The late autumn sunlight slid slowly down the glass, casting soft reflections across the polished floors of the President's office.
Only the quiet rustle of pages and the gentle tapping of a keyboard broke the silence.
Celeste sipped from her cup, eyes still following the report on her monitor.
From the next room, Daniel watched her—then rolled his chair forward, silently crossing the threshold between them.
"You drifting through the office now?"
Celeste glanced up with a smirk.
"Nope. Just needed a better view. Manual zoom."
He drew his chair beside hers and settled in.
Without a word, he wrapped one arm around her from behind, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder, his breath warming the shell of her ear.
His hand slipped beneath the hem of her blouse.
In contrast to the cold metal of his wristwatch, his palm was feverishly warm.
His fingers traced along the curve of her waist—slow, certain—until they rose, cupping her breast through thin silk.
Her breath hitched—barely—but he felt it.
"Aren't you supposed to be working?"
She spoke with a lopsided smile, but her gaze was no longer on the screen, blurred now by heat and distraction.
"This counts as mental health care, doesn't it?"
Daniel whispered against her neck.
"Seriously, this company has amazing wellness perks. Thank you, Madam."
Celeste slowly set her pen down.
"You sure you're treating your mind? Not... something lower?"
Her voice was low, amused.
Daniel turned her gently to face him, his voice dropping to a hush that brushed over her skin like a sigh.
"Both."
His fingers combed her hair back behind her ear, then trailed over her brow, along the line of her cheek, gliding down her jaw with reverence—as if reading a beloved book by touch alone.
Celeste didn't move away.
She simply smiled, quiet and knowing, meeting his gaze with calm defiance.
The kiss came without hesitation.
As their breaths mingled, words became irrelevant.
Their lips met—slowly, deeply.
The kind of kiss that speaks in pulses rather than syllables.
Their mouths parted and returned again, lips brushing, lingering, learning the rhythm of each other all over again.
Time blurred.
A sigh here.
A gasp there.
The sound of breath and nothing else.
Daniel's body leaned closer, his hand sliding further along her torso—but just as his touch deepened, Celeste tilted her head and whispered against his lips:
"And what if someone walks in again? Remember last time?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he calmly reached out and pressed a button on her desk phone.
After a short beep, his voice flowed low and clear into the line.
"We're in a closed-door meeting. No one comes in unless I say so."
"Yes, Sir."
The secretary's crisp voice answered, then the line went dead.
Daniel lowered the receiver and turned back to her, a slow smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.
A glint of mischief behind those otherwise composed eyes.
From that moment, the office ceased to be a workplace.
He lifted her effortlessly onto the desk, laying her back against the smooth surface.
As each button of her shirt slipped loose beneath his fingers, desire gathered—not in haste, but in certainty.
Her skirt rode higher as his hand slid up her thigh, fingers grazing the sheer fabric of her stockings before pushing past the final barrier.
Her breath caught again when her underwear slipped past her knees.
He pressed against her, fully aroused, the heat of him unmistakable where their bodies met.
And then—he entered her in one slow, deliberate stroke.
Her breath cracked in the back of her throat.
Her hands reached for the edges of the desk, gripping hard as he buried himself deeper, one hand anchoring her hips.
He started slow.
Reading her—every sigh, every shift.
And when her back arched beneath him, he quickened.
Pace building, breath shortening, restraint fading.
The sound of skin meeting skin, the slick echo of wet friction, and the clatter of her heel falling to the floor—all of it filled the room like a secret symphony.
He held her tighter, his jaw damp with sweat, his breath breaking rhythm with each thrust.
Still moving, but only barely keeping hold of reason.
"God… you're gonna be the death of me."
he growled low.
Celeste didn't speak—just pulled him closer, deeper, arms wrapping around his neck as if to keep from falling.
And when it came—he spilled into her with a shuddering breath, lips buried at her neck, body trembling as he emptied every last ounce of restraint into her.
Hot. Unrelenting. Full.
Afterward, as he slowly slipped out of her, the warmth they'd made together trickled down her thigh, the silence filled only by the echo of their breath.
Daniel gently cradled her leg, then rested his forehead against her stomach, eyes closed.
Still catching her breath, Celeste let out a soft, breathless laugh.
"Told you it wasn't my mental health that needed help."
Daniel bent down, picked up her fallen heel, and gently slipped it back onto her foot.
His thumb brushed over her ankle—casual, almost absent-minded, but warm.Then he looked up at her with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
"And people wonder why I never quit."
He didn't pull away.
Instead, he leaned in further, his mouth finding the soft, sensitive skin on the inside of her thigh.
He kissed her there—slow, deliberate.
The heat of his lips sank into her skin like a brand.
That spot, more reactive than the rest of her, answered before she could—a quiet shiver running through her, involuntary and raw.
His lips lingered.
Not to rush.
Not to tease.
Just to stay.
And in that hush between them, where words held no meaning, the warmth he left behind bloomed low—
slow, lasting, unforgettable.