I’m standing in the elevator, my back pressed against the cool wall, fighting to steady my breath. The glowing numbers above the door blink slowly downward, and with each floor, the air grows heavier, denser, almost tangible. Beside me, Henrik breathes shallow and fast, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his chinos. Until an hour ago, he was just a colleague—the quiet guy from IT who barely speaks in meetings and always seems a bit lost. But now I know how his fingers feel. Now he’s pressed me against the metal filing cabinets in the archive room, and I still taste him on my tongue, salty and addictive.
The Decision
The seminar was pure torture. Lectures on compliance and risk management, while my body could only think about his hands. How two days ago at dinner, he accidentally brushed mine, and an electric jolt shot through my belly. How he brought me coffee afterward, and his eyes said something no words in the world could express. This afternoon, during the coffee break, he suddenly stood next to me—so close I could breathe in his scent. “I need to talk to you,” he whispered, his voice rough with suppressed desire. Nothing more. But that look—that hesitation in his voice—made me drop everything. We met in the archive, and the first touch was like a short circuit, a lightning bolt that shot through me to my very toes.
Now the elevator reaches the second floor, and I know with absolute certainty that we’ll go to his room. Or mine. It doesn’t matter, as long as I can feel him. No one can see. But I still want it—burningly, shamelessly, desperately.
The Room
His room key squeaks in the lock like a soft cry. The door clicks shut, and suddenly we’re alone. No more hallways, no curious glances, only the quiet hum of the air conditioning and his warm breath at my ear. “I’ve been watching you all week,” he murmurs, sliding my jacket off my shoulders, letting the fabric glide over my arms. “I couldn’t think straight anymore. Your mouth, your hands, the way you hold your pen—it drove me crazy.” His lips find my neck, right at the spot below my ear that makes me tremble, and I tilt my head back, surrender myself. He’s careful, almost tender, and that surprises me. I’d expected impatience, frantic fingers and greedy hands. But he takes his time. His fingers slowly unbutton my blouse, one after another, as if unwrapping a precious gift he doesn’t want to tear.
I feel his tongue on my skin, hot and wet, and a moan escapes me, deep and uncontrollable. He laughs softly, a vibrating sound against my collarbone. “Quiet,” he whispers, but his smile is cheeky, almost wicked. “We don’t want to attract attention, do we?” His mouth travels lower, over the soft skin between my breasts, and I forget everything around me. The conference materials, the speakers, the colleagues in the next room—all blur into a sweet haze of pure, raw desire. There’s only him, his lips, his hands slowly taking me apart.
The First Step
I turn around and place my hands on his chest. He’s softer under the fabric than I expected, but beneath it, I feel firm muscle. I unbutton his shirt, slide it off his shoulders, let it fall to the floor. His skin is warm, almost hot, and I let my fingertips glide over the fine chest hair, feel his muscles tense under my touch. He flinches. “Ticklish?” I ask, my voice a hoarse whisper. He shakes his head, but his eyes are dark, pupils dilated. “Just… when you do that, I can’t think of anything else. My brain shuts off, and all that’s left is you.” I smile and continue, lower, to his belt. My fingers are deft, opening the buckle with a soft click, the button, the zipper. He helps me get rid of his pants, and then we stand there, only in underwear, looking at each other.
His gaze turns serious, almost vulnerable. “Are you sure?” he asks quietly. “Tomorrow we have to be in the same room again. The same meeting. Can we still be normal after this?” I nod without hesitation. “Exactly because of that. I want something that belongs only to us. Something no meeting and no email can ever touch.” I step closer, wrap my arms around his neck, and our kiss deepens, becomes more demanding, a fight for dominance we both want to win. His hands glide over my back, find the clasp of my bra, and with a deft move, he opens it. The bra falls to the floor, and I feel the cool air on my heated skin before his warm palms cup my breasts. I moan into his mouth as his thumbs stroke my nipples, turning them into hard, sensitive buds. He lets his mouth wander, kisses my collarbone, my chest, takes one peak between his lips and sucks gently but insistently. An electrifying pull shoots through me, straight down, and I press against him, wanting more.
“Henrik,” I whisper, my voice hoarse with desire. “I want to feel you. Now.” He doesn’t answer with words, but lowers me onto the bed, the mattress bouncing under my weight. He follows me, his body over mine, while his mouth continues to explore my belly, breathing hot kisses onto my sensitive skin. He kisses my navel, the spot just above my panties, and I lift my hips, offering myself to him. His fingers find the damp fabric, and he smiles, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. “You’re already so ready for me,” he says softly, and I nod, too aroused for words, my breath coming in gasps.
He slowly pulls off my panties, sliding the fabric over my legs, and I feel his eyes on my nakedness. It’s intimate, vulnerable, makes me exposed—but also incredibly exciting. He bends down, and the first contact of his tongue with my clit makes me moan, a sound from deep in my throat. He’s skilled, immediately finding the right pressure and rhythm, and I bury my hands in his hair, hold him there, press him harder against me. “Yes, right there,” I pant, my pelvis lifting to meet him. The waves of pleasure build, a hot tingling radiating from my center, and I feel myself getting closer, the climax within reach—but he stops before I can fall. “Not yet,” he murmurs, and I sigh in frustration, but also full of anticipation.
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