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 hum 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 shut down their computer. They were firm, decisive steps, but with a cadence that suggested familiarity—as if whoever was walking 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 hallway 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 had been transferred from the São Paulo branch three weeks earlier and had already left the women in the marketing department in a tizzy with his easy smile and shoulders too broad for corporate suits. He stopped at the entrance to her office, his hands tucked into the pockets of his dress pants, 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. — And so are you — she replied, surprised by the firmness in her own voice. — I thought everyone had already 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 hallway 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 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 wanting 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 said anything. 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 shelter 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 sounding louder than she 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 pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it. When Daniel finally turned and disappeared down the hallway, she exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she was 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 without even 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 hallway 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 *sense* it. 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 the pockets of his dress pants. The cold light from the fluorescent lamps cast shadows under his eyes, accentuating the line of his jaw. He wasn’t smiling, 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 intended. Daniel stepped inside, 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 on 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 deadline for the project 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 exaggerate. 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 moved 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 raised 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 breathing ragged. — I… need to answer — she murmured, not sure 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 had 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 seemed emptier than before, as if his presence had filled every corner of the room and now only the echo of what could 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 hallway 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 *sense* 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. The footsteps 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 in 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. Nothing about 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 old 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 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 more sensitive. And Clara knew she was lost. The sound of his breathing, faster now, echoed in the silence of the 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 playing with 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 smell 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 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, a sound almost hypnotic. She turned to the meeting table, where reports lay scattered in disorganized piles, and picked up a blue pen rolling near the edge. It was an automatic, almost mechanical movement, but when she looked up, he was there. Daniel. Standing in the doorway, as if he had never left. His broad shoulders filled the space, his dress shirt, once impeccable, now hanging open at the chest, revealing the mark of her lips just below his collarbone. Clara looked away before the sight made her lose what little control she had left. — You’ll get home before sunrise — he said, his voice rough, as if each word carried the weight of the night they had shared. It wasn’t a question, but a statement, almost a disguised plea for her to stay. Clara smiled, a slow, knowing gesture as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The movement was automatic, but her fingers trembled slightly. — And you’ll have to explain why you look like you just ran a marathon — she replied, raising an eyebrow. — Or are your employees already used to seeing the project manager with dark circles and a silly grin? Daniel laughed, a low, guttural sound that made her stomach clench. He took a step forward, closing the distance between them, and for a moment Clara thought he would pull her back into his arms. But he just reached out, his fingers brushing her wrist in a touch so light it could have been accidental—if it weren’t for the way his eyes darkened as he did it. — I’d say it was a productive meeting — he murmured, his voice laced with irony. — But I don’t think *meeting* is the right word. Clara stifled a laugh with her hand. The sound echoed in the empty office, and for a moment they both fell silent, listening to their own heartbeats, the distant hum of the elevators, the almost imperceptible creak of the building waking up to a new day. — No one can know — she said, finally, her voice more serious. It wasn’t a request, but a condition. Clara knew the risks: a workplace scandal, gossip in the hallways, the possibility of being labeled “the one who slept with the boss.” And, worse still, the chance that all this—this explosive connection, this chemistry neither of them could ignore—would turn into something ugly, tainted by corporate politics. Daniel nodded, but his eyes didn’t leave hers. There was something there, an unspoken promise, that made Clara’s heart race. — Between us — he agreed. — But not today. She frowned. — What do you mean? He moved closer, until their bodies almost touched, until Clara could feel the heat radiating from him, until she noticed the way his pupils dilated when she bit her lower lip. — Today was just the beginning. Clara swallowed hard, feeling her body react instantly—her nipples hardening under her bra, a liquid heat spreading between her legs. She should have pulled away. She should have said something witty, something to break the tension, something to remind them they were professionals, that this couldn’t happen again. But instead, she tilted her face, her lips meeting his in a slow, deep kiss 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 brought out 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 wall, 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 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 her. 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 lit up the screen. *"Are you thinking about me?"* She smiled, running her fingers over the keys before replying. *"What if I am?"* The reply 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 reply 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 one last 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.