Now, at the office, it’s quieter. Most people have gone home, the buzz of the AC the only constant sound. I’m finishing up some overdue reports when I hear the faint click of her heels.
She walks in, holding a file, her eyes focused on the neat stack of papers. “This is ready. Could you check it once?”
I lean back in my chair, studying her. The way her hair’s slightly messy from working late. The faint crease between her brows from concentration. She doesn’t even notice I’m not reaching for the file immediately—too busy flipping it open to the relevant page.
I stand, closing the distance between us.
When I take the file from her hands, I don’t even glance at it. I place it on the table beside me.
And then I kiss her.
No warning. No easing into it.
Just a full, consuming kiss that steals whatever thought she had mid-sentence.
She makes a startled sound, but then her fingers curl into my shirt, pulling me closer. I angle my head, deepening it, tastingthe faint hint of her coffee from earlier. She melts into me, and for a few seconds, there’s nothing in this world except the press of her lips, the warmth of her breath, and the way my pulse kicks hard and steady.
When I finally pull back, she’s breathless, her chest rising fast. I let a slow smirk spread across my face.
“What were you saying this morning, darling?” I murmur, voice low, trapping her between me and the table.
Her lashes flutter. “Abhimaan…” she rasps, and that’s all I need.
I lower my mouth to her neck, brushing my lips against her skin before finding her pulse point. I nip there lightly, enough to make her gasp and grip my hair. The sound goes straight through me.
“Mm,” I hum against her, my hands finding her waist. I lift her easily, setting her down on the table.
In one sweep of her hands, she pushes everything off—files, pens, a paperweight—the clatter loud in the quiet office. I don’t care.
I’m focused entirely on her—the way her legs part instinctively to let me step closer, the way her breath catches when I run my hands along her thighs, sliding up slowly.
Her fingers are in my hair again, tugging when I kiss my way back up her neck, across her jaw. I can feel her shiver when I murmur her name. My palm rests against the small of her back, pulling her toward me, and she arches just enough for me to feel every warm, soft inch of her.
There’s a lazy heat building between us—unhurried, but charged. My mind isn’t on the work waiting on the desk or thereports left unfinished. All I can think about is how her lips part when I trace my thumb over them, how she leans forward as if she can’t help it.
I kiss her again, slower this time, savoring it. My other hand slides to her hip, holding her steady, grounding both of us.
She breaks away for air, and I catch the tiny smile tugging at the corner of her mouth—the kind of smile that says she knows exactly how much she’s affecting me.
My hands slide up her sides, finding the first button of her shirt. I work it open, not in a neat, patient way, but like a man who’s been starving and finally has his meal in front of him. She does the same to me, shoving my shirt off my shoulders, her nails dragging down my chest and making my muscles jump.
Her shirt slips down her arms, revealing that black lace I’ve thought about far too many times. She blushes under my gaze, but I’m already leaning in, taking her nipple into my mouth through the fabric. She arches, a sharp gasp tearing from her throat.
I move to the other, giving it equal attention, while my hands slide lower, lifting her skirt just enough to find the heat of her. Her panties are damp under my touch. I groan, hooking a finger in the waistband and pushing them aside.
She’s so warm, so wet, that my own restraint nearly snaps.
Her hands are at my belt now, fumbling until she gets it open, shoving my pants and boxers down in one impatient move. Her fingers wrap around me, stroking, and I swear my vision goes white for a second.
I kiss her hard, tasting her gasp, lifting her hips, and pulling her to the edge. My cock presses against her entrance, and I can feel her pulse there—fast, desperate.
The first thrust pulls a broken moan from both of us. She’s tight, gripping me like she doesn’t want to let go. My forehead drops to hers, our breaths mingling, and then I start to move.
It’s not slow. It’s needy, hungry—every thrust pushing us both closer to the edge. Her nails rake down my back, her thighs squeezing around me. I find her clit with my fingers, rubbing in sync with my hips.
Her head tips back, eyes fluttering shut, and then she’s shattering around me, her walls clenching so hard it drags my own release out of me. I bury myself deep, groaning her name as I spill into her.
For a moment, the only sound is our breathing—hers quick and shallow, mine rough and uneven. I don’t move, not yet. My hands cradle her face, my thumbs brushing her flushed cheeks.
