Printer hums outside. Low buzz. Open-space chatter fades. I clutch dossiers. Heart races. Nicolas’s blue eyes pierce from his desk. Tall, châtain hair tousled. Exactly my type. Since the car crash. That June picnic chat with girls. Ideal man. Then bam. His Clio. My Golf. Fate. Coffee scent wafts. Mixes with my perfume. Musky. Intoxicating. He nods. Subtle. ‘Conference room. Now.’ Stomach flips. Risk. Secretary Nathalie might notice. Alban the pest lurks. But thrill wins. Adrenaline surges. I grab files. Walk past cubicles. Looks linger. Whispers? Door swings. Click. Locked. His cologne hits. Coffee breath. Close. Too close. ‘Missed this,’ he growls. Hand on my waist. Skirt hikes. Fingers tease thigh. Mouse clicks echo faintly. Phone rings ignored. Tension coils. Like that bridge. Pont des amants maudits. Our first kiss. Legend of betrayal. But not us. Not yet. His lips brush neck. Goosebumps. ‘Been thinking of your tight pussy all morning.’ Voice low. Dirty. I gasp. Press against him. Hard cock strains pants. ‘Fuck me here. Quick.’ Urgency. Hierarchy flips. Boss takes subordinate. Papers shuffle. Breath quickens. Door rattles? No. Imagination. Thrill spikes. He spins me. Desk edge bites ass. Blouse rips open. Buttons ping. Bra exposed. Lace. Black. His mouth devours tits. Sucks nipple. Hard. Pain-pleasure. I moan. Quiet. Muffle it. Printer whirs louder. Cover? He yanks panties. Down. Knees. Cool air on wet pussy. Fingers plunge. Two. Curl. G-spot. Legs buckle. ‘So fucking wet, Alex.’ Slang raw. Office slut mode. I grip desk. Nails dig wood. He unzips. Cock springs. Thick. Veined. Blue eyes lock. ‘Bend over.’ Command. I obey. Skirt bunched. Ass out. He thrusts. No mercy. Balls slap. Deep. Fills me. Grunts. ‘Take it. My ambitious whore.’ Dirty talk fuels. I push back. Grind. Table creaks. Files scatter. Pen rolls. Clatters. Sweat beads. Perfume mixes. Coffee stale. Pussy clenches. Builds. Fast. Intense. ‘Gonna cum,’ I hiss. He pounds harder. ‘Do it. Milk my cock.’ Stars burst. Orgasm rips. Walls pulse. He follows. Hot spurts. Deep. Fills. Collapses. Breaths ragged. But wait. He pulls out. Cum drips thigh. Kneels? No. Stands. Pants. ‘Look.’ Black satin box. Ring. Solitaire. Gold gray. Sparkles. Jaw drops. Memories flood. Glass door. Him and Juliette. Laughing. Box. Betrayal? ‘You saw. Idiot. She’s helping. Best friend. Knew a month. Your valise packed. Mexico trip. Surprise.’ Tears prick. Not pain. Joy. Misread. Like Isild’s legend. False message. He slides ring. Fits perfect. ‘Marry me.’ Kiss. Salty. Tears mix. Adjust skirt. Wipe cum. Blouse buttons shaky. Hair smooth. Perfume sprays. Quick fix. Door unlocks. Click. Back to open-space. Dossiers straight. Meeting next. Smile pro. Nathalie glances. Curious? Alban smirks. Ignore. Nicolas winks. Secret sealed. Thrill lingers. Pussy throbs. Ring hidden. Work day resumes. Ambitious. Lustful. Mine.