Chapter 3: The All-Nighter Break

The conference table felt colder now on Saturday evening, the scattered slides still mocking us under the half-dimmed lights. It had been only twenty-four hours since we’d left them unfinished Friday night, and neither of us had typed a single new word yet. We had promised ourselves we’d finish the pitch properly this time. But the second we sat down, the memory of last night pulled us right back. My fingers still tingled from the way his had moved inside me earlier, that slow curl that had dragged me over the edge on his lap. Every shift in my chair sent a fresh reminder between my thighs—warm, slick, impossible to ignore. My nipples pressed tight against the thin cream fabric, aching from the memory alone.

Rob kept glancing up from his laptop, those dark eyes tracing the line of my throat, the open collar of my blouse. The air between us crackled like static before a storm.

“We should finish these slides,” I said, voice too soft, too unsteady.

He leaned back, chair creaking. “Hard to focus with you looking like that, Emily.”

I tried for lightness. “Like what? Tired and rumpled?”

“Like the sexiest woman I’ve ever worked late with.” His smile was slow, dangerous. “Like you’re still thinking about my hand between your legs.”

Heat rushed to my face. I should have gone home right then. Dave had come home early from his sales trip and was already upstairs in our bed, trusting me to wrap up one late night and come back to him. What the hell was I doing? But my body screamed the opposite—skin flushed, pulse loud in my ears, thighs pressing together for any scrap of friction. I closed the laptop without saving.

Rob stood first. “Let’s take a break. My office. Again.”

I followed without a word, heels clicking softly, heart thudding so hard it felt like it might crack a rib.

The moment the door clicked shut behind us the sound cracked through the room like a starting pistol. He turned the lock. We faced each other beside the wide desk, city lights flickering through the blinds. No more pretending.

He pulled me in gently this time, one hand at the small of my back, the other sliding up to cradle my neck. The kiss started slow, deeper than before, his tongue exploring mine like he had all the time in the world. Wine still lingered on his lips. I tasted it, tasted him, and something inside me cracked open wider.