Her inbox had pinged with a meeting request just after lunch. The subject line read: 3:30 PM. That was it. No text in the body of the email. No one else included. Jennifer knew what that meant. Mr. Hale wanted her in his office at 3:30 PM, in private.
The clock struck 3:20 PM. An alert sounded. Jennifer quickly turned it off and rose from her desk, straightening her dress before making her way to the elevator, her heels clicking steadily down the hallway. She took the first elevator to the fourteenth floor and made her way to Mr. Hale’s office.
She kept her pace casual, her expression unreadable. Not that anyone paid her much attention—except him. And that attention? It started subtle. A glance held a second too long. A hand brushing her lower back as he passed behind her in the hall. The kind of tension most people would write off—until they couldn’t anymore.
She reached his office a few minutes early and paused at his door, smoothing her dress once again, checking her lipstick in the black reflection of the glass. She knocked. “It’s open,” he responded.
Inside, the office was quiet. The blinds were drawn halfway, letting in just enough afternoon light to throw long lines across the desk and floor. Mr. Hale stood with his back to her, gazing out the floor-to-ceiling window, hands in his pockets.
He turned to face Jennifer as he heard the door close. “Jennifer. Right on time as always,” he said with a smile. “I appreciate you coming up on such short notice,” he added, walking around to sit. “I had a few questions about the Q2 numbers.”
There was no file in front of him. Nothing on his screen but the login page. He wasn’t arranging a meeting about the Q2 projections.
Mr. Hale looked up from behind his desk, his sleeves rolled just above the wrists, his watch catching the light. He took a moment, like he was deciding how much to say. Jennifer waited for more. When he didn’t offer it, she remained standing by the closed door.
“You didn’t mention what this was about, Mr. Hale.”
“I know,” he agreed, nodding toward the chair across from his desk. “Please. Sit, Jennifer.”
She took her time crossing the room and sat, crossing one leg over the other. Hands resting in her lap. Her posture was relaxed, but her eyes stayed on him, sharp and curious.
He leaned back in his chair. His gaze drifted—just briefly—scanning the way her dress sat on her body, then back to her eyes. “You have an uncanny ability to catch on to things before anyone else, Jennifer.”
She gave a slight smile. “It’s my job to catch them.”
“You don’t just catch them. You anticipate them. Like you’re always two steps ahead.”
“Is that a problem, Mr. Hale?”
His eyes didn’t leave hers. “Not at all, Jennifer. In fact, it’s a distraction.”
Jennifer blinked, just once. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”
He smiled at that. “Flattered. Definitely flattered,” he said.
At that moment, something in the air shifted—sharpened. The usual sounds from outside the office, muffled through glass, seemed to fall away.
Mr. Hale slowly stood up and rounded the desk.
She hesitated for only a breath, then asked, “Should I lock the door, Mr. Hale?” because she knew what was going to happen.
Mr. Hale nodded slowly. “See, always two steps ahead.”
Jennifer rose from her seat and went to lock the door. When she turned back, Mr. Hale was closer than before. He was standing right there with her. Jennifer blinked once and found herself backed up against the door.
“That’s dangerously close to HR territory,” she said with a deep breath.
“Maybe.” He tilted his head slightly, a small smile playing at his lips. “But something tells me you won’t be the one to file a report.”
Her throat tightened, not from nerves, but from the realization that they were finally stepping into the space they’d been circling for months.
“You’re not supposed to say things like that,” she murmured.
“I know,” he said. “But I’m tired of pretending we don’t want this to happen.”
He lifted a hand to her cheek, fingers brushing a stray lock of hair aside. His touch was careful, like he expected her to stop him. She didn’t.
“I’ve been trying not to want this,” he said. “But you make it hard.”
She looked at him for a long, still moment. Standing still, allowing him into her space, close enough to feel the heat from his body. “Then stop trying.”
He moved first. His mouth met hers with a deliberate hunger, lips parting hers with no hesitation. She answered in kind—no caution, no restraint. Her hands found the open collar of his shirt, pulling him closer.
He rested one hand on the door, the other firm at her waist. Exploring her like he knew exactly what she liked—fingers sliding up and down her dress, thumbs brushing over every inch, mapping out the curves of her body.
The two moved as if on instinct—months of tension unfurling in seconds. She backed him toward the desk, her hips against his, her body guiding him with quiet urgency. Papers and other things scattered to the floor as he spun her and lifted her onto the edge of his desk. Her thighs parted as she pulled him in, wrapping her legs around him.
His hands slid from her knees up her thighs and beneath her dress, fingertips skating over bare skin. Her head fell back slightly, a quiet gasp slipping from her lips every time his mouth found a new part of her body.
His mouth locked with hers, then trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down each side of her neck, tongue flicking the sensitive skin beneath her ear. She let her head fall back, breath catching, hands tightening in his shirt.
Whatever this was—however dangerous or unspoken—it had been building. And now that it was here, neither of them wanted to slow it down.
Their movements were a slow collision—his hips grinding into hers, the heat of him pressing against her through too many layers. The tension that had been building for too long had finally erupted. The spark had started a fire neither of them wanted to put out.
“Tell me to stop,” he said against her throat, his voice rough with restraint.
“Stop,” she whispered, even though she didn’t want him to.
She arched into him with every kiss. He pulled her closer so she could feel the hard line of him against her, and her gasp was sharp, involuntary. She reached between them, fingers brushing the waistband of his pants, and he groaned when she started undoing his belt.
“God, Jennifer…” he groaned, her name breaking on his breath like something he wasn’t supposed to say out loud.
She smiled at the way he said her name—like it was a sin, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to say it like this.
Her fingers had just finished tugging the leather belt free, the metal buckle clicking faintly as it hung open. She looked up at him, her expression unreadable, lips parted and breath shallow—but her eyes never left his.
He leaned into her again, one hand braced against the desk, the other slipping behind her neck to pull her into another passionate kiss—deeper, slower this time. His hips rolled forward, and she could feel him through the fabric between them, heavy and hot against her inner thighs.
She let out a soft sound, swallowed by his mouth, her body arching to meet his. Her dress was pushed higher, her hands gliding beneath the waistband of his pants, feeling the tension in his body as he shifted against her. There was nothing professional left between them now—only want, long-restrained and now completely unhidden.
She didn’t look down—just kept her eyes on his, reading the heat and hesitation as her fingers moved with quiet urgency, working open the button at his waist, then the zipper. The sound of the zipper filled the quiet space as she tugged his pants down over his hips. They fell and pooled at his feet, followed by the soft slide of his briefs as she eased away the last barrier between them.
His breath got heavier as she brushed against him, the pressure of her touch sending a subtle tremor through him. His hands moved to her thighs, warm and sure, sliding upward beneath the hem of her dress, fingertips grazing the edges of her panties.
She felt the air shift as he reached the edge of her panties, pausing there just long enough to give her a choice—to stop this, or to let it happen.
She didn’t stop him.
His fingers hooked the fabric and began to ease it down, slowly and carefully, like he’d been thinking about this moment for far too long. She shifted slightly to help, the thin material sliding past her hips, around her knees, down her legs, and finally falling to the floor between them.
When he touched her again, there was nothing between them.
His hand moved with more confidence now, fingers trailing a path that sent sparks racing up her spine. She gasped softly, breath catching as her body leaned into his, instinct overriding reason. Her hands planted on the edge of the desk behind her, anchoring herself as the pressure between them built—intense, focused, undeniable.
The look in his eyes was all hunger, like he was about to pounce.
Then he finally pushed into her with a slow and deliberate force that made her gasp, her hands clutching the edge of the desk even tighter for balance. He held still there, buried deep, both of them caught in the moment, trembling before anything moved.
Jennifer wrapped her legs around him tighter. “Don’t hold back,” she whispered.
That was all the permission he needed.
He slowly pulled back before thrusting into her with force, giving Jennifer a sample of what was to come. His rhythm built gradually, measured and deep at first—each thrust a steady wave that made her body tense and curl into him. His grip on her waist tightened, anchoring her to the desk as he rocked into her harder, the slick sound of their bodies filling the gaps between their staggered breaths.
Her hands fumbled on the desk as she tried to brace herself, palms slipping over the smooth wood, trying to find something secure while everything else in her was unraveling. His touch had gone from exploratory to possessive, his hands skimming up the backs of her thighs, gathering the fabric of her dress higher until it bunched around her waist.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. His mouth was on her neck now, trailing heat across her skin, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp. One hand slid under her, anchoring her lower back as he pressed deeper, letting her feel just how much he wanted this—how long he’d been holding back.
Instinctively, she arched into him, her breath catching as his hands moved over her. His touch made her writhe, and when he found the spot, her whole body responded—hips bucking, a soft moan escaping before she could stop it.
His name almost left her lips, but she held it back. The moment hung between them, thick with everything unsaid.
“You’re the kind of trouble I’ve been wanting, Jennifer,” he murmured, voice low and rough against her ear.
She let out a breathless laugh that broke into a sigh as he deepened his pressure. “Guess you’d better show me just how much trouble I am, Mr. Hale.”
He kissed her again, harder this time, swallowing any answer she might’ve given. Her legs tightened around him, pulling him closer, urging him on. Every touch built on the last—slow, steady, winding her up until there was no thought left, just sensation.
When she finally came apart in his hands, it wasn’t quiet. Her body shuddered, breath hitching, eyes squeezed shut as she clung to him, letting the wave take her.
He held her through it, his mouth on her jaw, grounding her even as she floated. And when she opened her eyes, dazed and flushed, he was still there—watching her like he hadn’t blinked the whole time.
Like he was just getting started.
She looked up at him with a glint in her eye, and he helped her sit up. His mouth claimed hers again, harder this time, and her fingers curled into the front of his shirt as his hands gently cupped her face, pulling her against him. The heat between them surged again, and she made her way down the buttons of his shirt, tugging until they gave way, revealing the warm skin beneath.
He shrugged off his shirt, letting it fall, then turned her carefully, guiding her down until her elbows rested against the desk. His hands skimmed her sides, smoothing over the arch of her back, tracing her curves with slow reverence. She tipped her head, her hair falling to one side as his mouth found the back of her neck, trailing heat down her spine.
Every part of her felt drawn tight, every nerve alive. The anticipation was heavier now—not rushed or frantic like before—but deeper, more knowing. She braced herself against the wood as he moved behind her, steady, controlled. There was no hesitation this time, no stumbling through restraint. Only intent.
The second time was slower. Not gentler—just longer. Deeper. Like everything they hadn’t said was being spoken through movement instead of words.
She tightened around him in response, and he nearly lost it right there, thrusting harder, faster. He was overwhelming her—the way her body responded to his, the way every nerve lit up under his touch. She clung to him, gasping his name, over and over, hanging on to the desk like she was anchoring herself in place. It wasn’t just physical—it was something deeper, sharper. Something her entire body had never experienced before.
Every part of her drew him in—how she moved with him, the way she moaned his name, the way her hands clung to the desk like she was holding on for more than just balance. And he felt it all. Not just the raw sensation of being inside her, but the way it cracked something open in him, something he’d kept locked away for too long.
She wasn’t just beautiful. She was undeniable—alive under him, around him, every breath pushing him closer to the edge. His grip tightened on her hips, not rough, but desperate, like if he let go she might vanish. And in that moment, she was everything: the need he’d buried under professionalism, the craving he hadn’t dared name, the ache he didn’t realize had a cure until now.
It wasn’t just how amazing she felt—though she did, undeniably so. It was how right it felt. Like their bodies were answering questions they hadn’t been brave enough to ask.
He could feel her shaking against him, unraveling. And still he drove into her, chasing that final, shattering point where want tipped into something else. His breaths got deeper, teeth grinding as he fought to stay in control. But it was slipping—she was undoing him, with every sound she made, every way she gave herself over.
Trembling beneath him, she cried out his name in a way he’d never heard before. It tore through whatever restraint he had left. He wasn’t thinking. He wasn’t pretending. He was hers, for as long as she would take him.
The desk shifted under them, the weight of their bodies rocking it into the floor with soft, rhythmic knocks.
“Mr. Hale…” she breathed, cut off by the force of another thrust that left her breathless. Her legs trembled, but she didn’t want to stop—she didn’t want to come down. She wanted to stay suspended in that place where the only thing that existed was the rhythm of their bodies and the heat between them.
He slowed to prolong the moment, leaning in, his lips brushing her ear. “Tell me what you need,” he whispered, and it wasn’t a tease. It was a promise.
“You…” she managed, eyes fluttering shut. “Just… don’t stop.”
Placing his hand in the small of her back, he pushed himself upright, continuing to slide in and out of her. The desk creaking beneath them, each movement a little deeper, a little harder.
“Mr. Hale…” she breathed, breaking on the edge of an intense climax.
She came hard, her pussy clenching around him as she cried out, a shudder rippling through her from head to toe. The sound of her release pushed him over the edge, and he pressed into her one final time, deep and unyielding, as a moan escaped his lips.
His release came in waves, his hands gripping her tight as he emptied into her, breathing her name like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
They stayed like that for a moment. Skin slick with sweat, hearts racing, breath tangled. Neither spoke.
When he finally pulled back, his hands slid gently down her sides, like he couldn’t quite let go. He collapsed into his chair and her to the floor. She looked up at him through heavy lashes, dress wrinkled, lipstick smudged, skin flushed from neck to chest—and he thought she’d never looked more composed.
“Oh my god, Jennifer,” he said, out of breath, his voice still rough around the edges. “You made me feel like I’m twenty again.”
Jennifer gave a soft, breathless laugh, slowly smoothing out her dress with unsteady fingers. “If that’s you at twenty, I wish I’d met you back then.”
He grinned, still catching his breath, voice low and rough. “Back then, I wouldn’t have known what to do with you.”
He paused, eyes sweeping over her. “But now? I plan to make up for lost time.”
She turned her head slightly, meeting his eyes, a slow smile playing on her lips. “Make up for lost time, huh?” she murmured. “How much more time do you have to make up?”
He leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes scanning Jennifer up and down. “Depends,” he said, voice low. “How willing are you to help me catch up?”
She rose to her feet and took a few steps toward him, resting her hand lightly on the back of his chair. “That depends,” she echoed, her tone teasing. “Are you planning on taking your time… or making up for it all at once?”
He placed his hands on her hips, pulling her on top of him. He let out a soft, rough laugh. “Who says we can’t do both?”
Jennifer raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “I like a man with stamina.”
“And I like a woman who doesn’t shy away from multiple rounds,” he said, his gaze fixed on her. “This doesn’t have to be the end, Jennifer. Not unless you want it to be.”
She held his gaze for a moment longer, then gave a slow, approving smile before kissing him deeply.
“Then I expect you to be ready when I am,” she murmured.
Jennifer slowly got up from his lap with a smirk, adjusting her dress. She made her way to the door. Pausing there, she looked back at Mr. Hale with a wink as if sealing an agreement. She unlocked the door and walked out, her heels clicking against the polished floor.
The desk still held the impressions of what they had just done—and neither of them would forget it. At least, until next time.
