The scent of paper and skin settles like a veil over my senses as I close the last file of the day. It’s almost nine, the open-plan office lies deserted, only the emergency lighting drawing pale lines between the desk islands. I stretch my back, and as I turn around, she’s standing there.
The Silence Between the Files
Lena. My assistant. She’s tied her dark blonde mane into a strict bun today, but one strand has come loose and falls across her face. She’s wearing a white blouse that looks almost transparent in the artificial light, and a black pencil skirt that hugs her hips like a second skin.
“You’re still here too,” she says, and her voice has that undertone I’ve heard all day—that fine line between respect and challenge.
“The quarterly figures held me up.” I place the folder on the table. “And you?”
She shrugs, a gesture that gently lifts and lowers her breasts under the blouse. “The presentation for tomorrow. I thought I’d finish it so we could go through it tonight.”
We look at each other. The hum of the air conditioning fills the silence, and somewhere a clock ticks, but I only hear our breathing. It’s not the first time we’ve been alone this late. But today is different. Maybe it’s the way she looks at me—searching, as if she’s looking for something in me that she hasn’t found yet.
“Sit down,” I say, motioning to the chair in front of my desk. “Show me what you’ve got.”
She comes closer, and the scent of lavender and something sweet, almost vanilla, brushes past me. Her fingers glide over the keyboard, calling up the file, and I lean forward to look at the screen. Our distance shrinks to a few centimeters. I smell her shampoo, see the fine hairs on her neck curling under the bun.
“Here,” she says, pointing to a graphic. “I adjusted the sales forecast. If we focus on the Asian market, we could increase the numbers by five percent.”
I nod, but I barely register the numbers. My gaze wanders over her hand resting on the mouse, the thin gold ring on her index finger, the vein pulsing at her wrist. She feels my look, because she pauses and turns her head to me.
“Is something wrong, Dr. Wagner?”
“Markus,” I correct her. “We’re alone. Call me Markus.”
A smile flickers around her lips. “Markus,” she repeats, and my name sounds in her mouth like an invitation.
The Boundary of the Professional
I lean back and cross my arms. “Lena, we’ve been working together for almost a year now. You’re the best assistant I’ve ever had. But tonight I’m asking myself if there isn’t something more.”
She holds my gaze without blinking. “What do you mean?”
“I mean the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice. The way you lean over the desk when you show me something. The way you say ‘good night’—as if you wanted to stay.”
Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look away. “Maybe I do.”
The words hang between us, heavy and sweet like honey. I stand up and walk around the desk. She rises too, and we stand facing each other, so close that I feel the warmth of her body.
“Lena,” I say, and my voice is deeper than intended. “If we do this, there’s no going back. The office will be different. I will be different.”
“I know,” she whispers. “I want it anyway.”
She makes the first move. Her hands lift and rest on my chest, her fingers playing with the fabric of my shirt. I feel her fingertips through the fine cotton weave, and my heart hammers against her palms.
I bend my head and kiss her. It’s not a gentle kiss, not a tentative one. It’s demanding, hungry, the way I’ve felt all day when she passed by me. Her mouth opens under mine, and her tongue meets mine, wet and warm and exploring. A soft moan escapes her throat, feeling like a promise in my mouth.
The Liberation of Desire
My hands wander to her back, gliding over the smooth fabric of her blouse, down to her ass, which the skirt stretches tight. I press her against me, and she feels how hard I am. She presses even closer, her hips seeking mine, and I feel the heat radiating from her.
“Here?” I ask breathlessly, pulling back.
She laughs softly, a throaty sound. “Why not? The office is ours.”
She steps back, her fingers opening the knot of her hair, and the blonde mane falls heavily over her shoulders. She shakes her head, and the strands dance in the light of the monitors. Then she grabs my tie and pulls me with her over to my desk.
I place my hands on her waist as she leans back against the edge of the desk. My fingers find the zipper of her skirt, pulling it down slowly. The fabric opens, and I push the skirt over her hips, letting it fall to the floor. She steps out of it and stands before me in only her blouse and a narrow, black thong that barely covers her labia.
“Your blouse,” I say, and my voice sounds rough.
She opens the buttons, one after another, without haste. Every centimeter of skin that appears is like a revelation. Her stomach, flat and smooth, her bra, which lifts and shapes her breasts, and finally the blouse that slips from her shoulders and lands on the floor.
I lean forward and kiss her neck, the spot where her pulse beats, fast and strong. She tilts her head to the side, giving me more room, and I suck gently on her skin while my hands move to her bra. I open the clasp in one motion, and the bra falls. Her breasts are full, her nipples already hard as I stroke them with my thumbs. She moans softly and presses against my hands.
“Markus,” she breathes, “I want to feel you.”
I kneel before her, push her legs apart, and she leans back on the desk. The thong is a thin obstacle that I grab with my teeth and pull aside. Her scent rises to my head—earthy, female, intense. I dip my tongue between her thighs, stroke over the wet slit, and she flinches. A stifled cry tears from her throat as I find her clit and circle it with the tip of my tongue. She tastes salty and sweet at the same time, and I grow hungrier.
Her hand lands in my hair, pressing me harder against her, wä
Voices from the community
No voices yet — be the first to say what turned you on.
