Thursday, February 13, 1986. My office at the end of the hall. Rain hammers the window. Printer hums distantly. Coffee aroma clings to the air, blending with my perfume—fruity, teasing. Olivier knocks. He’s quitting. Better job. Eyes lock as he sits. Door clicks shut behind him.
We chat old times. My striped dress hugs curves. Décolleté dips just enough. His gaze drops. I lean forward. Chin on hands. Smile. ‘Admiring me, Olivier?’ He confesses. Married. Kid. Still wants me. Heart races. Printer spits paper. Phone silent. Tension coils.
The Build-Up
He jokes about whisking me away. I laugh. Legs cross. Fabric whispers. His compliments heat the room. Air thick. Perfume stronger. Coffee mug cools on desk. Clicks of my pen. His Adam’s apple bobs. I feel it—the pull. Inaccessible? Not today. Door’s locked now. Click echoes.
Eyes meet. Challenge. He sighs. ‘Too good for me.’ Bullshit. I tap cheek with pen. ‘Power turns me on.’ He nods. Flexible. I lean in. Décolleté invites. His breath quickens. Mouse clicks forgotten in open space beyond. We’re alone. Adrenaline surges. Risk of interruption.
Invitation slips. Lunch tomorrow? No, today. He brings flowers? No, just hunger. I pose. Provocative. Peignoir? No, this dress. Rayures accentuate. He stands. Views plunge. I smile. Chocolate scent? No, desire. Tension snaps.
He kneels. Hands part fabric. No bra. Breast exposed. Nipple hard. Mouth devours. Suck. Voracious. I gasp. ‘Olivier!’ Printer drones. Door rattles? No. Coffee cold. Perfume overwhelms. His tongue flicks. Heat builds. I grip desk. Moan low.
The Release
Desk clears. Papers scatter. I hike dress. Panties aside. He drops trousers. Cock rigid. Enters slow. Then fierce. Thrusts pound. Desk creaks. Skin slaps. ‘Fuck me harder!’ I hiss. Dirty. Raw. Clit throbs. His hands grip hips. Coffee spills. Mug clatters.
Open space murmurs fade. Imprimante whirs. We’re animals. He pistons. Deep. I arch. ‘Yes! Deeper!’ Orgasm crashes. Walls pulse. He grunts. Fills condom. Pulls out. Semen drips. Sweat mixes scents. Perfume, coffee, sex.
Panting. I straighten dress. Buttons fasten. Lipstick freshens. Mirror quick. He zips. Hair smooths. Desk tidied. Papers stacked. Coffee wiped. Door unlocks. Click. I smile cool. ‘Meeting now.’ He nods. Stunned. We exit. Colleagues glance. None know.
Hallway buzz. Clicks resume. Printer hums. I stride. Heels click. Poised. Ambitious. Lust sated. Secret burns. Adrenaline lingers. Hierarchy intact. But changed. His fantasy real. Mine? Power play won.