I never thought I’d be the type of person to get wrapped up in something so intense, so primal, and so unexpected at work. But I guess there’s a first time for everything, and this is my confession.
My name is Mike, I’m 28. I work as a graphic designer at a mid-sized ad agency in downtown Boston. Most days blur together—coffee, meetings, Photoshop. The office is bright with glass walls, open plans, and a laid-back vibe that makes you forget how much overtime you’re working.
Rachel and I started only two months apart, about a year ago. She’s two years younger than me, smart as hell, and even funnier. She’s got this big messy brown hair, glasses, and curves that are impossible not to notice. Rachel does copy, so our paths cross a lot; projects, brainstorms, late deadlines. We’re friends, sure, and we joke constantly—sometimes toeing the line of flirting, but never admitting to anything. She had a boyfriend her first six months at the agency—some law student named Scott, but that ended ages ago.
Lately, though, something’s been different. Maybe it’s the way she sits closer during meetings, or how her hand casually rests on my arm a beat longer than necessary. Or how sometimes, after hours, it’s just the two of us in the break room, the city lights flickering beyond the window, and there’s this strange electricity zipping between us.
Last week, Rachel and I got stuck working late on a huge pitch for a travel client. We were in the main conference room, laptops open, Red Bull cans and empty teacups lining the table. It was already ten o’clock and the building had that hollow, echoing silence that tells you everyone else has gone home.
Rachel leaned back, stretching, her tee shirt rising up just enough to flash a smooth line of skin above her jeans. God help me, I looked. Maybe she noticed, because she smirked at me and said, “You’re starting to look like a zombie.”
“Yeah? At least zombies don’t have to do client revisions.” I grinned.
She walked over to where I was hunched at the far side of the table, leaned down to check out my screen behind me. I caught the scent of her shampoo—something sweet, but not like candy—floral, kind of intoxicating.
“You missed a comma.” She pointed, her hand on my shoulder, her head close to mine. I felt my pulse jump.
“No way. Where?”
I clicked around, pretending to search for her mysterious comma, but I was hyper-aware of how close she was, of the heat from her arm through my shirt.
Rachel didn’t move away. Instead, her hand lingered—even squeezed lightly. She cleared her throat, and for a second, her breath brushed the side of my face.
Everything in me wanted to reach out and touch her, to see if she’d let me, maybe even wanted me to. But I hesitated. We worked together. We were friends. Was I reading too much into it? Or was she doing it on purpose? I second-guessed myself, staying perfectly still like maybe if I didn’t move, the moment would stretch out longer.
She pulled back slowly, sitting half on the table now, facing me, legs swinging. “Hey, Mike?”
“Yeah?”
She glanced down at her hands. “You ever wonder if you’re missing out on something just because you’re afraid to fuck things up?”
I don’t know why—I laughed, nervous. “Is this about the project, or…?”
Rachel looked right at me then, letting the silence hang. “It’s just—it’s late, you know? Half the city’s asleep. Feels like you could almost get away with anything.”
Our eyes locked, and time just kind of paused.
I wanted to say something clever, but all I managed was, “What would you want to get away with?”
She didn’t answer right away. She just slid a little closer, knees brushing my thigh. My heart was pounding so loud, I was sure she could hear it. The air between us felt hot, charged, every nerve standing on end.
This was the moment. I knew it. She knew it. But my stupid brain kept ringing alarms—HR nightmares, office gossip, what if this ruined everything? My mouth went dry, and I hesitated. Rachel must have sensed it, because she reached for my hand, her fingers tight around mine.
“Relax. I won’t bite,” she whispered, lips barely brushing my ear. Her hand slid up my arm, slow, purposeful—every inch she touched making me ache for more.
I finally caved. I turned, cupping her jaw, and kissed her. Not tentative, not gentle—just heat and want and pent-up tension exploding all at once. She responded instantly, mouth hungry against mine, pressing her body into me.
I groaned into her kiss as her hands traced up my chest, under my t-shirt. Her nails teased, sending shivers straight through me. We broke apart for half a second, breathing hard.
“Shit, I was hoping you’d do that,” Rachel said, eyes bright.
Laughing, I pressed my forehead to hers. “Me too. For like, months.”
Her lips traced down my neck, soft at first, then harder. My hands slid down her back, tugging her closer. She was straddling my lap now, and I could feel her hips grinding against me, slow and deliberate. My cock jumped in my jeans, straining at the zipper.
Rachel pulled off her shirt in one quick move, tossing it aside with this wicked grin. I couldn’t help but stare—tight black bra, flushed skin, her pupils huge and dark.
“Lock the door,” she whispered, breathless.
I scrambled up and clicked the conference room lock. Knowing we were alone, that anyone could walk by and see the lights on, my pulse raced even harder. I went back to her, pulling her against me, kissing her hard. Our hands were everywhere at once—her fingers in my hair, mine finding the clasp of her bra.
It came undone, and her tits were perfect. Firm and soft, nipples pebbled already. I kissed her neck, then down, taking a nipple into my mouth, sucking hard to make her moan. She arched into me, hand fumbling with my waistband.
“Fuck, Mike, I want you,” she gasped, fingers tugging me out of my jeans, already rock-hard and aching.
“Yeah? Right here? Anybody could—”
“Don’t care.”
Her lips found mine again, rough, needy. She slid off her jeans, then her panties, her skin bare against me. I couldn’t believe how wet she was when I ran my fingers between her legs—so ready, desperate.
She pushed me into the chair, straddled me again, and guided me inside her. That first thrust, hot and tight and perfect, made my head spin. I groaned, gripping her ass, moving with her. She rode me slow at first, then faster, her hips grinding down hard.
“Harder,” she gasped, nails digging into my shoulders. My hands tangled in her hair, my mouth on her breasts, licking, sucking, marking her.
She clenched around me, breath coming in sharp gasps.
“God, Mike, I’m so close—fuck—”
I slammed into her, feeling her body quake. She shattered around me, gasping my name, and I couldn’t hold back any longer, coming hard inside her. For a long moment, we just clung to each other, bodies shaking, breathing each other in.
When it was over, neither of us moved. Rachel lay against my chest, grinning like she’d just gotten away with the best secret.
“Guess we should wrap up the presentation, huh?” she laughed softly.
“Yeah,” I said, kissing the top of her head. “Maybe after we catch our breath.”
I still don’t know what’ll happen next, but I know I won’t forget that night. And judging by the way Rachel looks at me in the office now—hungry, teasing—I’m pretty sure we’re just getting started.