This is part of Mamamia's Erotic Fiction Series, brought to you by Butter.
My heels click on the marble floor, echoing through the empty hallway.
It's late, and the office is silent, apart from the soft hum of the fluorescent lights. Somewhere to my right a vacuum buzzes, the cleaner still tidying up for the next day.
I turn the corner, heading towards the glass door at the end of the corridor. I can't believe I'm doing this again. Another late night at the office — and of course, it has to involve him.
It always involves him.
We might technically be on the same team, but make no mistake: this man is my competition.
My very attractive, very infuriating competition. No one boils my blood the way he does.
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I tap a light knock on the glass door — a courtesy not a request — and walk in.
His office is different after dark. The city lights filter through the blinds, casting long shadows that dance across the sleek, modern furniture.
The room is quiet, save for the distant hum of the vacuum and a few remaining employees shuffling around on the other side of the floor.
He's standing by the window, staring out at the cityscape, his silhouette sharp against the skyline. He doesn't even acknowledge my presence, just… stands there.
He's everything I despise: arrogant, entitled…
He's also tall, lean and ridiculously handsome, with piercing eyes that drill directly to my soul, and a voice that drips with confidence, no matter what he's saying.
Heat rushes through me as I admire his frame. I have to call it for what it is: attraction. Pure, undeniable… infuriating attraction. And I hate him for it. Because it feels like losing. It feels like letting him win.
I clear my throat, the sound too loud for the spell cast over the darkened room, and he turns as I toss the papers onto his desk.
"The revised campaign," I tell him, surprised at the huskiness in my tone that doesn't usually underlie our conversations.
He doesn't say a word — just stares at me in the glow of the city lights.
I feel the heat of his gaze rake slowly, so slowly, down my body and back up, stopping as his eyes lock on mine. His arms remain folded over his chest, and I can't see it through his crisp white shirt, but I can tell the lines of his chest and stomach are muscled, hard…
For God's sake, stop thinking about what's under his clothes.
The glint in his eyes tells me he knows exactly what's on my mind.
He takes a step away from the window, moving towards me. I'm rooted to the ground, a slow, deep thrum beginning to build in my body as he prowls forward.
His gaze in the dim light is primal, his small smile hungry, and heat pools in my stomach as he steps towards me. He's so close I can feel the heat radiating off his body, though we don't touch.
I should walk away.
Should walk the f**k out of here as quickly as I can, get in an Uber and go home.
The tension crackling between us is close to snapping, and before I can say a word, he closes the distance between us, his lips crashing down on mine.
The kiss is fierce, deep and desperate — I don't know what either of us is trying to prove, but we both want to win whatever… this… is.
His hands find my waist, pulling me against him as he deepens the kiss, and I melt into him, my body betraying me.
His fingers dig into my hips, hard, but I don't care. I want more. I need more.
I fumble with the buttons of his shirt, my hands trembling as I shove the fabric aside, desperate to get my hands on his bare chest.
His hands, strong and sure, move to my blouse, tugging it out of my skirt with a roughness that makes me gasp. He pauses, pulling back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and filled with smoky desire as he holds my gaze.
I see the question lying there; I nod, and then his lips are on mine again. He backs me up against his desk, the cool edge digging into the backs of my thighs. His hands are everywhere — my waist, my back, sliding up under my top.
I arch into him, needing more, but he pulls back just enough to make me whimper in frustration. His fingers trail down my neck, his thumb brushing my collarbone as he studies me with that infuriating smirk.
His lips graze my ear, sparking every nerve in my body, and his hands move lower, brushing against the sensitive skin of my stomach before sliding up to cup my breast, his thumb circling my nipple through the fabric.
A low moan escapes me, and I hate how easily he unravels me, how desperate I feel, how needy. But I can't bring myself to care. Not when his touch is setting my skin on fire, when my p**sy is suddenly slick and wet.
He shifts his hand to my ass, giving it a firm squeeze that sends a jolt through my core.
My breath hitches, and I grip the edge of the desk, my knuckles turning white as I try to ground myself. But it's impossible. Not with the way he's touching me; the way he's looking at me like he's already won.
My voice breaks as I say his name, trying — failing — I cling to the last shred of control I have left.
He leans in, his lips brushing against mine in the ghost of a kiss.
"Good girl," he whispers, and his lips are on mine again, demanding, urgent.
The kiss is fierce, teeth and tongues clashing as we pour every ounce of frustration, every unspoken word, into the contact. His hands grip my waist, pulling me against his hard body.
His cock presses against me and a steady ache throbs where my thighs meet. I need to feel him inside me. His hands grip my hips, lifting me onto his desk with ease. Papers scatter and a pen holder goes crashing to the floor.
His hands slide up my thighs, pushing my skirt higher, higher, until it's bunched around my waist. I'm barely breathing, my heart hammering in my chest as I watch him with wide eyes, anticipation coiling in my stomach.
He tells me to spread my legs, his voice rough, thick with desire.
I obey, the cool air of the office brushing against my exposed skin, making me shiver. His gaze is intense, roaming over me as if he's committing every inch to memory.
His hands follow the path of his eyes, his touch deliberate, making me gasp as his fingers dip beneath my pantyline, tracing the slickness gathering at my centre. His thumb draws lazy circles over my clit, igniting the bundle of nerves, eliciting a cry from my lips.
I reach down, unbutton his trousers and push them down, along with his boxers. My eyes go wide as his impressive erection springs free, and I bite my lip at the sight.
I trail my fingertips over his chest, down his stomach, and lower, wrapping my fingers around the length of him. He's thick and hard in my hand, a drop of moisture appearing at the tip, and I give him a slow, purposeful stroke.
He groans, head tilting back, his eyes fluttering closed.
I release him with a laugh. This man, who likes to pretend he's so unshakeable, losing control.
His eyes darken, and he deftly unhooks my bra with one hand. He takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking gently as he teases it with his tongue. I thread my fingers through his hair, holding him to me as my breath leaves my body in pants and moans.
He hooks his fingers in the waistband of my underwear, slowly peeling it down my legs. His eyes devour me, his gaze hot and hungry. I can feel the desire coming off him in waves as he moves closer, standing poised between my open legs.
And with one push, he's inside me, claiming me, right there on his desk.
I gasp as he fills me completely, crying out at the sensation. He only groans, thrusts harder, his hips moving in steady, delicious circles.
The sound of our heavy breathing and moans is all that fills the room.
He throbs deep inside me and I increase the speed, giving my body over to the pressure coiling in my body, tightening with each thrust. My breath comes in ragged gasps as his hands dive into my hair, and I arch into him.
The desk beneath me is cool and hard, and the pressure building is delicious and unbearable. I cling to him, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I ride his thick length.
He pulls my head back and kisses my neck as he thrusts deeper and deeper, grazing the soft skin there with his teeth.
It's my undoing.
I cry out, my body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure washes through me.
I feel him swell inside me, and with a few more thrusts, he follows, his release pouring into me as he groans my name, a deep guttural prayer.
I collapse against him, breathing heavily, my heart pounding in my chest. He wraps his arms around me, holding me close, his head buried in my neck, as we gasp to regain control. I'm breathless and trembling, my body still humming with the aftershocks.
I push gently against his chest, and he steps back, watching me with an unreadable expression as he slides out of me. I hop off the desk, straightening my skirt and smoothing my hair, legs like jelly.
A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, and he shakes his head in that infuriating way that makes me want to slap his stupid, gorgeous face.
"Don't get too used to being in control," I say as I turn on my heel and head for the door.
"It's the only time you'll ever have the upper hand."
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Feature image: Liv James.
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