Under the Dawn's Lights

**Under the Dawn's Lights** The cold light from the LED tubes spilled over Clara’s desk like a pool of mercury, reflecting off the edges of scattered papers and the metallic rims of staplers. The office, once pulsing with the murmur of voices and the clink of cups in the break room, was now steeped in a thick silence, broken only by the low hum of the air conditioning and the occasional click of a mouse. She adjusted her thin-framed glasses, her fingers sliding over her temple as she flipped through another page of the quarterly report. The numbers danced before her eyes, but her mind stubbornly wandered away from the spreadsheets—to the stale scent of old coffee embedded in the carpet, to the weight of recycled air drying her lips, to the way her silk blouse clung slightly to her back whenever she leaned forward. Clara wasn’t one to stay late. In fact, she hated the idea that anyone might think she needed to make up hours to keep up with her work. But there she was, at half past ten on a Thursday, because the damn cash flow report had more holes than Swiss cheese, and if the audit department saw it before she fixed it, it would be a disaster. Besides, there was something almost intimate about working when everyone else had gone home. The office transformed into a territory all her own, where the rules of the day—forced smiles, endless meetings, the eternal dance of walking on eggshells to avoid displeasing anyone—vanished. Outside, the city breathed at a different rhythm, but there, between the glass and steel walls, she could lose herself in the mechanical rhythm of the keys and the rustle of pages. It was the sound of footsteps that pulled her from her trance. They weren’t the hurried steps of someone who’d forgotten their phone on the desk, nor the lazy shuffle of someone who hadn’t yet turned off their computer. They were firm, decisive steps, but with a cadence that suggested familiarity—as if whoever walked knew every inch of that waxed floor. Clara lifted her eyes over the laptop screen, her body already tense before she even saw who it was. The corridor leading to the meeting room was empty, but the sound drew closer, accompanied by the jingle of keys. Then he appeared. Daniel. The new project manager, the one who’d been transferred from the São Paulo branch three weeks earlier and had already set the marketing department abuzz with his easy smile and shoulders too broad for corporate suits. He stopped at the entrance to her office, his hands tucked into his dress pants pockets, his tie slightly loosened as if he’d been tugging at it all day without noticing. His eyes—green, Clara noticed now, a dark green like moss after the rain—widened for a second before fixing on her with an intensity that made her stomach flip. — You’re still here — he said, and it wasn’t a question. Clara took off her glasses, more out of instinct than necessity, and placed them on the desk. The gesture was slow, deliberate, as if she wanted to buy time to compose herself. — So are you — she replied, surprised by the firmness in her own voice. — I thought everyone had gone home. Daniel took a step forward, and the scent of his cologne—something citrusy with a hint of spice—reached her, mingling with the stale office air. Clara held her breath for a second, then exhaled slowly, trying not to let on how much that simple detail affected her. — I forgot some documents in the meeting room — he explained, nodding toward the corridor behind him. — The contract with the new supplier. I need to review it before tomorrow’s meeting. — Ah. — Clara nodded, as if that made perfect sense, as if it weren’t strange that he’d returned to the office after ten at night for a piece of paper. — I could’ve warned you if I’d known. I didn’t see anyone pass by here. — I didn’t want to interrupt — he said, and there was something in the way the words came out, slow, almost lazy, that made Clara wonder if that was really what he’d meant. — You seemed… busy. She looked at her computer screen, where the numbers still blinked in red, accusatory. The cursor blinked at the end of an unfinished sentence, as if mocking her inability to focus now. — I’m always busy — she murmured, more to herself than to him. Daniel chuckled, a low, rough sound that reverberated in Clara’s chest like a purr. He approached the desk, his fingers lightly brushing the wooden edge as he leaned forward, as if trying to peek at what she was doing. Clara felt the heat rise in her neck and resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest. — I noticed — he said, his voice now closer, more intimate. — You’re the last to leave and the first to arrive. Always with that black-covered notebook under your arm, taking notes on everything. Clara lifted her eyes, surprised. — You notice those things? — I notice *you* — he replied, and the smile that accompanied the words was so sudden, so disarming, that Clara felt something inside her snap, like a rubber band breaking after months of tension. For a second, neither of them spoke. The air between them felt charged, as if a storm were about to break, but Clara couldn’t decide if she wanted to run for cover or stand there and let the rain soak her. Daniel broke the silence first, straightening up and running a hand through his slightly disheveled brown hair, as if he’d done it many times throughout the day. — Well, I won’t bother you anymore — he said, taking a step back. — If you need help with anything, you know where to find me. Clara opened her mouth to respond, but the words died in her throat when he turned to leave. It was only then that she realized she was gripping the pen so tightly her knuckles had turned white. — Daniel — she called, her voice louder than she’d intended in the silent office. He stopped, looking at her over his shoulder. — Yes? — The documents… — she hesitated, then forced herself to continue. — If you want, I can take a look at them tomorrow morning. Before the meeting. Just to make sure everything’s in order. His lips curved into a smile that wasn’t exactly professional. — I’d love that — he said, and there was a promise in those words, something that went beyond a simple request for help. Clara nodded, feeling her heart beat so hard she was sure he could hear it. When Daniel finally turned and disappeared down the corridor, she exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The room felt colder now, as if his presence had warmed the space and, with his departure, the chill had returned with a vengeance. She looked at the report in front of her, but the words had lost all meaning. Instead, her mind filled with the image of Daniel standing there, so close she could feel the heat of his body even without touching him. With the memory of his cologne, the rough tone of his voice when he said *I notice you*. And then, as if the universe wanted to test her willpower, the sound of footsteps echoed through the corridor again. This time, slower. More deliberate. Clara didn’t need to turn around to know he was there again. She could *feel* it. She could *feel* him. The office door creaked slightly as Daniel pushed it open, the sound muffled by the constant hum of the air conditioning. Clara didn’t look up immediately, but every fiber of her body tensed, as if an invisible thread were pulling her toward him. Her fingers, once nimble on the keyboard, hesitated a second longer than necessary. The cursor blinked on the screen, a luminous question mark in the middle of the spreadsheet. — You’re still here. His voice was low, almost a whisper, but carried the weight of something unsaid. Clara finally lifted her face, finding him standing in the doorway, his hands tucked into his dress pants pockets. The cold light from the fluorescent lamps cast shadows under his eyes, accentuating the line of his jaw. He didn’t smile, but there was something in the way he watched her—as if he were memorizing every detail. — The reports won’t review themselves — she replied, trying to sound casual. Her voice came out rougher than she’d intended. Daniel entered, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The sound echoed in the empty office, amplified by the absence of other voices, other footsteps, other noises that weren’t the electronic hum of computers in standby. He approached her desk, his leather shoes creaking slightly against the linoleum floor. Clara held her breath as he stopped beside her chair, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, close enough for the scent of his cologne—something woody with a hint of spice—to mingle with the recycled air in the room. — I came to get some documents I forgot — he said, pointing to the folder on the meeting table. — But I can wait if you’re busy. Clara looked at the screen, where the columns of numbers danced in a blur of pixels. The project deadline was tomorrow, and there were still adjustments to make. She should have said yes, that she was busy, that he could take what he needed and leave. But the words died in her throat when Daniel leaned slightly, resting one hand on the back of her chair. The movement was subtle, almost imperceptible, but enough for the fabric of his shirt to brush against her shoulder. — It’s nothing that can’t wait five minutes — she murmured, trying to ignore how her body betrayed her voice, leaning slightly toward him. Daniel didn’t move. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them felt denser, charged with something neither dared to name. Clara could hear her own breathing, shallow and uneven, while his eyes traced her face—her parted lips, the line of her neck, the spot where her blouse opened slightly, revealing the curve of her collarbone. She wondered if he could see the rapid pulse at the base of her throat. — Do you always stay this late? — he asked, finally. — Only when the work demands it. — And does the work always demand it? Clara smiled, a small, involuntary gesture. — You know how it is. — I do — he replied, his voice low. — But sometimes I think we overdo it. That we let work take up more space than it should. She raised an eyebrow, challenging. — Are you suggesting I should go home? Daniel held her gaze, his dark eyes gleaming with something Clara couldn’t decipher. — I’m suggesting you should breathe a little. The comment hung between them, laden with double meaning. Clara felt the heat rise in her neck, spreading to her cheeks. She looked away, pretending to adjust the computer screen, but her hand trembled slightly. Daniel straightened up, taking a step back, and for a second she thought he would leave. But then he walked around the desk, stopping beside her, close enough to feel the heat of his body against her arm. — This graph here — he said, pointing at the screen. — The numbers don’t add up. Clara frowned, following his finger. It was true, there was a discrepancy there, something she hadn’t noticed before. She leaned forward, bringing herself closer to the screen, and felt his shoulder brush against hers. A shiver ran down her spine. — You’re right — she admitted, trying to focus. — It must be an error in the formula. Daniel leaned in even closer, his chest almost touching her back. Clara held her breath as he reached out, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. She could feel the heat of his skin even without touching. — May I? — he asked, his voice a murmur near her ear. Clara nodded, unable to speak. Daniel’s fingers brushed against hers as he took control of the mouse, and the touch was like a spark, sending an electric shock through her body. He corrected the error with precise movements, but Clara could barely follow. Her attention was entirely on the way his thumb, accidentally or not, caressed the back of her hand as he worked. — There — he said finally, leaning back in the chair. — That’s better. Clara turned to face him, her lips parted. Daniel didn’t move away. For a second, neither of them moved, their gazes locked, the air between them charged with something neither dared to break. Then, slowly, he lifted his hand, his fingers lightly brushing her chin, as if he were about to pull her closer. But Clara’s phone vibrated on the desk, the shrill sound cutting through the silence. Both jumped, pulling away as if burned. She looked at the screen—a message from her sister, asking if she was still at work. Clara felt her heart pounding in her chest, her breath ragged. — I… need to answer — she murmured, unsure if she was speaking to him or herself. Daniel nodded, taking a step back. — Of course. He turned toward the meeting table, picking up the folder he’d come for. Clara typed a quick reply, her hands trembling slightly. When she looked up again, he was standing in the doorway, watching her. — Good night, Clara — he said softly. — Good night, Daniel. He hesitated for a second, as if he wanted to say something more, but then he left, closing the door behind him. The office felt emptier than before, as if his presence had filled every corner of the room and now only the echo of what might have happened remained. Clara exhaled slowly, trying to calm her heart. She looked at the computer screen, but the words made no sense. Instead, her mind filled with the memory of his touch, the heat of his body so close to hers, the unspoken promise hanging in the air between them. And then, as if fate were playing with her, the sound of footsteps echoed through the corridor again. Slower this time. More deliberate. Clara didn’t need to turn around to know he was there again. She could *feel* it. She could *feel* the way the air changed, as if the very space around them contracted, anticipating what was to come. The door opened with an almost imperceptible click, but Clara knew the instant the air in the room thickened that he had returned. She didn’t turn around. She didn’t need to. His scent already invaded the space—a mix of citrus soap, fresh coffee, and something deeper, like leather and spices, that seemed to cling to her throat. His steps were slower now, deliberate, as if each movement were calculated to prolong the anticipation. The fabric of his shirt brushed lightly against the back of her chair as he passed behind her, and Clara held her breath, her fingers gripping the mouse too tightly. — Is this graph giving you trouble? — Daniel’s voice was low, too close to her ear. Almost a whisper. Clara swallowed hard, trying to ignore the heat rising in her neck. The cursor blinked on the screen, a shaky red line in the middle of a sea of data that suddenly seemed incomprehensible. She pointed to where the program froze, the numbers scrambling into columns that made no sense. — It’s the secondary axis. I can’t align the values without messing up the scale. He leaned over her shoulder, so close that Clara could feel the heat of his body radiating against her back. A shiver ran down her spine as his arm extended, the rolled-up shirt sleeve revealing strong forearms, discreet veins under tanned skin. His long fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitant, as if he, too, were aware of the thin line separating professional help from something far more dangerous. — Let me see. — His breath brushed against the nape of her neck, hot and damp, and Clara had to bite her lip to keep from moaning. Daniel’s fingers found hers on the mouse, and for a second—just a second—they remained still, the tips of their fingers touching as if by accident. But Clara knew it wasn’t an accident. None of this was. The contact was light, almost imperceptible, but enough to make her entire body tense, as if an electric current had run through her skin. She didn’t pull her hand away. She couldn’t. — Like this — he murmured, guiding the cursor with precise movements, his fingers sliding over hers in a slow, deliberate rhythm. — You just need to adjust the reference here. — His voice was rough, deeper than usual, as if the words had to fight to come out. Clara felt his hot breath against her ear as he leaned in even closer, his chest almost touching her back. His cologne enveloped her, mingling with the scent of paper and stale coffee in the office, creating a dense, charged atmosphere. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to focus on the screen, but the only thing she could process was the pressure of his fingers on hers, the heat of his palm lightly brushing the back of her hand. — There. — The word came out as a sigh, and for a second, Clara thought she heard something more behind it, something that had nothing to do with graphs or reports. But then he pulled away, just enough for the cold air from the air conditioning to replace the heat of his body, and she almost moaned at the loss. Daniel leaned against the edge of the desk, crossing his arms, his eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made Clara look away. But not before noticing how his shirt stretched slightly over his shoulders, how the muscles in his forearm tensed when he moved. — You know, Clara — he said, his voice low, almost intimate —, I think we work better as a team. She lifted her eyes, meeting his. The office around them seemed to have disappeared, leaving only the two of them, the cold glow of the screens reflecting in his dark eyes. There was something there, something that went beyond professionalism, beyond jokes about deadlines and goals. Something that made her stomach clench with anticipation. — As a team? — Her voice came out weaker than she’d intended. Daniel smiled, a slow, dangerous smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He leaned forward, resting his hands on the desk on either side of her, trapping her without touching. Clara felt her heart beat so hard she was sure he could hear it. — Yeah. — His lips brushed lightly against her ear as he spoke, and she felt her entire body shiver. — Sometimes, we need a little more... proximity to get things done. The air between them was charged, so thick Clara could barely breathe. She knew she should step back, that she should push him away and remind him they were in the office, that anything beyond a handshake could complicate everything. But then his fingers brushed against hers again, this time on purpose, a quick, almost imperceptible touch on the inside of her wrist, where the skin was most sensitive. And Clara knew she was lost. The sound of his breathing, faster now, echoed in the silent office. Daniel’s eyes dropped to her lips, and for a second, Clara thought he would kiss her right there, on the desk, between spreadsheets and reports. But he didn’t. Instead, he pulled back just enough for the space between them to exist again, though the tension remained, vibrant, almost palpable. — Tomorrow we’ll finish this — he said, his voice rough. — Together. And before Clara could respond, before she could ask him to stay or leave, he turned and walked toward the door, leaving her alone with her racing heart and the certainty that, that night, nothing would ever be the same. She looked at the computer screen, but the words danced before her eyes, meaningless. Instead, all she could see was Daniel’s reflection in the dark window, the outline of his body moving away, the silent promise that this—whatever it was—was only beginning. And then, as if fate were teasing her once more, the sound of his footsteps stopped. Clara didn’t need to turn around to know he had stopped at the door, that he was looking at her, waiting. Waiting for her to say something. Waiting for her to call him back. But she said nothing. She just took a deep breath, tasting desire in the air, and waited. The door closed with a soft, almost imperceptible click, but the sound reverberated in Clara’s chest like a muffled thunder. She remained still, her fingers still hovering over the keyboard, her skin tingling where Daniel’s eyes had last touched her. The air seemed denser now, charged with something that wasn’t just the scent of old paper and reheated coffee, but the weight of an unanswered question—or perhaps, an answer they both already knew but dared not name. For a moment, she thought about calling him back. The word *come back* burned on the tip of her tongue, but something held her back. Maybe the fear of breaking the spell, maybe the stubbornness of not giving in first. Or maybe, deep down, she knew the wait would make it all the sweeter. She sighed, running her hands over her arms as if to dispel the heat still throbbing under her skin. The clock on the wall read twenty-three past midnight. The office was steeped in such deep silence that she could hear the hum of the fluorescent lamp above her head, an almost hypnotic sound. She turned to the meeting table, where the reports lay in disorganized piles, and picked up a blue pen rolling near the edge. It was an automatic, almost mechanical movement, but when she lifted her eyes, he was there. Daniel. Standing in the doorway, as if he’d never left. His broad shoulders filled the space, his dress shirt, once immaculate, now slightly wrinkled at the cuffs, the first buttons undone revealing the curve of his collarbone. His eyes—dark, intense—were fixed on her, and Clara felt the air catch in her lungs. There was no surprise on his face, only a kind of hungry resignation, as if he knew this moment was inevitable. — I forgot my phone — he said, his voice low, rough. It wasn’t an excuse. It was a confession. Clara didn’t answer. She just gripped the pen tighter, her knuckles white. He took a step forward, then another, the sound of his shoes against the floor echoing like an accelerated heartbeat. When he stopped less than a meter away, the scent of him enveloped her—sandalwood mixed with something warmer, more intimate, like leather and clean sweat. She swallowed hard. — You haven’t left either — he murmured, tilting his head slightly, as if studying her. — Why? Because I can’t. Because every time I close my eyes, I see you. Because the empty office is less lonely when you’re here. She didn’t say any of that. Instead, she lifted her chin, defiant. — I still have work. Daniel smiled, a slow, dangerous smile. He reached out, his fingers brushing the edge of the desk between them, close enough that Clara could feel the heat of his skin even without touching. — Lie. The air between them crackled. She should have stepped back. She should have picked up her papers, turned off the computer, left before something happened. But her feet were rooted to the spot, and her entire body felt heavy, as if desire were an invisible current pulling her toward him. — You’re insufferable — she whispered, but there was no anger in her voice. Only a thread of surrender. — And you like that — he replied, taking another step forward. Now they were so close that Clara could see the small golden flecks in his dark irises, could feel his hot breath against her lips. She didn’t deny it. It was an accident. Or maybe not. Maybe they’d both been waiting for this moment since the first time their eyes met in the hallway, since the first meeting where he watched her over his glasses with an intensity that left her breathless. Clara turned to grab another pen—or maybe just to escape that gaze that unnerved her—but the movement was too abrupt. Her hip hit the table, her body spun, and suddenly, they were face to face. Their lips met. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It wasn’t hesitant. It was as if something inside them had snapped, a dam of months of repressed tension, stolen glances, accidental touches that lasted a second longer than they should. Daniel’s mouth was hot, demanding, and Clara moaned against him, her fingers tangling in his shirt before she even realized what she was doing. He pulled her closer, one hand holding the back of her neck, the other sliding down her waist, pressing her against him as if he wanted to fuse their bodies. The office, once silent, now echoed with sounds Clara barely recognized as her own—muffled sighs, the rustle of fabric, the creak of the meeting table under their weight as Daniel lifted her and set her down on the cold surface. Papers flew to the floor, pens rolled away, but neither cared. The only thing that mattered was his mouth on hers, his hands exploring every curve, every sensitive spot that made her body arch in response. — Fuck, Clara — he murmured against her lips, his voice rough with desire. — I tried. I swear I tried. She didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled his shirt out of his pants, her fingers sliding under the fabric, feeling the hot skin, the tense muscles. Daniel groaned, a guttural sound that made something inside her clench, and then his hands were everywhere—unbuttoning her blouse, pulling her bra down, his thumbs brushing over her already hard nipples. Clara arched her back, a moan escaping her lips as he lowered his head and took one into his mouth, sucking hard. The pleasure was almost unbearable. She clung to his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin, as he devoured her with an urgency that made it clear this wasn’t just a momentary impulse. It was a necessity. A hunger. — Daniel… — she whispered, his name sounding like a plea. He lifted his head, his lips damp, his eyes dark with lust. — Say it again. Clara didn’t hesitate. She cupped his face in her hands, pulling him into another kiss, deeper, more desperate. Her legs parted instinctively as he settled between them, his erection pressing against the thin fabric of her pants, making her gasp. Daniel groaned against her mouth, his hands sliding down to her hips, pulling her to the edge of the table, grinding against her with slow, deliberate movements. — Do you have any idea what you do to me? — he asked, his voice a growl. — Every time you walk into a meeting, every time you cross your legs under the table, I— — What? — she challenged, her fingers tangling in his hair. — What do you do? Daniel didn’t answer with words. Instead, he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head, leaning in to lightly bite her earlobe. — I imagine this — he whispered, his hot breath against her skin. — I imagine you like this. I imagine what it would be like to have you here, now, with no one to interrupt us. Clara shivered. The image was too vivid—her, lying on the meeting table, her legs wrapped around his waist, her muffled moans against his palm as he took her hard. The thought left her wet, her body pulsing with need. — Then stop imagining — she said, her voice trembling. — And do it. Daniel let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-groan, and then his hands were everywhere—unbuttoning her pants, pulling them down along with her panties, leaving her naked from the waist down. Clara had no time to feel shame. He pulled her to the edge of the table again, his fingers finding her center, wet and ready. — Fuck — he murmured, his eyes fixed on her as he slid one finger inside, then another. — You’re soaked. Clara bit her lip, trying to stifle a moan, but the pleasure was too much. She clung to his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as he penetrated her with his fingers, his thumb circling her clit with slow, torturous movements. — Daniel, please… — she begged, her voice breaking. He didn’t make her wait. With a quick movement, he unzipped his pants and freed his erection, hard and heavy in his hands. Clara didn’t look away as he positioned himself between her legs, the tip pressing against her, teasing. — Look at me — he ordered, his voice rough. She obeyed. His eyes were dark, hungry, and when he pushed inside her, slowly, inch by inch, Clara felt every part of herself stretch to take him in. It was an overwhelming sensation—the pleasure mixed with a soft pain, the fullness, the heat of him inside her. — Fuck — Daniel groaned, his fingers digging into her hips. — You’re so tight… Clara couldn’t answer. She just clung to him, her legs wrapping around his waist as he began to move, first slowly, then faster, each thrust deeper than the last. The sound of their bodies colliding echoed through the empty office, mingling with muffled moans and ragged breaths. The table creaked beneath them, papers scattered on the floor, the world outside those four walls reduced to nothing. Clara felt every movement, every touch, every breath of his against her skin. When Daniel tilted his head to capture a nipple between his lips again, she arched her back, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter inside her. — Don’t stop — she pleaded, her voice almost unrecognizable. — Don’t stop, don’t stop… He didn’t stop. He picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate. Clara felt the orgasm approaching, a growing pressure in her belly, and when he changed the angle, hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars, she came with a muffled cry, her body trembling, her inner walls clenching around him. Daniel groaned, his movements becoming erratic, and then he came too, burying his face in her neck as he spilled inside her with a rough grunt. For a moment, there was no sound but their ragged breathing. Clara felt his weight on her, his heart pounding against hers, his skin damp with sweat. He lifted his head, his eyes still dark, but now with something else—something she couldn’t decipher. — That — he murmured, his voice rough — was a mistake. Clara should have agreed. She should have gotten up, gotten dressed, left before things got even more complicated. But instead, she ran her fingers through his hair, pulling him into another kiss, slow and deep. — Then let’s make another one. The office air conditioning hummed softly, an almost imperceptible sound beneath the accelerated rhythm of their ragged breaths. Daniel was still inside her, his heavy body propped on his elbows, the muscles in his arms trembling slightly with the effort not to crush her. Clara felt every inch of him, throbbing, hot, as if he’d been made to fill her like this, exactly like this. The scent of sweat mixed with his woody cologne invaded her nostrils, intoxicating, and she ran her tongue over her dry lips, tasting the salty flavor of her own skin. — You’re beautiful like this — he murmured, his voice rough, his lips brushing her earlobe before trailing down her neck, leaving a path of damp kisses. — Undone. Mine. Clara arched her back involuntarily, her nails digging into his broad shoulders. The meeting table was cold beneath her back, the contrast with the heat of his body sending shivers down her spine. She didn’t want to think about how wrong this was, about how they could be seen, about how everything could fall apart if someone else decided to work late too. But the fleeting thought only served to heighten the excitement, a forbidden spark that burned brighter with each passing second. Daniel straightened up slowly, his dark eyes fixed on hers as he pulled out almost completely, only to thrust back in with torturous slowness. Clara bit her lower lip to stifle a moan, but the sound escaped anyway, muffled against the palm of her hand she pressed to her mouth. He smiled, a predatory gesture, and repeated the movement, this time faster, deeper. — Don’t hide — he ordered, pulling her hand away. — I want to hear you. She obeyed, because there was nothing she could do but obey. The sounds that escaped her throat were animalistic, primal, and with each thrust, she felt the pleasure coiling tighter inside her, a spring about to snap. Daniel gripped her hips tightly, his fingers marking her soft skin as he pulled her to meet each thrust, and Clara felt her legs tremble, her inner muscles clenching around him in involuntary spasms. — Fuck, Clara — he groaned, his voice breaking. — You’re going to kill me. She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Instead, she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, tighter, until there was no space left between them. Daniel let out a grunt and leaned in to capture her lips in a hungry kiss, his tongue invading her mouth with the same urgency with which his body invaded hers. Clara felt his hands slide down her back, pulling her up until she was sitting in his lap, her legs spread over his muscular thighs. The new position allowed him to penetrate her even deeper, and Clara threw her head back with a long sigh, her hair cascading over her shoulders. Daniel took the opportunity to bury his face between her breasts, his hot tongue tracing circles around her nipples before sucking them hard, drawing a muffled cry from her. She clutched his hair, pulling him closer, and he chuckled against her skin, a low, vibrating sound she felt reverberate in her own chest. — Do you like that? — he asked, his teeth grazing a sensitive nipple before lightly biting it. — Do you like being touched like this? Clara nodded, words failing her. He didn’t wait for a verbal response. One of his hands slid between their bodies, his fingers finding the spot where they joined, and began massaging it in slow, precise circles. Clara arched her back, her hips moving instinctively against his hand, seeking more pressure, more friction. Daniel groaned, his movements becoming faster, more urgent, and she felt the pleasure building again, a wave threatening to swallow her whole. — Daniel — she whispered, his name sounding like a prayer. — I... I can’t take it... — You can — he murmured, his voice rough. — Just a little longer. He changed the angle again, hitting that magical spot inside her that made her see stars, and Clara felt the orgasm approaching like a storm. His fingers worked in sync with his thrusts, and she clung to his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as the pleasure consumed her. When she finally came, it was with a muffled cry, her body trembling violently, her inner walls clenching around him. Daniel groaned, his movements becoming erratic, and then he came too, burying his face in her neck as he spilled inside her with a rough grunt. For a moment, there was no sound but their ragged breathing. Clara felt his weight on her, his heart pounding against hers, his skin damp with sweat. He lifted his head, his eyes still dark, but now with something else—something she couldn’t decipher. — That — he murmured, his voice rough — was a mistake. Clara should have agreed. She should have gotten up, gotten dressed, left before things got even more complicated. But instead, she ran her fingers through his hair, pulling him into another kiss, slow and deep, that tasted of goodbye and promise at the same time. Daniel pulled her against him, one hand holding the back of her neck, the other sliding down the curve of her back to grip her waist possessively. When they parted, both were breathless. — Monday — he said, as if it were a threat. — In the elevator. Clara didn’t answer. She just smiled, picked up her bag, and left, leaving him standing there with his shirt still unbuttoned and desire clearly written on his face. --- Monday arrived with the same impersonal efficiency as always: the smell of burnt coffee in the break room, the sound of keyboards clicking in unison, the curt greetings in the hallways. Clara had dressed carefully—a navy silk blouse that highlighted her eyes, a pencil skirt that hugged her curves without being vulgar, high heels that made her feel powerful. She knew Daniel would be watching. And she wanted him to see her. The elevator was crowded when the doors opened on the tenth floor, and Clara hesitated for a second before stepping in, as if she knew that confined space would be a trap. Daniel was already there, leaning against the back, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed on her before the doors even closed. The other employees chatted among themselves, oblivious, but Clara felt the heat of his gaze like a brand. She positioned herself with her back to him, pretending interest in the digital panel showing the floors, but every fiber of her body was aware of his presence behind her. When the elevator stopped on the seventh floor and half the people got out, Clara felt Daniel’s hot breath brush against the nape of her neck. — You look beautiful — he murmured, so low only she could hear. She didn’t turn around. She couldn’t. But her lips curved into an involuntary smile. — You’re pushing your luck — she replied, in the same tone. — I didn’t promise anything — he shot back, and Clara felt his fingers lightly brush the back of her hand, a touch so quick it could have been accidental. But it wasn’t. The elevator stopped again, and more people got out. Now only the two of them remained, and the space between them felt charged with electricity. Clara finally turned, meeting Daniel’s dark, intense gaze. — We can’t do this here — she said, but her voice lacked conviction. — I know — he agreed, taking a step forward. Now they were close enough for Clara to feel the heat of his body, to notice the way his pupils dilated when she bit her lower lip. — But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to. The elevator doors opened on the ground floor, and Clara took a step back, taking a deep breath. Daniel didn’t move. He just smiled, that slow, dangerous smile she already knew so well. — See you later, Clara — he said, as if he hadn’t just left her wet and trembling. She stepped out of the elevator without looking back, but she knew he was watching. And she knew, too, that this wasn’t over. --- That night, Clara was at home, lying in bed with a book she couldn’t read, when her phone vibrated. She picked it up, expecting a work message, but Daniel’s name glowed on the screen. *"Are you thinking about me?"* She smiled, running her fingers over the keys before replying. *"What if I am?"* The response came almost instantly. *"Then I’d say you’re wasting time. Because I’m on the other side of the city, hard as a rock, just remembering your taste."* Clara laughed, feeling her body react to the provocation. She typed back, the words coming before she could think twice. *"And what are you going to do about it?"* The response took a little longer this time. When it arrived, it was a photo—a blurry, hastily taken image showing Daniel’s hand gripping an erect cock, his fingers wrapped around the base in a firm grip. *"This is what I’m going to do every time you ignore me at the office."* Clara bit her lip, feeling the heat spread between her legs. She ran her fingers over the screen, as if she could touch him through the image, before typing a final message. *"Then you’d better get ready. Because Monday is coming."* And when she turned off her phone, she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Because now, more than ever, it was clear that this—whatever it was—was only just beginning.