Overtime Desires
It had only been two months since I joined the firm, but I already found myself craving more time at the office. When Jorge, my manager, suggested I increase my hours, I accepted instantly. To my colleagues, it seemed like ambition; to me, it was a way to be closer to him. Jorge possessed a dynamic energy that was infectious, and while we maintained a professional facade, the air between us was thick with unspoken tension.
The breaking point came during a particularly stressful week. We had a habit of meeting alone on Monday afternoons to organize the workflow, but this particular Monday felt different. The spreadsheets remained untouched. Instead, Jorge began to open up, speaking about his life outside the boardroom. As he leaned in, I could feel his gaze devouring me.
The professional boundary finally snapped when he reached out, his fingers grazing my jawline. The touch was electric, sparking a fire that had been simmering for weeks. I leaned into him, closing the gap, and our lips met in a desperate, hungry clash. He pinned me against the meeting room wall, his hands gripping my waist with a possessive intensity that left me breathless. In the silence of the empty office, the only sound was the rhythmic thrum of our hearts and the soft sighs of surrender as we explored each other with a passion that had been long overdue.