Office Afterhours: A silent, dim-lit office tower on Victoria Island, Lagos – long past closing time.

Everyone had gone home. The hum of the AC was the only sound as she clicked through her final spreadsheet. She didn’t hear him approach, but she felt him—his presence always stirred something in her: tension, heat, hunger.

“Still here?” his voice came, low and rough behind her.

She turned, startled—but his smirk said he knew exactly what he was doing. It was Dapo, the head of design. Older, confident, always watching her like he could see past her blouse.

“Just finishing up,” she replied, too casually. Her heart was already racing.

He walked around her desk slowly, eyes not on her work, but on her. She stood to gather her things—and that’s when his hand closed around her wrist.

“Don’t go yet,” he whispered.

Her breath hitched.

The next thing she knew, her back was against the glass window—night swallowing the city beyond, their reflections barely visible. His lips crashed onto hers, one hand gripping her waist while the other slid beneath her blouse.

She gasped as his fingers found her bra clasp, unclipping it with practiced ease. Her breasts spilled free, nipples already taut. He lowered his head and sucked one into his mouth, hot and wet, while his hand crept under her skirt.

“No panties?” he murmured, cock hardening through his trousers.

“I didn’t think I’d need them,” she whispered back, her voice dripping with wickedness.

He dropped to his knees and buried his face between her thighs. His tongue was precise, slow, devastating—circling her clit like it was his only mission. She moaned and grabbed the edge of the desk, knuckles white as the pleasure built. Her thighs trembled.

She came hard, his name escaping her lips like a desperate prayer.

He stood, unbuckling, letting his thick, aching cock spring free. She turned around and bent over the desk, back arched, skirt hiked up. No words. Just need.

He slid into her with a deep groan, hands gripping her hips tight. His thrusts were deliberate, filling her again and again, her body clapping back onto him. The desk rocked. Her cries echoed off the cubicle walls.

“Faster,” she begged, and he gave it to her—rough, raw, relentless.

Her second orgasm hit her like lightning. He wasn’t far behind. He buried himself deep with a grunt, exploding inside her, trembling as he held on.

They stood there for a moment, panting. No apologies. No regrets.

“You’re trouble,” he said, adjusting his tie.

She smiled, still breathless.
“You like trouble.”

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