps the very heat of his body—filled her nostrils, making her remember what it was like to feel a man’s weight against her, how easy it was to lose herself in sensations when the mind fell silent. Daniel didn’t look away. His dark eyes roamed her face, lingering on her parted lips, on the way her breath quickened. He didn’t need to ask. They both knew. "Clara," he murmured, and her name sounded like a question, a plea, a confession. She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she leaned in a centimeter closer, just enough for his warm breath to brush her cheek. Her entire body seemed to have turned into a live wire, every nerve ending on the surface of her skin, waiting, anticipating. And then, as if the world had held its breath along with them, Daniel closed the distance. The first touch of his lips was soft, almost hesitant, as if he were still asking for permission. But Clara didn’t need hesitation. With a low moan, she pressed her mouth against his with an urgency that surprised even herself. Daniel’s lips were soft but firm, and when his tongue brushed against hers, Clara tasted coffee and mint, mixed with something more primal, more intimate. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer, and Clara didn’t resist. The forgotten papers on the floor, the messy desk, the empty office—none of it mattered anymore. The world had shrunk to this moment, this touch, this kiss that burned more than anything she had ever felt. Daniel pulled her up, lifting her with an ease that made Clara feel light, desired. She clung to his shoulders, her nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as the kiss deepened, becoming more voracious, more demanding. His fingers slid down her back, tracing the line of her spine, and Clara arched against him, a sigh escaping her parted lips. "You have no idea," he murmured against her mouth, "how much I’ve wanted to do this." Clara laughed softly, a sound that was both amused and laced with desire. "I think I do," she replied, her voice husky. "Because I wanted it too." His hands moved down to her hips, gripping them with a possessiveness that made Clara moan. She felt the heat of his body through their clothes, the firm pressure of his fingers, and knew she was lost. There was no turning back now. Daniel pulled away just enough to look at her, his dark eyes burning with an intensity that made Clara’s stomach clench. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice rough. Clara didn’t hesitate. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him back into another kiss, this one slower, more exploratory. When she pulled away again, her lips were swollen, her eyes half-closed. "I’ve never been more sure in my life." The smile Daniel gave her was slow, dangerous, full of promises. He moved closer again, but this time it wasn’t his lips that found hers. Instead, his mouth descended along her neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses that made her shudder. She tilted her head back, exposing more of her sensitive skin, and Daniel didn’t waste time. His teeth grazed her collarbone, nipping lightly before his tongue soothed the sting. "Daniel," she whispered, his name coming out like a prayer. He responded by pulling her closer, his hands sliding under her blouse, his warm fingers against her bare skin. Clara gasped when he found the clasp of her bra, unhooking it with a skill that made her wonder how many times he had done this before. But the thought lasted only a second. When his hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs circling her already hardened nipples, all coherent thought dissolved. "Fuck," he groaned, his voice rough with desire. "You’re so beautiful." Clara didn’t answer. She couldn’t. The sensations were too much—his touch, the heat of his body against hers, his scent mixed with the faint perfume of her skin. She pressed against him, feeling the evidence of his desire pressing against her hip, and a shiver of anticipation ran through her body. Daniel gently pushed her against the desk, the forgotten papers now scattered beneath them, silent witnesses to what was to come. His hands explored every curve of her body, as if memorizing every detail, every reaction. Clara clung to his shoulders, her nails digging into his flesh as his kisses descended lower and lower, leaving a trail of fire on her skin. "I want you," he murmured, his mouth finding her ear, his teeth nipping at the lobe. "Now." Clara didn’t need any more encouragement. Her hands went to his belt, her fingers trembling but determined, and when she finally managed to unbuckle his pants, she felt his body shudder against hers. "Conference table," she whispered, her voice breathless. "Now." Daniel didn’t argue. With a quick movement, he lifted her, sitting her on the edge of the table while his lips found hers again. Clara wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and when she felt the firm pressure of his body against hers, she knew there was no turning back. The office around them was silent, lit only by the city lights filtering through the windows. But inside that room, among the scattered papers and entwined bodies, the world had exploded into flames. And Clara had no intention of putting them out. The conference table was cold against the bare skin of Clara’s thighs when Daniel set her down with a care that contrasted with the urgency of his movements. The polished wooden surface reflected the blue light of the city, shattering into silver patches over the forgotten documents, the now-useless graphs, the pens rolling out of reach. She propped herself up on her elbows, her loose hair falling over her shoulders in disheveled waves, and watched as he stepped back just enough to pull off his shirt with a swift motion. The muscles of his abdomen tensed under the light, his skin marked by a thin layer of sweat that gleamed as if polished. "You’re beautiful," he said, his voice rough, his eyes roaming every inch of her with an intensity that made her shiver. It wasn’t an empty compliment; it was a statement, as if he were memorizing every detail to never forget. Clara bit her lower lip, feeling the heat rise in her neck. Her hands went to the buttons of her own blouse, but Daniel gently caught her wrists. "Let me." He stepped closer again, his fingers sliding over the thin fabric of her blouse until they found the first button. Each one that came undone revealed more of her skin, the black lace bra appearing like a promise. When the blouse finally slipped from her shoulders, Daniel couldn’t resist: he leaned in and kissed the curve of her breast, his tongue tracing slow circles over the lace until she arched her back, a low moan escaping her lips. "Daniel…" His name came out as a plea, but she wasn’t sure what she was pleading for. More? Less? Everything? He understood anyway. His hands went to the clasp of her bra, unfastening it with an ease that sent a shiver of anticipation through her. When the fabric fell away, exposing her breasts to the cool office air, Daniel didn’t look away. Instead, he cupped them in his palms, his thumbs brushing over her already hardened nipples, making Clara let out a ragged sigh. "So sensitive," he murmured, leaning in to capture one with his mouth. The wet heat of his tongue made her arch even more, her nails digging into the wood of the table. Daniel alternated between slow sucks and gentle nips, each movement sending waves of pleasure straight to her core. Clara tangled her fingers in his short hair, pulling him closer, as if she could fuse their bodies together through sheer desire. "Do you like that?" he asked, his voice muffled against her skin, his teeth grazing her nipple before releasing it with a soft pop. "Yes," she managed to say, her voice faltering. "More." Daniel smiled, a wicked and satisfied smile, and slid his hands down to her waist, his fingers hooking into the waistband of her skirt. With a firm movement, he pulled her to the edge of the table, her legs parting instinctively around his hips. Clara felt the hardness of him pressing against the thin fabric of her panties, and a moan escaped her lips before she could stop it. "Shhh," he whispered, his mouth finding hers in a deep kiss, as if he wanted to swallow every sound she might make. "We don’t want to wake up the whole city, do we?" Clara laughed softly against his lips, but the laugh turned into a sigh when Daniel’s hands slid under her skirt, his fingers finding the edge of her panties. He didn’t pull them off right away. Instead, he played with the elastic, tugging it lightly before snapping it against her skin, making her shudder. "Impatient?" he teased, his lips brushing her neck as his fingers continued their game. "You’re torturing me," she replied, her voice breathless. "And you’re loving it." He was right. Every touch, every slow caress, every tease only heightened the tension inside her, like a string being pulled tighter and tighter. When Daniel finally slid her panties down her legs, Clara couldn’t hold back a louder moan, muffled only when he covered her mouth with his hand. "Quiet," he ordered, his dark eyes fixed on hers. "Or I’ll have to find another way to keep you quiet." The threat, if it was one, made her body throb. Clara bit her lower lip, nodding, and Daniel removed his hand, replacing it with a kiss that left her breathless. Meanwhile, his fingers explored between her legs, sliding easily through the wetness already gathering there. "So ready," he murmured, a finger entering her with deliberate slowness, making Clara arch her back and let out a muffled moan against his shoulder. "Please," she whispered, her nails digging into his arms. "Don’t make me wait." Daniel didn’t need any more encouragement. With a quick movement, he pulled off his pants, the fabric falling to the floor with a muffled sound. Clara didn’t look away, her eyes fixed on his erection, thick and pulsing, the tip already glistening with a drop of desire. She reached out, wrapping her fingers around him, feeling the heat and hardness beneath the soft skin. "You’re going to kill me," he said, his voice rough, his eyes closing for a moment as she stroked him. "I hope not," she replied, a mischievous smile on her lips. "We still have a lot to do." Daniel caught her wrist, stopping the movement before it was too late. "Enough," he said, his voice firm. "Or this will be over before it even starts." Clara didn’t argue. Instead, she pulled him closer, her legs wrapping around his waist as he positioned himself between them. The tip of him brushed against her entrance, and Clara bit her lower lip hard, her entire body trembling with anticipation. "Now," she pleaded, her voice almost a whisper. Daniel didn’t hesitate. With a firm thrust, he entered her, filling her completely, making her let out a moan that echoed through the empty room. Clara dug her nails into his back, their bodies moving in a rhythm as old as desire itself. Each thrust was deep, deliberate, as if he were trying to memorize the sensation of being inside her. "You’re… incredible," he murmured, his mouth finding her ear as he picked up the pace, his hips slamming against hers with a force that made the table creak beneath them. Clara couldn’t answer. Words were lost amid moans, sighs, the overwhelming sensation of pleasure building inside her, growing more intense, more urgent. She clung to him, her fingers sliding over the sweat-slicked skin of his back, feeling his muscles tense beneath her touch. "Don’t stop," she managed to say, her voice ragged. "Don’t you dare stop." Daniel chuckled softly, a rough and satisfied sound, and increased the pace even more, their bodies crashing together with an intensity that made the table shake. Clara felt the orgasm approaching like a wave, growing higher, more inevitable. When it finally hit, it was as if the whole world shattered into a thousand pieces, pleasure exploding inside her in spasms that left her breathless, her moans muffled against his shoulder. Daniel didn’t stop. He kept moving, prolonging her pleasure until the tremors began to subside. Only then did he allow himself to let go, his hips thrusting hard one last time before he groaned, his entire body shuddering as he found his own release. For a moment, there was nothing but their ragged breathing, their entwined bodies, the sweat mingling on their skin. Clara rested her forehead against his shoulder, feeling her heart pound erratically, her fingers still digging into his back as if afraid he might disappear. Daniel kissed the top of her head, his arms wrapping around her with a tenderness that contrasted with the wild passion of moments before. "It’s not over yet," he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. Clara lifted her head, her eyes meeting his with a silent question. "There’s another conference room upstairs," he said, a wicked smile on his lips. "And I intend to use every single one of them before dawn." The last conference room on the upper floor was smaller, more intimate, with a polished mahogany table that reflected the city lights like a dark mirror. Daniel set her down there, her legs wrapping around his waist as he kissed her with deliberate slowness, as if he wanted to memorize the taste of her, the texture of her lips, the way her teeth lightly nipped at his lower lip. She laughed against his mouth, a low and satisfied sound, her fingers sliding through the short hair at the nape of his neck. "You’re insatiable," she murmured, but there was no complaint in her voice, only a promise. "Only when it comes to you," he replied, his hand sliding down her thigh, his fingers tracing lazy circles on the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. "And it seems you have nothing to complain about either." Clara arched her back when he found the right spot, her hips moving in a slow, torturous rhythm. The table creaked slightly under their weight, a nearly inaudible sound that mingled with her sigh. Daniel watched every reaction, every tremor, every time her lips parted in a muffled moan. It was as if he wanted to store every detail in his memory, as if he feared that by dawn, all of this might dissipate like mist. "You like to tease me," she accused, but her voice came out ragged, lost in the pleasure. "I like to see you lose control," he admitted, his mouth descending along her neck, his teeth lightly grazing her collarbone. "I like knowing I’m the only one who makes you forget where you are, who you are, what you’re supposed to be doing." Clara didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Her body already said it all: the tense muscles, the quickened breath, the way her nails dug into his shoulders when he filled her again, deeper, slower, as if time had stopped just for them. The city outside continued to sleep, the lights of the buildings blinking like distant stars, indifferent to what was happening here, between four walls. When they finally reached the end, there was no rush. Daniel held her against him, their bodies still joined, their heartbeats gradually syncing. Clara rested her forehead on his shoulder, feeling the cold sweat on her skin, the scent of sex and something deeper, something nameless. He ran his fingers through her hair, untangling the damp strands, and kissed her temple with a tenderness that made her close her eyes. "Are you still with me?" he asked, his voice rough, almost a whisper. She nodded, her lips brushing his skin when she replied: "More than ever." They stayed like that for a while, in no hurry, without words. The air conditioning hummed softly, mingling with the distant sound of a car passing on the street. Clara wondered if someone, somewhere, was awake at this hour, if anyone had noticed the office lights on, if anyone had imagined what was happening inside. But the thought didn’t bother her. On the contrary: it made her smile. "What is it?" Daniel asked, noticing the change in her mood. "Nothing," she lied, but her smile widened. "I was just thinking about how no one will ever know." He laughed, a low and satisfied sound, and pulled her closer. "That’s part of the fun," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. "A secret just for us." Clara pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the stubble lightly scratch her skin. There was something there, something beyond desire, beyond that night. Something that both scared and fascinated her. "What if someone finds out?" she asked, more to herself than to him. Daniel cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs caressing her cheekbones. "No one will find out," he said, with a certainty that calmed her. "And even if they did, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. But that’s not what matters now." "What matters, then?" "This," he replied, kissing her again, slow and deep. "This here. You and me. This night." She closed her eyes, letting herself be carried away by the kiss, by the heat of his body, by the feeling that, in that moment, nothing else existed. When they pulled apart, Clara rested her forehead against his, breathing the same air. "Tomorrow—" she began, but he interrupted her with another kiss. "We’ll see about tomorrow," he said, his voice soft. "Today is still today." And it was true. The clock on the wall read three-thirty in the morning, but time seemed to have folded in on itself, creating a space just for them, where the rules of the outside world didn’t apply. Clara allowed herself to relax, her muscles finally giving in to the delicious exhaustion that took hold of her. Daniel helped her down from the table, his arms firm around her waist. The papers scattered on the floor, the forgotten reports, the city lights reflected in the windows—it all seemed part of an unreal setting, a dream she didn’t want to wake from. "I need to get dressed," she said, looking at her wrinkled clothes, at the buttons of her blouse that had been undone in haste. "I’ll help," he offered, but there was no hurry in his voice. Together, they gathered their clothes, exchanging knowing glances as Clara buttoned her blouse and Daniel adjusted his tie. There was something intimate in that gesture, something that went beyond sex, something that made her chest tighten. "Are you okay to drive?" he asked when she put on her shoes. "I am," she replied, but hesitated. "And you?" "I always am," he said, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "It’s part of the job." Clara nodded, but said nothing. She knew that for him, that night would be just another memory, another secret kept between the office walls. But for her? For her, it was different. It was more. They walked together to the elevator, their footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. Clara pressed the button, feeling the weight of the moment, the awareness that in a few seconds, it would all be over. Daniel stood beside her, his hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the metal doors. "Will you come back tomorrow?" he asked, as if the question were casual. "I will," she replied without hesitation. "And you?" "I’m always here," he said, but there was something in his voice, a shadow she couldn’t decipher. The elevator arrived with a soft ding, the doors opening to reveal the empty space. Clara stepped in first, turning to face him. For a second, she thought about inviting him to leave with her, to continue the night somewhere without clocks, without rules, without the weight of the next day. But she said nothing. She just smiled. "See you tomorrow, then," she said. Daniel nodded, but didn’t move. He stood there, watching as the doors closed between them. Clara raised her hand in a silent wave, her heart beating a little faster than it should. When the elevator began to descend, she leaned her head against the cold metal wall, closing her eyes. She could still taste him in her mouth, feel the heat of his hands on her skin, hear the sound of his voice whispering her name. It was as if he had left a mark on her, something that couldn’t be washed away or forgotten. The elevator stopped in the lobby, and Clara stepped out, her heels echoing in the deserted hall. The security guard at the front desk didn’t even look up from his newspaper, oblivious to what had happened upstairs. She pushed the glass door open, feeling the cold dawn air hit her face, and took a deep breath. The city was still asleep, but the sky was beginning to lighten on the horizon, the first morning lights tinting the clouds a pale pink. Clara walked to her car, the keys jingling in her hand, and got in, starting the engine with a sigh. As she drove home, the empty streets passing by in a blur, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. About how his eyes shone in the dark, about how his hands knew exactly where to touch, about how, for a few hours, she had allowed herself to forget everything—except him. And for the first time in a long time, Clara didn’t care what the next day would bring. Because for now, it was still night. And the night was theirs.