The building's mostly empty.
Sam still checks the door twice.

No more waiting.

Ava's desk.
Her lanyard
knocked off the keyboard
when he pushed her back
against the edge.

The same edge
she grips every day
to answer emails
and not think about him.

Today, she thought of nothing else.

His hand under her skirt
before he says hello.
She's already wet.
He makes a low sound.
Almost a laugh.

She grabs his belt.
Drags him in.
Been wanting this
since three o'clock,
since his eyes caught hers
across the table
and she looked down
at her notes.

Now, she says.

He doesn't need telling twice.

Her skirt rucked up
around her hips.

His zip,
already down.

Behind her.

One stroke
and her palm
slaps the desk,
her face
turned into her arm
to stay quiet.

The lift hums
somewhere above them.

They go still.
Sam buried in her.
She can't move,
doesn't want to.

Nobody breathing.
Nothing else moves.

Then she moves.
Small rolls of her hips,
building.
Silent the whole time,
teeth in her sleeve.
His grip
digs into her hips
hard enough to bruise.

The desk scrapes.
Something topples off the edge.

Pen.
Mug.
She couldn't care less.

Beside her,
the monitor is still glowing.
Thirty-seven unread emails,
useless,
six inches away.

The lift hums again.
Closer this time.

She cums anyway,

fist jammed against her mouth,
hips jerking
in short, hard waves.

Something else goes over.
She doesn't look.

Sam follows seconds later,
hand flat
between her shoulder blades,
pinning her down,
weight on her spine.

He groans.
Too loud.
Doesn't care.

Above them,
the lift doors.
Footsteps.
A pause.

Then gone.

Her lanyard's
still on the keyboard.

She fixes her skirt first.

Tomorrow
she'll open her inbox
and answer every one
like nothing happened
at all.