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...