Chapter 41 Vignette 39
Sarah was the last to leave her floor again. She had just finished sorting the last batch of files at 10:04 PM, her head heavy and her eyes dry from staring too long at spreadsheets. The office was ghost-quiet, the kind of silence that pressed on the skin.
She rose from her desk, stretched her aching back, and gathered the files she needed to deliver to the CEO’s office. Damien Callahan had asked for them before morning.
The corridor was dim as she made her way to the executive wing, heels soft against the carpet. When she arrived, she nodded politely at the uniformed man about to turn the key in the CEO's door.
“I’ll be using Mr. Callahan’s office briefly,” she said. “He asked for these files before tomorrow.”
The man hesitated. “Just be sure to close it tight when you’re done. We’re locking up.”
She thanked him, stepped inside, and didn’t think twice when she heard the door click shut behind her.
What she didn’t know was that Damien was still inside. In the private bathroom. He’d told one guard he’d be working late, but another had come for rounds. They didn’t cross-check. That was how both CEO and assistant got locked inside without realizing it.
Ten minutes passed before Damien emerged from the bathroom, towel in hand, wiping the steam from his face.
He paused when he saw her. “Sarah?”
She jumped at the sound of his voice. “Mr. Callahan? I—I didn’t know you were still here!”
He walked forward, eyebrows drawn. “I was finishing reports. I told the guard I’d be staying—wait, don’t tell me—”
His words trailed off as he tried the door. Locked. He pulled out his phone. Dead.
“Let me plug in a charger, quickly.” He walked towards the socket.
As if on cue, the lights flickered—then shut off completely.
She swallowed. “Oh no, I left mine in my office.” The room stilled.
Only the faint glow of moonlight filtered through the tall windows, casting silver patterns on the marble floor.
For a moment, they just stood there. In the half-dark. In the silence. Two shadows caught in the unexpected.
Damien exhaled, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “Well… this is new.”
Sarah let out a short breath of nervous laughter. “This feels like a scene in a movie.”
“Mm. Hopefully not a horror one,” he said, stepping closer. “Though I’m not sure what’s scarier—being stuck here overnight or the amount of work I still have left.”
Her lips quirked, but she couldn’t deny it: her heart was pounding but not in fear.
Something about the darkness, the quiet, and his nearness was unraveling her usual control. She noticed things she usually didn’t let herself see. Like the looseness of his collar. The way his shirt clung slightly to his chest. The low, calm confidence in his voice, even now.
She turned slightly, pressing her back to the edge of his desk. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to stay this late. Or get locked in.”
He stepped in closer. “And yet here we are.”
Their eyes met—something flickering between them—Heat, history, possibility.
“I guess we wait for someone to realize we’re gone,” she said quietly.
Damien tilted his head, eyes scanning her face with something unreadable. “Or… maybe this is fate’s way of slowing us both down.”
Her breath caught. He was standing in front of her now, not touching, not crowding—but close enough to feel his presence ripple through the space between them.
“I’ve been trying to ignore it,” he said, voice lower now. “The way you look at me when you think I don’t notice. The way I want to look at you when I shouldn’t.”
Her chest rose and fell. “Sir…”
“You don’t have to call me that right now.” His hand braced beside her on the desk, eyes searching hers. “Just… Damien.”
Her lips parted. The air between them thickened. He leaned in slowly, giving her time to move, time to stop him but she didn’t.
Damien’s hand lifted, brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek before letting his fingers linger at her jawline. His thumb traced the curve of her lower lip—lightly, reverently.
“You’re trembling,” he whispered.
Sarah’s breath hitched. “I don’t know if it’s the cold... or you.”
That made something shift in his eyes, something darker, something soft.
He leaned in, and when his lips finally found hers, it wasn’t rushed or rough. It was slow, curious, possessive in a way that asked, not took.
His mouth moved over hers like a promise, unfolding her breath by breath, kissing her like she was something worth tasting with care. His other hand rose to cradle the back of her neck, drawing her closer into the kiss, anchoring her gently.
Sarah melted into him. Her hands found the lapels of his jacket, gripping them as if to steady herself in the storm he’d stirred inside her. When he deepened the kiss, it wasn’t a demand—it was a silent question. And her soft moan against his mouth was the answer.
He put a hand on her waist and extended it down to her btt. She whimpered when he pressed his fingers into her btt in a squeeze and pushed her to the nearest wall.
She subtly whined her hips in his hands. He took a hand to her brst and grabbed it, barely feeling the soft flesh due to her suit jacket. He hastily broke the kiss, his breath rising as he unbuttoned her jacket and her inner shirt. She watched her clothes come loose in her boss's hands, gasping in anticipation.
Her bbs were now out, right in Damien's face. He quickly took it in his mouth, sucking it hungrily. She held his head, rumpling his hair and swivelling her hips on the wall, moaning.
Still sucking her bbs, he lifted her skirt, then shifted her panties to the side and trailed a finger down her wet cnt. He turned her around and her cheek pressed to the wall, then he took out his ck from his trousers and rubbed the tip between her as cheeks.
But suddenly, a beam of flashlight pierced through the frosted glass of the office door, cutting straight across the floor like a warning. They froze. Both of them turned sharply, breaths ragged, clothes askew.
A low voice outside muttered, “Miss Sarah…?” It was the security guard. He must have noticed the power outage, or maybe he was just doing a final sweep. Her heart slammed against her ribs, reality came crashing back.
He let out a curse under his breath, already adjusting his shirt. “Quick. Get dressed.”
She fumbled for her jacket, cheeks flushed with heat and embarrassment, while he crossed the room in three strides and knocked twice on the door.
“Call the backup guard,” he ordered, voice low but firm. “We’re locked in.”
Moments later, keys jangled, and the lock finally clicked open. When the door swung back, the guard blinked, clearly unaware of what he’d just interrupted.
Neither of them said a word.