21Sextury
Tiffany Rousso, Thomas Stone, Kristof Cale Pic(s)
The final document slipped from her grasp, its crisp white pages fanning out across the polished mahogany like a silent surrender. His gaze, no longer that of a detached colleague but a predator who had cornered his prize, pinned her agat the edge of the desk, the cool wood a stark contrast to the sudden heat flooding her skin. A single, deliberate finger traced the line of her jaw, a touch so light it was almost a whisper, yet it sent a violent shiver down her spine. He leaned in, the scent of his expensive cologne and the faint, clean smell of starch from his shirt becoming her entire world. His mouth found the frantic pulse at the base of her throat, not with a kiss, but with the slow, open-mouthed heat of his breath, a promise of what was to come. Her head fell back of its own volition, a soft sigh escaping her lips as her fingers tangled in the immaculate silk of his tie, pulling him closer, erasing the last inch of professional distance. The world outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the glittering city lights, blurred into ignificance agat the pressing weight of his body and the hard line of the desk agat her thighs. Every nerve ending was alive, screaming with the anticipation of his hands moving from her hips to the small of her back, pressing her into him. This was no longer a boardroom but a sanctuary of pure, unadulterated want, where the only sound was the ragged harmony of their breathing and the quiet, definitive click of the door locking.
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