Part 1: The Build-up

They were separated by a street, two buildings facing each other like opposing fortresses. The distance was nothing, a crosswalk, a short stroll in the daylight, but to him it felt like a fault line, a stretch of asphalt that hummed with the energy of everything they hadn’t said yet.

Candy ran the business floor with a confidence that turned heads. She was sharp, composed, never flustered. Her voice carried authority, even when she was joking, even when she leaned too close and let her perfume linger in the space between them.

He kept the servers alive. Scruffy, long-haired, a self-described average man who found refuge in code and wires. Except lately, the system most in need of maintenance was himself. She had a way of looking at him that unraveled the neat order of his days, turning them into a mess of want.

At first, their talks were harmless. Breaks stretched into lunches. Lunches into late nights where neither seemed to want to be the first to leave. He told himself it was friendship, that their conversations were nothing more than two coworkers finding common ground. But then came the touches. The smiles that lingered a beat too long. The way she let her eyes trail over him, bold enough that he couldn’t mistake it for anything else.

Candy knew what she was doing. She could feel his hunger like static in the air, and God, it made her pulse race. She liked how he tried to hide it, how he stumbled over his words when she leaned close, pretending she didn’t notice his jaw clench or his breath shorten. She liked the contrast—his quiet restraint against her unspoken dare.

The chat client was his idea. A secret channel threaded between their machines, disguised as work, buried under firewalls and encryption he had no business installing. She’d protested at first, “what if someone finds out?" but the glint in her eyes told him she loved the danger as much as he did. And once the line was open, the flood came fast.

Day by day their messages shifted, tilting from polite to dangerous, from *thanks for fixing the login bug” to “I can’t stop thinking about your hands.” She told him he smelled like clean soap and salt and something darker underneath. He told her that the sway of her hips left him dizzy for hours.

Digital foreplay burned too hot to last.

One night, deadlines kept them both behind. The office lights were out, the halls silent, but his screen flashed.

“Now?”

The word hit like a gunshot to his chest.

He blinked, reread it. Checked his code again as if the simple script could explain away the meaning. It didn’t.

His fingers typed back before his brain caught up.

“Now.”

Candy was already on her way. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she crossed the street. She hadn’t planned this, not tonight, not with work unfinished, but anticipation curled in her belly and pushed her forward. Each step was a countdown.

He met her at the door, hands shaking, pulse erratic. And when her eyes locked on his, everything stilled. No words. None were needed. The dance had already begun.

Part 2: The Seduction

The office smelled of stale coffee and faint ozone from overworked machines. To him it was familiar, almost comforting. Tonight it felt charged, every cord and shadow alive with what might happen.

She brushed past him in the dim stairwell, fingers grazing his collarbone as though claiming first contact. Electricity jumped under his skin, sharp enough to steal his breath. He swore the fluorescents above them flickered in response.

Her touch lingered. She liked the way his body jolted for her, how tension lived in his shoulders and the way he tried to mask it. So tightly wound, she thought, already aching to unravel him.

The IT office was too cramped, cables snaking across the floor. She saw hesitation in his face, a falter in his confidence. It made her lips curve. She liked that she could undo him without even stripping a single layer.

“Another office?” he asked, voice low, as if the walls themselves were listening.

She shrugged, casual, but her eyes told him to hurry.

He led her to the department head’s suite, bigger, tidier, rugs soft underfoot. A single lamp cast a faint glow. The space smelled faintly of leather and dust.

“Sorry,” he murmured, a nervous laugh escaping.

Candy silenced him with a finger against his lips, then replaced it with her mouth.

Her kiss was soft at first, a tease, but beneath it pulsed something ravenous. She tasted faintly of strawberries, sweet and bright, but her tongue demanded more. He kissed her back like he’d been starving for weeks.

Her waist was slim under his palms, denim pressing firm against his thumbs. He slid upward, tugging her jacket from her shoulders. The leather dropped to the rug with a muted thud. The sound thrilled her, it was proof they had stepped outside the rules, leaving them in a pile with her jacket.

His hand threaded into her hair, thick waves slipping through his fingers. When he kissed her throat, her breath caught, and the scrape of his stubble against her skin made her hips shift closer.

Her hands roamed under his shirt, restless, hungry. The cotton peeled upward, slow over his chest, exposing lean muscle he fought hard to maintain. She wanted to tell him she’d noticed, that she appreciated every hour he’d poured into the gym, but her mouth was busy exploring the hollow of his throat.

The shirt came off, his hair spilling loose around his face. She caught her breath. That wildness suited him, less worker, more animal.

His gaze devoured her as she stripped her own shirt. The bra followed, falling away to reveal flushed skin and peaked nipples. His mouth found them instantly, one, then the other, his tongue circling, flicking, tugging groans from deep inside her.

Pleasure arched through her body, and she clutched his shoulders, nails grazing skin, grounding herself against the rising tide.

His cock strained against denim, the pressure unbearable. He shifted back slightly, fighting for control, for breath.

She smiled when she noticed. Wicked. Knowing.

The belt came next, sliding loose with a hiss, jeans unfastened with deft fingers. She let them fall and kicked them aside, standing in nothing but damp lace that clung to her heat.

He swallowed hard, eyes glued to the evidence of her desire. The wet sheen visible even in the dim light made him dizzy.

She pressed him back against the wall with a force that surprised them both. Then dropped to her knees.

His breath stuttered, ragged, as she tugged his zipper open.

Part 3: The First Touch & Foreplay

Her knees pressed into the rug, firm enough to sting, but the look on his face was worth it. His chest rose and fell in jagged waves, eyes wide as if he couldn’t believe this was real. She liked that look, half disbelief, half desperation.

His jeans fell open easily under her hands. She pulled them low, tugged his briefs aside, and freed him. He was already thick and heavy, hot against her palm, precum wetting the head in glistening beads.

A groan broke from his throat when she wrapped her fingers around him. Her strokes were slow, deliberate, milking him, her thumb brushing the sensitive slit until his legs trembled.

“Fuck,” he whispered, head falling back against the wall.

Candy smiled up at him, a wicked curl of lips. She liked his helplessness, how the man who spent his days in quiet control of machines couldn’t control his own body under her touch.

She slid her tongue across the tip, tasting salt and musk, and he shuddered. Her mouth opened wider, drawing him in, velvet heat surrounding the head of his cock. He tasted wild and male, thick on her tongue, and the groan he made when she hollowed her cheeks made her wetter than she’d thought possible.

His hand tangled in her hair, not pushing, just anchoring. He didn’t trust his knees to hold him.

She set a rhythm, slow at first, savoring, her lips sliding down, her tongue curling around him. The wet sounds filled the office, obscene and delicious.

His body twitched. He was close, too close.

“Please,” he groaned, his voice rough with need. “I need to be inside you.”

Candy let him slip free from her mouth, saliva glistening on his shaft. She dragged her panties down in one smooth motion, baring herself to him, slick and swollen. The damp fabric hit the floor with a soft thud.

“Now,” she said, voice low, commanding.

But he couldn’t obey immediately. Not yet. He dropped to his knees in front of her, leveling them, eyes dark with hunger.

“My turn.”

His lips traced her calves, her thighs, slow as worship. She trembled at the reverence, the way he treated her body like a temple to be unveiled. When his mouth finally reached her heat, she gasped, knees parting instinctively.

The first stroke of his tongue nearly unraveled her. He licked broad and slow, savoring her taste, then teased upward, circling closer to her clit. Her breath hitched with every pass, her body arching, needing more.

“God, yes,” she whispered, fingers threading into his hair.

He buried his face in her, tasting her slickness, letting it drip down his chin. The scent of her filled him, primal and intoxicating. His tongue slid inside her, thrusting, then curling upward to tease the spot that made her thighs tremble.

Her moans grew louder, body rocking against his mouth. Each sound went straight to his cock, hard and aching, pressed painfully against the rug.

He flicked her clit with his tongue, then sucked hard, and her cry tore through the quiet office. Her thighs clamped around his head, holding him there, grinding herself against his lips.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped.

He didn’t. He licked and sucked, fingers joining his tongue, pressing inside her, curling upward until she shattered.

Her orgasm hit fast and sharp, her body jerking, nails digging into his scalp. She cried out, wetness flooding his mouth, soaking his chin, the rug beneath them darkening with her release.

She trembled against him, boneless for a moment, then tugged his hair hard enough to drag him up to her mouth. Their kiss was raw, messy, her own taste still slick on his tongue.

“Now,” she commanded again, her voice fierce with need.

And this time, he obeyed.

Part 4: The Sex

He pressed her back onto the rug, his body hovering over hers, both of them breathing like they’d sprinted a mile. The dim lamp painted her skin in shadows and light, every curve a temptation, every inch an order to worship.

His cock dragged against her slick entrance as he shifted closer. The heat of her nearly undid him before he was even inside.

Candy held his gaze, pupils wide, hair wild against the rug. Her voice came out low, firm, no room for argument.

“Do it. Now.”

He pushed forward, slow, the head sliding past her swollen folds. Her body opened for him, wet and eager, pulling him deeper with every inch.

“God,” he groaned, his forehead pressing to hers. “You feel…” Words failed him, drowned out by the clench of her heat around his cock.

Candy arched beneath him, her nails digging into his back. The stretch was perfect, burning, filling, stealing her breath. She gasped when he bottomed out, his hips flush against hers, his pubic bone grinding deliciously against her clit.

For a moment neither moved, both lost in the shock of finally having what they’d teased for so long.

Then he pulled back, slow, almost all the way out, and drove in again. Her body cried out for him, a shudder rippling through her. He held his hips low for the perfect angle.

“Yes,” she moaned, voice breaking.

He set a rhythm, deep strokes that pressed against the spot inside her that made her thighs tremble. Every thrust dragged across her g-spot, each meeting of their hips grinding her clit. The pressure built fast, unbearable.

Her moans filled the office, loud, needy. She didn’t care who might hear, didn’t care if the night security cameras caught them. Let the world watch. She needed him.

His pace quickened, hips snapping harder, sharper. The slap of skin on skin echoed against the office walls. He couldn’t hold back, not with the way she clenched around him, not with the way she bit at his shoulder, marking him with teeth and nails.

She was close, he could feel it in the wild squeeze of her cunt, the way her body bowed and trembled beneath him. He angled his hips, grinding harder against her clit with each thrust.

“Oh, fuck-” Candy cried, her head thrown back, eyes wild.

Her orgasm tore through her like lightning, nails raking down his back, voice breaking into a cry that filled the office. Her pussy pulsed around him, wet and tight, milking his cock.

He groaned, nearly undone, but forced himself to slow, to ride her through it. He wanted more, needed more.

While she still trembled, he slid them sideways, pulling her hips into his lap. He planted his feet and began thrusting deeper, harder, using his strength to drive into her.

Candy gasped, body jolting with each stroke. “Fuck-yes-don’t stop-”

Her eyes rolled back, her thighs quivering as another orgasm built almost instantly. He watched her lose control, watched her unravel, and it pushed him past reason.

Her second climax hit messy and raw, her body clenching so tight around him he nearly spilled inside her. She cried out, legs shaking, juices soaking him, dripping down her thighs and staining the rug.

“Jesus, Candy,” he growled, teeth grit, fighting for control.

Her hand reached between them, wrapping around the base of his cock, slick with her wetness. She stroked him as he fucked into her, driving him higher, her wicked smile returning even as her body shivered from aftershocks.

“Come for me,” she whispered, voice rough and commanding.

That was it.

His orgasm slammed into him, white-hot, pulling a guttural cry from his chest. He pulled out just in time, stroking himself hard, cum spilling across her stomach, hot and thick.

The sight of her, glowing, messy, marked by him, nearly broke him.

But Candy wasn’t done.

Before his breath steadied, she shoved him down between her thighs again. Her fingers tangled in his hair, forcing his mouth to her clit.

“Now,” she ordered, voice hoarse with need. “Don’t you dare stop.”

His tongue flattened against her, wide and firm, dragging long, relentless licks over her swollen bud.

She screamed, hips bucking against his mouth, thighs clamping tight around his head. Nails dug into his scalp, her cries filling the office as his tongue worked her mercilessly.

Over and over, he circled her clit, sucking, licking, pressing harder, until she was sobbing with pleasure. Her body seized, thighs trembling, juices flowing, soaking his face.

Her climax ripped through her, violent and beautiful, her voice raw as she screamed his name.

She collapsed back against the rug, body twitching under his palms, her chest heaving, sweat glistening in the low light.

“That was… good,” she finally whispered, voice playful even through the wreckage of her body. She pulled him up to her lips, tasting herself on his tongue, kissing him soft and slow now, as though they hadn’t just broken each other open.

Part 5: The Aftermath

They lay tangled on the rug, sweat cooling, breath uneven. The air smelled of sex, salt, musk, and the faint sweetness of her perfume lingering under it all.

Candy traced lazy circles across his chest with one finger, her smile sharp, satisfied. “Well,” she murmured, “I’d say the chat client paid off.”

He huffed a laugh, still dazed, still trying to believe she was real in his arms. “Best install I’ve ever done.”

Her lips brushed his throat, soft and fleeting, and for a moment everything felt impossibly tender. Dangerous, yes. Irrevocable. But tender all the same.

They staggered to their feet eventually, gathering clothes with unsteady hands, leaving a trail of damp fabric and stained rug behind them. Neither cared.

It was the end of friendship. The beginning of something neither could name, but knew they’d chase.