The office thinned out gradually, one by one. Phones stopped ringing, keyboards stopped clacking, conversations dwindled. By six, the floor was nearly silent, the only sound the hum of the air-conditioning and the occasional shuffle of papers.
Elena sat hunched at her desk, eyes burning, fingers stiff from typing. The "file" Sophie had dumped on her wasn't just heavy, it was tedious, sprawling, designed to chew hours. Cross-referencing figures, correcting inconsistencies, summarizing whole pages into neat, polished bullet points.
Every so often, she glanced at Sophie's desk. Empty, of course. Sophie had left early, her perfume still faint in the air, smug satisfaction trailing behind her like a shadow.
Marcy had lingered the longest, offering her quiet encouragement before leaving. "Don't stay too late, El. It's not worth your health."
Lily had made a show of pouting. "If Sophie makes you miss dinner again, I'll haunt her."
Priya had muttered, "You need to learn to say no eventually," while Aria only gave a quiet nod as she slipped out.
Now it was just Elena.
She rubbed her eyes, staring at the glowing screen. Every number blurred. Her heart wasn't in this task, not when her mind kept replaying the feel of Damien's mouth on her skin, his voice low in her ear.
She pressed her thighs together under the desk, hating herself for it. Hating how her body responded even now, when she knew she should be furious, terrified, distant.
Finally, with a shaky breath, she saved the document and slid the printed summary into a folder.
It was done.
But the words Sophie had left her with lingered. Mr. Cross asked you to finish this and submit it before you leave.
Elena swallowed hard. She didn't know if it was true. She suspected it wasn't. But ignoring it might look worse, and the last thing she could afford was giving Sophie ammunition. So she stood, folder in hand, and made her way down the quiet hallway toward Damien's office.
Her heels clicked softly against the marble, the sound unnervingly loud in the silence. The executive wing was emptier than usual; most lights dimmed, shadows long across the polished floor.
Her stomach twisted with every step.
Was she really going to do this?
She reached his door. The heavy glass loomed, the steel handle gleaming under the low light.
Her hand hovered. Her pulse thundered.
She could turn back. She could leave the file on his assistant's desk, walk away, pretend she'd never been here.
But her fingers tightened on the folder.
Before she could lose her nerve, she pushed the door open.
Damien was inside.
Not behind his desk this time. He stood near the window, jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, the city lights sprawling behind him like fire in the night.
He turned when she entered, gray eyes locking on her instantly.
Elena's breath caught.
"I… I brought the file," she managed, her voice barely above a whisper. She held it out like a shield.
Damien didn't move to take it. His gaze swept her slowly, deliberately, making her skin prickle.
"You stayed late," he said softly. "For this?"
She swallowed. "Yes. Sophie said you wanted it completed."
His mouth curved, not quite a smile. "Did she?"
Her chest tightened. She'd been right.
Still, he crossed the room, closing the space between them with steady steps. He took the folder from her hand, placed it on the desk without even looking at it.
"Elena," he murmured, his voice low, dangerous. "Why do you keep running from me?"
Her heart lurched. "Because this is wrong," she whispered. "You're my boss. I can't..."
He cut her off by backing her against the edge of his desk. His hand braced beside her, caging her in.
"Wrong?" His lips hovered a breath from hers. "Then why are you here, trembling for me?"
Her knees weakened. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She could smell him, clean soap, expensive cologne, heat.
"I...I'm not," she lied.
He leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear. "Liar."
Her body shuddered. Her hands gripped the desk edge to steady herself.
He tilted her chin up, forcing her gaze into his. His storm-gray eyes burned, hungry, merciless.
"You think you can survive in my world pretending?" he whispered. "Pretending you don't want me? Pretending you didn't moan my name?"
Her chest heaved. "Damien..."
His mouth crashed down on hers, stealing her words, stealing her breath.
The folder fell forgotten to the floor.
Damien's mouth devoured hers, hot and relentless. Elena gasped, her back bowing against the desk as his body pressed her down, stealing every breath. His tongue claimed her like he had every right, dragging a moan from her throat she hadn't meant to give.
"Stop..." she tried, voice breaking, but his hand tangled in her hair, holding her in place as if to remind her there was no escape.
"Stop?" he growled against her lips. "When you're shaking for me?"
He hoisted her onto the desk in one swift motion, the polished surface cold under her thighs. Papers scattered around them, forgotten. His hands tore open her blouse, buttons snapping loose, the lace of her bra barely a barrier before his mouth was on her breast.
She cried out, clutching his shoulders. "Damien...please..."
His teeth grazed her nipple, tongue circling, sucking hard enough to make her arch back in helpless surrender. His hips ground against hers, hard, insistent, his erection pressing through fabric.
"You beg so sweetly," he rasped, breath hot on her skin. "Don't pretend you don't want this. I'll hear the truth from your lips before I'm done with you."
Her thighs squeezed around him involuntarily, betraying her even as her mind screamed to stop. His hand slid up her thigh, hiking her skirt to her hips, fingers skimming over damp lace.
"You're soaked," he hissed, pressing harder. "Tell me it's not for me. Lie to me now, Elena."
She whimpered, trying to twist away, but his hand cupped her firmly, fingers stroking slow and deliberate. The wet heat against her underwear gave her away.
"God," she gasped, her head falling back, shame and desire colliding.
"Say it," he demanded, his lips at her ear, teeth grazing her lobe. "Say you want me."
Her throat closed around the words. But her hips lifted, grinding into his touch, betraying her body's answer.
"That's enough," he said darkly.
In a swift motion, he yanked her panties aside, freeing her. His zipper rasped down, the sound sharp in the silence, and then he was there, hard, thick, pressing against her entrance.
Panic flared through her haze. "Wait..."
But he thrust into her with a guttural groan, burying himself deep.
Elena's cry tore from her throat, shock and pleasure colliding in a dizzying rush. He filled her completely, stretching her, claiming her. Her nails dug into his shoulders, clinging desperately.
"Damien!"
"Mine," he growled, his hips snapping forward again. "You're mine."
Each thrust slammed her against the desk, the edge biting into her back. Papers crumpled beneath her, pens clattering to the floor. His pace was merciless, hard, each movement demanding surrender.
She tried to protest, but every word dissolved into breathless moans. Her body betrayed her again and again, clenching around him, answering his every drive.
"You hate me," he gritted out, lips at her throat, biting hard enough to leave a mark. "But your body… God, your body begs for me."
Her head fell back, a ragged sob escaping. "This is wrong..."
"This is inevitable," he snarled, thrusting deeper, harder.
His hand slid between them, fingers finding her clit, circling mercilessly. The added friction made her arch, a strangled moan ripping free.
"Don't fight it," he ordered, watching her face contort with pleasure she couldn't contain. "Come for me. Now."
Her body shattered, climax tearing through her like fire. She cried out his name, the sound breaking from her lips before she could stop it.
Damien cursed low, thrusting harder, faster, until with a final groan he spilled inside her, hot and unyielding.
For a moment, the world was nothing but ragged breaths, the pounding of hearts, the slick heat where their bodies joined.
Then reality crashed back.
Elena pushed at his chest, trembling, blouse torn, hair disheveled.
"This...this can't happen again," she whispered, voice broken. "It was a mistake."
Damien caught her chin in his hand, forcing her eyes to his. His gaze burned, fierce and unrelenting.
"You can call it a mistake all you want," he said softly, dangerously. "But your body will always betray you. And I won't let you run again."
She shoved free, stumbling to the door, clutching her torn blouse together.
Her hands shook so violently she could barely turn the handle.
When she burst into the hallway, her face was flushed, lips swollen, eyes wide.
The floor was empty, but the girls' voices lingered in her memory, their teasing, their warnings. They'd know something had happened.
Her heart thundered.
Inside the office, Damien leaned back against the desk, chest heaving, satisfaction and frustration warring in his veins.
This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.