To be honest, I never thought anything like this would ever happen to me. My name is Tom, and at 27, most of my life has been filled with spreadsheets, weekly reports, and awkward water cooler chats. For the past two years, I’ve worked in one of those polished, glass-walled downtown offices, trying (and often failing) not to mix business with pleasure. And then Emily joined our team.
Emily was 25, sharp, witty, and had this wild, slightly messy brown hair that always seemed seconds away from falling apart. The first time she walked into the Monday meeting with her bright blue eyes and a laugh that cut through the boardroom stiffness, I felt something twist inside me. Of course I tried to play it cool. Office crushes are a bad idea—and, hell, I’d seen HR training videos about it since my first day. But it was like gravity. The more I tried to ignore her, the more I caught myself staring, lingering by her desk, listening for her voice.
For weeks, nothing happened. We flirted—if you could call it that. Harmless jokes, innocent compliments, a few long glances when we thought no one was watching. I remember one Tuesday afternoon, I walked into the kitchen and found her reaching for the last Diet Coke in the fridge. We both grabbed it at the same time.
“Rock, paper, scissors?” she grinned at me.
“How about I buy you dinner instead?” The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
She looked surprised for half a second, and I felt my heart slam against my chest. But then she smiled, a little slower, her gaze holding mine just a beat longer than usual. “Deal. But I’m warning you, I’m a cheap date.”
Our first few dinners together were filled with awkwardness and laughter. We talked about childhood, terrible dates, favorite Netflix shows. For a while, I wondered if maybe I’d read too much into the way she caught my gaze, or smiled when I complimented her lipstick. It almost felt easier that way, letting the slow-burning tension hover between us, unspoken.
About three weeks in, things started to shift. One Friday, we stayed late to finish a doomed project. Most of the office was deserted; the lights were dim, our screens giving off an eerie glow. I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she worked, biting the tip of her pen. My mind wandered—her lips, the smooth stretch of her neck, the way her blouse gaped just slightly when she leaned forward. I caught myself imagining what it would feel like to touch her, to kiss her in that gray, silent office.
But then the guilt crept in—the worry that I was crossing a line, that I was just reading too much into a friendship. What if she only saw me as a buddy? For days, I kept my distance, only to find her seeking me out, her messages cheekier, her laughter more open. It was almost as if she was waiting for me to catch up.
Then came the night it finally happened.
It was close to 8pm, the cleaning staff already doing their rounds. Emily swung by my desk, dropping a stack of printouts with a dramatic sigh. “I can’t believe we pulled that off. Drinks to celebrate?”
It felt like I was standing at a crossroads, every nerve in my body alive and vibrating. “Just us?” I tried to keep my voice steady.
She grinned, biting her lower lip. “Just us.”
The office bar downstairs was half-empty. We found a quiet corner, talking and drinking until everything around us faded to a blur. Her knee touched mine under the table. I couldn’t help glancing down at her lips every time she smiled. There was a spark between us—palpable, fiery, impossible to ignore any longer.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you for weeks,” I finally admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
A blush crept across her cheeks, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she leaned in, close enough that I could smell her perfume—something light and intoxicating.
“So what are you waiting for?” she challenged, her eyes searching mine.
I hesitated, the work/HR/office boundaries flashing through my head. But I couldn’t stop myself. I leaned in, our lips meeting softly, then hard. She melted into me, her hands finding my waist, tugging me closer. Suddenly, it felt as if years’ worth of tension was breaking loose at once.
We stumbled outside, laughing, barely able to keep our hands off each other as we hailed a cab. The ride was a blur of quick kisses, whispered confessions, her hand sliding up my thigh.
“Your place is closer, right?” she murmured, tingling excitement lighting up her eyes.
Barely had my apartment door closed before she pushed me against the wall, kissing me again, harder. I felt her tongue slip into my mouth, her hands tugging at my shirt, nails scraping my skin. My hands slid into her hair, letting it spill loose, wild around her shoulders. She bit my lower lip gently, making me groan.
“I’ve been wanting this for so fucking long,” she breathed, grinding her hips against me.
“You have no idea,” I muttered, finally letting go of the last bit of restraint. My hands explored her body, grabbing her ass through her jeans, pressing her closer. Her hands were everywhere—unbuttoning my shirt, sliding up under my tee.
Between kisses, we made it to my bedroom, clothes strewn across the hallway. She pulled away just long enough to watch me take off my shirt, eyes hungry. I watched her shimmy out of her jeans, revealing silky black panties that made my cock twitch with anticipation.
“Like what you see?” she teased, crawling across my bed.
I cussed under my breath, yanking her to me, our mouths colliding. This time, there was no gentleness—just heat, raw and urgent. My fingers traced down her side, sliding beneath her bra to cup her breast. She arched into me, moaning softly.
She pushed me down on the bed, straddling my hips and grinding against my hard length. I could feel the wet heat of her pussy through her panties, the friction almost enough to undo me. I slid my hand between her thighs, feeling the soaked fabric, teasing her clit with my thumb.
“Fuck, Tom,” she gasped, clutching at my arms. “Don’t stop.”
I yanked her panties aside, fingers slipping inside her warm, slick cunt. She rocked against my hand, bucking her hips, needy and wild. When I slid down, pressing kisses to her stomach and then her thighs, her legs spread wider, breathless anticipation in her eyes.
I licked her pussy teasingly at first, savoring her taste, feeling her shiver. Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me closer. I sucked her clit, her hips jerking against my mouth.
“Jesus, I’m so close,” she whimpered, voice wrecked.
I slid two fingers deep, curling them inside her as I tongued her clit. Her whole body tensed, thighs shaking as she came on my hand and mouth, moaning my name loud enough for the entire building to hear.
She pulled me up, crashing her mouth to mine, tasting herself on my lips. With a swift movement, she rolled us over, fumbling with my jeans.
“Condom—” I started, breathless.
She found one in the drawer and tore it open, stroking my cock as she slipped it on. Then she climbed astride me, guiding me into her, slow and deliberate. We both groaned as I filled her, her pussy hot and tight around my dick.
She rode me hard, nails digging into my chest, hair wild around her face. I watched her, unable to look away—the way her tits bounced, the flush on her cheeks, the way she moaned every time my cock hit just right.
“Fuck, you feel so fucking good,” I gasped, thrusting up into her.
She leaned forward, lips brushing my ear. “Cum inside me, Tom. Give it to me.”
I lost control, hips snapping up as I spilled into her, gripping her ass, burying my face in her neck. She followed, shuddering, crying out as her pussy clenched around me.
We lay tangled together, breathless and sweaty, both of us grinning like idiots. I traced her spine, still amazed that I’d crossed the line—and that she’d met me there, every step of the way.
“Next time,” she said, voice still ragged, “we’re doing it on your desk.”
I laughed, kissing her cheek, feeling a thrill in my chest. It was reckless. It was forbidden. And it was exactly what I’d been craving all along.