Wicked
Zazie Skymm, Nikki Nuttz Pic(s)
The heavy oak door clicked shut, muffling the distant hum of the copier, sealing them in a world of hushed, illicit possibility. His gaze, dark and intent, pinned her agat the polished mahogany desk, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat blooming under her silk blouse. Fingers, once busy with spreadsheets, now traced the delicate line of her collarbone, sending shivers that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. The scent of his cologne, a mix of sandalwood and pure, masculine want, filled the space between them as he leaned in, his breath a warm promise agat her neck. Papers rustled and fluttered to the floor, unimportant casualties as his mouth finally found hers in a kiss that was less an invitation and more a claiming. Her own hands slid up the crisp fabric of his shirt, feeling the powerful muscles of his back tense beneath her touch, a silent language of shared urgency. The only light came from the city skyline glittering beyond the window, painting his skin in shades of silver and shadow as he slowly, deliberately, loosened his tie. Every whisper, every sigh, every shift of their bodies agat the leather chair was amplified in the quiet room, a symphony of their reckless abandon. In that suspended moment, the professional facade completely melted away, leaving only the raw, thrilling connection of two people succumbing to a long-suppressed desire.
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