“I didn’t know you could dance like that,” he said, his voice hoarse, like gravel brushing against velvet.
I turned around, my cocktail glass in hand, and looked at him. He stood directly behind me, so close that I felt the warm whisper of his breath on my bare shoulder—a promise that crawled under my skin. The company anniversary party was in full swing, the air thick with perfume, sweat, and that electrifying something building between us. In that moment, everything around us seemed to blur, the faces of colleagues fading into mere shadows.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” I replied, a smile playing on my lips—a bait I cast out.
His eyes surveyed me—slow, intense, like a thief appraising loot. I wore a black dress that accentuated my curves and high heels that made my legs look endless, every muscle in perfect tension. His hand, casually tucked in his trouser pocket, twitched as if he wanted to touch me, fingers opening and closing around an invisible treasure. But he held back. Not here. Not in front of colleagues. Not yet.
“Maybe we should change that,” he said softly, the words falling like hot drops on my skin.
My heart beat faster, a wild rhythm spreading through my lap. We’d been on the same team for three years, shared countless meetings, worked on projects for hours. But nothing had ever been between us—not even a hint. Until now. Until this business trip that had brought us both to the same hotel, as if fate had pulled the strings.
The band played a slow song, and without a word, he took my glass, set it on the bar, and gently pulled me onto the dance floor. His hand settled on my hip, the other clasped my fingers—a firm, demanding grip. We moved to the beat, our bodies so close that I could feel the warmth of his chest through his shirt, the faint tremor of his muscles beneath the fabric.
“You smell good,” he murmured, his mouth close to my ear, the hot breath a whisper that burned directly into my neck.
I closed my eyes and let the music carry me. His thumb stroked my lower back, a seemingly harmless gesture that electrified me—no, that word was too cold. It felt like liquid fire racing through my veins, like every nerve in my body awakening and crying out for him. I pressed my thighs together to conceal the sudden moisture that gathered like a hot stream between my legs.
“We should be careful,” I whispered, but my voice didn’t sound convinced—it was a hoarse croak full of hunger.
“Why?” he asked, his gaze dark and demanding, a black hole that wanted to devour me. “No one’s watching us here.”
He was right. The dance floor was full of couples, all trapped in their own intoxication, blind and deaf to the world. No one paid us any attention. His hand wandered lower until it rested on the firm roundness of my ass, his fingers clawing lightly into the fabric. He pulled me tighter against him, and I felt his arousal against my belly—hard, insistent, a silent cry for more.
“Let’s go,” I said, the words coming faster than I could think, as if my body had taken control.
He nodded, took my hand, and led me through the crowd, past laughing colleagues, past the bar, past all the faces that would look at us again tomorrow without knowing what had happened tonight. We took the elevator—his finger pressed the button for the fourth floor, mine. The doors closed, and suddenly we were alone. Silence. Only the soft hum of the machine and our gasping breath.
He turned me toward him, his hands on my hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh. “Are you sure?” he asked, but his eyes betrayed that he already knew the answer—they glowed with greed.
Instead of answering, I stood on tiptoes and kissed him. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, no cautious groping. My lips opened, his tongue found its way, and for a moment I forgot everything. Work. The consequences. The world out there. There was only his taste—bitter from whiskey, sweet from me, and something wild that made me dizzy. I pressed against him, felt my lap push against his hardness, and a moan escaped me, dying in his mouth.
The elevator stopped, the doors opened with a soft hiss. I pulled away from him, grabbed his hand, and dragged him down the hall to my room. My hands trembled as I swiped the card through the lock, the movement clumsy with excitement. The green light lit up, and we stumbled inside, the door falling shut with a heavy thud.
As soon as we were alone, I was on him again. I helped him out of his jacket, let my fingers glide over the soft shirt, felt the warmth of his skin beneath, the faint contours of his chest muscles. He unbuttoned it, and I buried my face in his chest, breathed in his scent—musk, soap, a hint of sweat. It was intoxicating, a fragrance that rose directly into my lap and made me wet.
He lifted my dress, and I helped him pull it over my head. It fell to the floor, a black heap of fabric that betrayed our haste. I stood in black lace bra and panties, high-heeled, and watched his gaze wander over me—slow, greedy, as if devouring every curve with his eyes. A smile played on his lips, a predator appraising its prey.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice rough, full of desire that wrapped like a thread around my throat.
He stepped closer, his hands found my waist, and he kissed me again. This time slower, more probing. His lips wandered to my neck, behind my ear, the spot that always made me weak. I moaned softly and let my head fall back, surrendering to the heat emanating from his mouth. His tongue traced wet trails on my skin while his hands glided over my back.
He unfastened my bra, and I let it fall, the lace rustling softly to the floor. His hands cupped my breasts, his thumbs stroking over my nipples, which instantly hardened, standing erect under his touch. I bit my lip as he lowered his head and took one into his mouth. His tongue circled it, sometimes soft, sometimes harder, a wet game of heat and pressure, and
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