There’s a moment just after nine when the entire office floor goes still. Not the kind of stillness that comes from peace, but the kind that feels haunted.

Elevators sighing into silence. Printers cooling into a low, tired hum. The only light left is the blue glow of the city pressing against the endless glass windows, as if the whole skyline were holding its breath too.

I was still at my desk, stubbornly clicking through a schedule revision I’d already double-checked twice, when I heard footsteps behind me.

Nicholas.

He didn’t speak right away.

When I finally glanced up, he was standing outside his office, jacket gone, tie loose around his neck, sleeves rolled to his forearms in a way that made it hard to pretend my pulse wasn’t reacting to him.

“You’re still here,” he said.

I shrugged without looking up again. “So are you.”

He crossed the distance in a few slow steps and leaned casually against the edge of my desk, hands braced behind him. If I reached out, I could touch him.

“I should’ve left hours ago,” he said.

“Why didn’t you?” I asked, pretending to focus on my screen.

He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was quieter. Raw.

“I don’t like the silence at home.”

That made me look up.

“I thought you liked quiet,” I said, forcing my tone light, playful.

He tilted his head slightly, studying me in that way that always made me feel like I was made of glass.

“Not when it feels like a punishment.”

The words landed between us, heavy enough to knock the breath out of me.

I swallowed. Hard.

For a second, neither of us moved. The office felt too small. Then slowly, Nicholas reached out. His fingers brushed a loose strand of hair from my cheek, tucking it behind my ear with the kind of tenderness that made my chest ache. But he didn’t pull his hand away immediately. His knuckles skimmed my jaw, light enough to be accidental, heavy enough that we both knew it wasn’t.

“I’ve been trying to stay professional,” he said, voice rougher now.

I closed the laptop softly, deliberately, the click sounding too loud in the still room.

“So have I,” I said.

He searched my face. For what, I wasn’t sure.

“And?” he asked, his voice low enough to vibrate somewhere deep in my chest.

I stood up slowly. Let the silence stretch.

“And I’m done trying,” I said.

My back hit the desk with a hard thud, the edge digging into my spine, but I barely noticed. All I could focus on was him—his mouth on mine, his hands everywhere, and the heat building between us.

Nicholas kissed me like he was starving, his lips rough and demanding. His fingers tangled in my hair, tugging just enough to make me gasp. He took that gasp, swallowed it with a deeper kiss, like he couldn’t get enough.

I couldn’t get enough either. I yanked at his shirt, tearing at the buttons, and they scattered on the floor. It didn’t matter. His chest was warm under my hands, and I couldn’t wait to feel more. My nails scraped down his stomach, and he hissed, his hips grinding into mine. I felt him, hard against me, and it made my whole body tense.

“You’ve been driving me insane,” he muttered, his lips trailing down my neck. I arched into him, desperate for more.

I worked on his belt, my hands shaking, my breath catching as he cursed and helped me. When I freed him, he groaned, and I could feel the heat of him against my thigh.

“Christ,” he muttered, his voice rough. His hands moved fast, yanking my skirt up, fingers sliding under my panties. When he felt how wet I was, he bit down softly on my shoulder.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice low. “So fucking soaked for me.”

I could barely think. His fingers slid inside me, moving slowly at first, and I almost lost it. His thumb found my clit, rubbing in slow, precise circles, making me moan into his mouth. He held me still, eyes dark with need as he pushed me closer to the edge.

“Eyes on me,” he growled. And I did. His gaze was hungry, but it was mine, and it made everything worse—better.

I came hard, my body shuddering against him, but he didn’t stop. He kissed me through it, lips frantic, until I was a trembling mess in his arms. Then he shifted, lifting me easily, flipping me onto the desk.

Without waiting, he was inside me in one quick, hard thrust. I gasped, gripping the edge of the desk as he set a brutal rhythm, pushing me further, harder. His hands were everywhere—on my hips, my waist, my breasts—and I couldn’t get enough. The desk shook beneath us, papers falling like forgotten thoughts.

His hand slipped between us, his fingers finding my clit again, rubbing me with perfect pressure. My body tightened, pleasure building fast, and I couldn’t hold back. I came again, loud and messy, my nails digging into his back.

His pace grew frantic, his breath ragged as he fucked me harder, and with one last growl, he came, spilling into me. He collapsed on top of me, our bodies both drenched in sweat, the air still thick with the aftershock.

We stayed there for a moment, both trying to catch our breath. Then he pulled back, cupping my face with one hand, his thumb brushing my cheek.

“I’m not letting you go,” he whispered, his voice rough.

I smiled, my heart pounding. “Good,” I whispered back. “Because I’m not letting you either.”