Forbidden Office Encounter

The office had long since emptied, leaving only the low, steady hum of the lights overhead and the faint glow of the city through half-closed blinds. I lingered by the desk, smoothing papers that didn’t need smoothing, pretending I hadn’t noticed the hour. When the door clicked open, I didn’t startle. I simply looked up and met his gaze, calm on the surface, though something quickened beneath.He paused in the doorway, one hand still on the handle, as if giving either of us a final chance to change our minds. None came. He stepped inside, letting the door fall shut behind him with a soft, decisive sound.“We probably shouldn’t be here this late,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.A small smile touched the corner of his mouth. “Probably not.”That was all. No grand declarations, no hurried excuses. Just the acknowledgment that whatever line we’d been walking all week had finally thinned to nothing.He crossed the room slowly, deliberately, stopping just close enough that I could catch the faint trace of his cologne mixed with the warmth of his skin. My pulse answered before I did. I stayed leaning against the edge of the desk, palms braced on cool wood, skirt settling naturally a fraction higher than strictly professional. Neither of us mentioned it.His hand lifted—not rushed, not presumptuous—simply resting beside mine on the desk, fingers almost but not quite brushing. The air between us felt suddenly smaller, warmer. I found myself studying the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his eyes held mine longer than they ever had in daylight meetings.I drew a slow breath. “People will talk if they find out.”“Let them,” he said, so softly it might have been part of the hum above us.The distance closed without either of us seeming to move. One moment we were two colleagues working late; the next, his knuckles grazed the back of my hand, a question asked in the lightest possible way. I answered by turning my palm upward, letting our fingers lace together for the first time. The contact was simple, almost chaste, and somehow more intoxicating than anything overt could have been.Minutes stretched, measured in shared breaths and the occasional creak of the building settling around us. When he finally leaned in, it wasn’t reckless. It was deliberate, careful, as though we both understood how easily this moment could slip into something we couldn’t take back. His forehead rested briefly against mine, a silent request for permission I granted with the smallest nod.The kiss, when it came, was unhurried—soft at first, then deepening by slow degrees until the room narrowed to nothing but the warmth of his mouth and the steady pressure of his hand at my waist. My own hands found the lapels of his jacket, not pulling, simply anchoring, grounding myself in the reality of it.We drew apart only far enough to breathe. His thumb traced once along my lower lip, a gesture so gentle it felt louder than words.“Still think we shouldn’t?” he asked, voice low, a trace of amusement threading through the huskiness.I smiled against the question. “I think we’re already past should and shouldn’t.”Outside, a distant elevator dinged, the sound faint and unimportant. Inside, time felt suspended, elastic. We stayed there a while longer—close, quiet, letting the night keep our secret just a little longer—knowing full well that some doors, once opened, don’t close quite the same way again.