Chapter 81

Adrian's POV

"Here," I said, voice low, hands firm—pulling Anna closer under the rooftop's starlit sprawl. My eyes burned into hers.

Her lips hit mine—soft, then fierce. A spark flared. She gasped as I kissed deeper. Her taste—wine sharp, need subtle—flooded me. The city's hum faded. My hands gripped her waist. Her blouse hung open. Her skin seared under my palms. Her heartbeat thudded against my chest.

"Adrian," she murmured—my name shaky, spiking heat through me. "You sure about this?" Her eyes darted to the shadows. "Someone could come. Cameras?"

I pulled back, just enough. Her eyes were wide, dark, hesitant. "No one's coming," I said, rough, sure. Hands slid up her arms. Her blouse slipped off. It hit the deck. Her bra cut a stark line on her skin. "No cameras. Just us." I traced its edge—slow, deliberate. Her breath hitched. "Never been surer."

She didn't retreat. Lips parted. Hands rested light on my chest. "Okay," she whispered, fingers curling into my shirt.

Wind sliced through—sharp, cold. Goosebumps prickled her arms. I grinned—soft, hungry. Lifted her. Her legs wrapped my hips—hesitant, then tight. Skirt rode up. I carried her to the stairs. Her blouse fluttered behind, lost to the breeze. I pushed through the glass door. Her warmth anchored me. The rooftop faded—lights dimming, hum gone—as we hit the stairwell's shadowed hush.

Her breath brushed my neck—quick, uneven. Boots tapped metal steps. She shifted. Lips grazed my jaw. "You're warm," she whispered. "Didn't expect that."

"Disappointed?" I smirked, slowing down, catching her eye. "Thought I'd let you freeze?"

She laughed—quiet, breathy. Fingers teased my collar. "Maybe I like the cold. Keeps me sharp."

"Sharp's good," I said, low. Lips grazed her ear. "I've got better tricks." She shivered. Hands tightened on my shoulders—clinging, not clawing. The stairwell swallowed our words.

We hit the bottom. Dark walls blurred. I carried her through my office—skyline glowing past the glass. Past her desk, then mine—contracts scattered. To the rest room door. Nudged it open. Soft light spilled out. A bed sat neat. Leather chair. Bar in the corner. My sanctuary.

I set her down. Her feet hit the floor—knees soft. She leaned into me. Hands pressed my chest. Blouse long gone. "No one's here, right?" she asked, voice low, eyes glinting mischief.

"No one," I rasped. Stepped closer. Body shielded hers. Hands eased her bra off. It dropped. Her tits bared—skin flushed. I cupped them, feeling their weight, thumbs brushing her nipples until they stiffened. She sighed—soft, bold.

"Yours?" she teased. Hands hit my shirt. Buttons flew. She tossed it with a smirk.

"Always," I said, thick. Lifted her skirt. Panties slid down. My hand found her pussy—wet, hot. Fingers circled her clit, slow at first, then firmer. She arched. Breath jagged. Hips tilted in—chasing it.

"Adrian—" Her voice turned husky. Hands yanked my arms closer. Head tipped back. I slid fingers into her—slow, deep. Her cunt gripped me, slick and tight. "You still know me too well," she said, smirking, eyes daring me.

I grinned. Shed my pants. Cock sprang free—hard, throbbing. Carried her to the bed. Lowered her onto the sheets. She spread—legs wide, inviting. I climbed over. "Good," I rasped. Rubbed my tip against her slit. She moaned—low, eager. I pushed in—slow. Her heat swallowed my cock. Tight. Wet. "Fuck," I groaned.

"Like that," she gasped. Hips bucked up, taking me deeper. Nails grazed my back, leaving faint trails. I thrust—steady, firm—watching her tits sway with each move. I grabbed them, squeezed until she arched, her nipples hard against my palms.

"More," she demanded—voice breaking. Legs hooked my waist. Pulled me in. I angled deeper. Cock slammed her core. She moaned—loud, raw. Her cunt clenched. I fucked her faster. Hands gripped her hips, fingers digging into soft flesh. Sweat beaded her skin. Mine too.

"Anna—" I growled—raw. Thrusts turned sharp. Her heat dragged me under. She cried out—sharp, fierce. Her pussy pulsed—milking me. Release hit her, body trembling beneath me. I lost it—groaned her name. Came hard—spunk spilling deep. Body shook. Hers shuddered under me.

We stilled. Breaths ragged. Sweat slicked us. Sheets tangled around our legs. I rolled off—chest heaving—glancing at her. She lay there, flushed, hair a mess across the pillow—beautiful, unguarded for a split second.

I reached for the bar cart nearby, grabbed a towel, dampened it with bottled water. "Here," I murmured, sliding back to her. Wiped the sweat from her brow, then lower—gentle between her thighs, cleaning the mess we'd made.

She tensed—eyes snapping open. "Adrian—what are you doing?" Her voice hitched, sharp with unease. She sat up fast, snatching the towel from me, cheeks flaring red. "I can do it myself."

"Relax," I said, soft, leaning back on my elbows. "Not the first time I've seen you like this."

She glared, scrubbing herself quick, then yanked the sheet up over her chest. "That's not the point," she muttered, avoiding my gaze. "We're not… this anymore. I shouldn't have—fuck, I just let you pull me in again." Her tone bit—half at me, half at herself.

I smirked, stretching out, arm behind my head. "Pull you in? Anna, you were calling the shots—‘more,' remember? We've fucked—what, a hundred times? You're not some blushing rookie."

Her eyes narrowed, but a half-smile cracked through. "Past's the past, asshole. I fucked you then, I fucked you now—doesn't mean you've got me on a leash." She tossed her hair back, defiant. The sheet slipped, baring one shoulder. She didn't bother fixing it.

"On a leash?" I laughed—low, teasing. Caught her hand, held it loose. "You're the one who climbed me like a tree up there. I'm just keeping up, assistant."

She tugged free, smirking despite herself. "Keep dreaming, boss. I'm still deciding if you're worth the HR nightmare." Her tone was playful, edged—sharp as ever. She slid closer anyway, sheet tangling at her waist, body brushing mine.

"Take your time," I said, voice dropping—serious now. Eyes locked on hers. "I'm not running off."

She snorted, rolling her eyes. "You'd better not." A beat. She curled against me—half-reluctant, warmth pressing into my side. "But don't think you're winning."

"Never do," I murmured. Arm looped her waist. Her heat sank into me. "Not yet."

Silence settled—thick, warm. Her breathing slowed, steady against my chest. Then—faint, distant—a sound pricked the quiet.

Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Echoing somewhere beyond the office door.

My gut tightened. Hers did too—she stiffened, head lifting. "What the hell was that?" she whispered, eyes wide, darting to the shadows.