The scent of coffee grounds and fresh paper hung in the air as I entered her office – sweet and sharp, a mixture that burrowed into the nostrils. The frosted glass door clicked shut behind me, and I stood before her: Lara Brinkmann, mid-thirties, dark blonde bun, a smile that cut like a razor blade. I was the new intern, twenty-two, with a résumé that screamed for more but delivered little.
The First Encounter
She sat behind her cherrywood desk, hands folded, nails short and unpolished. “Sit down, Lukas,” she said, without lifting her gaze. Her voice sounded deep, almost hoarse, as if she had strained it. I dropped onto the chair across from her, the leather creaking under my weight. She flipped through my folder, then raised her head. Her eyes were gray, with golden flecks that fixed on me as if she were x-raying me. “You want to get into finance?” she asked. “Then show me what you’ve got.”
The first weeks were hell. She gave me tasks that even a department head couldn’t have finished in three days and expected results overnight. I ironed shirts during my lunch break, drank black coffee until my hands shook, and hated her for it. But I also admired her. Her way of striding through the hallways as if the whole floor belonged to her, how she conducted phone calls – short, concise – and how she corrected me without batting an eye. It was a coldness that drew me in, like a fire you’re not allowed to touch.
The Collision
It was a Friday evening, just before seven. Most people had left, only the hum of the fluorescent lights and the clicking of her heels on the parquet accompanied me as I entered her office. I had finished an analysis she urgently needed and placed it on her desk. She sat there, head in her hands, forehead furrowed. “What’s wrong?” I asked, without thinking. She looked up, the weariness in her eyes like an open book. “Nothing that concerns you,” she said, but her voice sounded fragile.
I knew she had missed the big deal that month because a competitor was faster. I had seen the numbers, the losses, and I had an idea of how to salvage them. “Let me help,” I said. She laughed briefly, a bitter sound. “You’re an intern, Lukas. What can you possibly do?” I stepped closer, laid the papers beside her hand. “I looked at the calculation. The margin is too low, but if we leverage the fixed costs, we could turn things around.” Her gaze sharpened, she grabbed the sheets, skimmed them. Then she looked at me, and for the first time, there was something else in her eyes. No coldness, but a kind of recognition. “Sit down,” she said softly. “Explain that to me in more detail.”
We worked until after ten. Her voice grew softer the later it got, and she moved closer when she pointed at the numbers. I smelled her perfume – a heavy, woody scent with a hint of vanilla. Her fingers swept over the tables, and I imagined how they would feel on my skin. When she leaned over the table to show a graphic, her cleavage was right in front of my eyes, the gentle curve of her breasts. I grew hot, breathing shallowly to concentrate.
I noticed how her hand briefly rested on my forearm as she handed me a pen. The touch burned on my skin, and I saw her blush slightly. “Sorry,” she murmured, but she didn’t pull her hand away. Instead, she let it linger a moment longer, her fingertips warm and soft. My pulse quickened, and I had to force myself to keep my eyes on the table. “No problem,” I said hoarsely. She smiled, a fleeting, almost shy smile that I had never seen on her before.
When we had entered the last number, she leaned back and took a deep breath. “Done,” she said. “Thanks, Lukas. I couldn’t have managed this without you.” She turned to me, her eyes searching mine. “You’re really good.” I felt the heat rise to my face. “I just did what I learned,” I said. “But you kept the overview.” She shook her head. “No, you had the crucial idea. That’s worth more than a thousand Excel spreadsheets.”
A silence arose, filled with unspoken words. I looked at her lips, slightly parted, and at the little curl that had escaped from her bun and fell across her temple. “Lara,” I said, and for the first time, I spoke her first name. She flinched, but then relaxed. “Yes?” she asked softly. “I…,” I began, but I didn’t know how to continue. Instead, I stood up and stepped behind her. My hands placed themselves on her shoulders, and I felt her stiffen under my touch. “Let me show you something,” I whispered. She nodded almost imperceptibly.
I began to massage her shoulders, my thumbs circling over the tense muscles. She let out a soft moan and let her head drop forward. “That feels so good,” she murmured. My fingers worked their way to her neck, where the hair was fine and soft. I leaned forward and breathed a kiss onto the sensitive spot behind her ear. She trembled, and her hand grabbed mine, which lay on her shoulder. “Lukas,” she said, and her voice was hoarse with desire. “I… we should…” “Should we?” I interrupted her, and my lips wandered over her neck. She turned her head, and suddenly our mouths met.
The kiss was unlike anything I had experienced. She tasted of coffee and a hint of cinnamon, her tongue demanding yet tender. My hands slid from her shoulders down her arms until I found her fingers and intertwined them. She stood up, turned around, and her arms wrapped around my neck. We kissed until we were breathless, and when we parted, her eyes were glazed. “I want you,” she whispered. “But not here. Not in the office.” I nodded, took her hand, and led her to the door. “Then come with me,” I said.
We crept through the empty hallway, past the dark offices, to my little storage room that I had set up as a workspace. It was cramped, but it was enough. I closed the door behind us, and immediately we fell upon each other. Her hands tore at my shirt, buttons flying through the air. I laughed softly, helped her slip the fabric from my shoulders. Then I was naked to the waist, and she let her fingers glide over my chest, over the lines of my abdominal muscles. “You’re beautiful,” she said, and her voice sounded reverent.
I pulled her to me, my hands found her waist, feeling the warmth of her body through her blouse. She tilted her head back, and I kissed her neck, tasting the salt on her skin. My fingers worked on the buttons of her dress, slowly, one by one. She moaned with impatience, pushing against me. When the fabric fell open, I saw her breasts, full and heavy, in a simple black bra. I reached behind her, unclasped it, and let it fall. Her nipples were hard, and I bent down to take one in my mouth. She gasped, her fingers tangling in my hair. “God, Lukas,” she breathed.
My hand slid down her stomach, over the waistband of her skirt, and I felt her shiver. I unzipped it, let it pool at her feet. She stood before me in only her panties, and I knelt, pressing kisses to her hips, her thighs. She was so wet I could smell her, a musky, intoxicating scent. I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her panties and pulled them down. She stepped out of them, and I looked up at her, her body glistening in the dim light of the room. “Lie down,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.
She lowered herself onto the small cot I had in the corner, her legs falling open. I crawled over her, my cock hard and aching. I positioned myself at her entrance, and she reached down, guiding me in. The first push was slow, deliberate, and I watched her face as she took me in. Her mouth opened, a soft sound escaping her throat. “Fuck,” she whispered. I thrust deeper, and she arched her back, meeting me. The room filled with the sounds of our bodies, the wet slap of skin, her moans growing louder.
I drove into her, faster and harder. Her nails dug into my back, and I leaned down to kiss her, swallowing her cries. “Don’t stop,” she gasped against my mouth. “Please.” I felt her clench around me, her climax building. I reached between us, my thumb finding her clit, and she screamed as she came, her body shuddering. The feeling pushed me over the edge, and I came inside her, my own groan muffled against her neck. We lay there, tangled and sweaty, our breathing ragged.
After a long moment, she spoke. “We have to be careful,” she murmured. “This can’t happen again.” But her hand was already stroking my chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns. I smiled against her hair. “Of course,” I said. We both knew it was a lie.
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