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He thrust again and again and again, then he reached around and found her clit with his finger, giving it a gentle flick, and felt her knees give way a little.
“This is your punishment,” he told her, and she moaned.
The perfect punishment. Death by pleasure. She cried out again as he kept the gentle touch on her clit, and then she came in a pained cry of release. He came, too, the pleasure so acute it almost felt painful as the orgasm racked his body, then he collapsed on her back, panting.
—------------
The office was still charged with a lingering heat, but the frantic, predatory energy had settled into a heavy, comfortable warmth. Fifteen minutes had passed, and the heavy oak door remained locked, keeping the rest of the world at bay.
Derek was back in his chair, his shirt unbuttoned halfway and his hair a dark, chaotic mess from Olivia’s fingers. Olivia sat sideways across his lap, her dress hiked up her thighs, her head resting against his shoulder. She looked softened, glowing, and completely at home in the curve of his arm. The bag from The Gilded Fig was open on the desk in front of them, the aroma of truffle and charred beef acting as a grounding force.
“I told you it would be cold,” Olivia murmured, picking up a truffle-parmesan fry and dipping it into a small container of aioli.
Derek let out a low, content hum, his hand resting possessively on her hip, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles over the knit fabric. “I don't think I’m in a position to complain about the temperature of the food, Liv. I think I got the better deal today.”
Olivia smiled, a soft, genuine expression that reached her eyes. She lifted the fry to his lips. He took a bite, his dark eyes never leaving hers, the intensity of his gaze making her stomach flip even in their quiet state. He chewed slowly, then reached for one of the blackened ribeye sliders. He broke off a piece of the tender beef, glistening with caramelized onion jam, and held it to her mouth.
“Eat,” he commanded softly. “You’ve had a busy afternoon.”
Olivia accepted the bite, the rich, savory flavors exploding on her tongue. “Mmm. Still good,” she whispered. She took a sip of the botanical ginger ale, the crisp, spicy bubbles cutting through the richness of the meal, before offering the bottle to him.
They sat in a comfortable, rhythmic silence for a while, the only sounds the distant hum of the city outside and the occasional clink of the bottles. Derek fed her another piece of the slider, his touch gentle, his fingers lingering against her lower lip for a second too long.
“You know,” Derek said, his voice dropping into that steady, anchored tone she loved. “About the dress. I wasn't kidding. Doing that to me during office hours? That was wild. I have a reputation to maintain, you know.”
Olivia chuckled, leaning her forehead against his. “I think the reputation of Derek Hawthorne can survive one locked door and a cold lunch.” She grew serious for a moment, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I really did miss you, Derek. These last three days… they were quiet. Too quiet.”
Derek’s hand tightened slightly on her waist, pulling her even closer into his chest. He didn't mention the move-in or the marriage debate, although it remained on his mind. For now, he just leaned down and pressed a long, lingering kiss to her temple, his breath warm against her skin.
“It felt like a tomb at home,” he admitted, his honesty raw. “Don’t stay away like that again, Liv. Fight me if you have to, scream at me if I’m being a stubborn prick, but don’t go silent on me.”
Olivia nodded, her heart swelling. She picked up another fry and fed it to him, the peace offering finally complete. They were still two people with different maps of the future, but as they shared the cold meal in the quiet of his office, the distance between them felt like something they could finally bridge.
“Deal,” she whispered. “No more silence.”
Derek smiled and reached for the last slider. “Good. Now finish your lunch, baby. I’ve still got that pier restoration project to worry about, and my consultant is currently distracting me.”
—-------------
The remaining hours at the office had been a blur of blueprints and spreadsheets, but Derek’s mind was still tangled in the scent of vanilla and the memory of Olivia on his desk. He’d stayed late, burying himself in the pier restoration project just to keep the silence of the loft at bay for as long as possible. He even stopped for a solitary dinner at a quiet bistro, nursing a drink he didn't want, delaying the moment he’d have to go back home to be alone.
When he finally pulled into his parking space and rode the elevator up, the air felt heavy with the expectation of loneliness. He unlocked the door, the space dark and echoing. He didn't even turn on the main lights; he just dragged himself toward the bedroom, his tie long gone and his spirit exhausted.
Then, he saw it.
A soft glow spilled from the bedside lamp, and there, nestled deep beneath the charcoal-gray sheets of his bed, was Olivia. She was fast asleep, her reddish brown hair a beautiful, chaotic silk spill across his pillow.
The exhaustion that had been weighing down his bones evaporated instantly, and his heart didn't just beat; it soared, a violent, joyful thrum in his chest. She was here. Without a word, without a prompt, she had come back to him.
He moved to the edge of the bed with the stealth of a man who didn't want to break a miracle. He leaned over, his fingers trembling slightly as he smoothed a stray lock of hair away from her cheek. Olivia let out a soft, rhythmic sigh, her features relaxed, but she didn't wake.
A slow, genuine smile broke across Derek’s face. He stepped back into the middle of the room, his eyes never leaving her as he began to shed his clothes. Every piece of fabric hitting the floor felt like a weight being lifted. He felt lighter, steadier, more himself than he had in days.