Chapter 7: Interuptions

“That is it,” Oliver encouraged against her breast, his voice muffled by the flesh pressed against his lips. “Show me how much you want this.” His free hand moved to cup her other breast, kneading gently while his mouth worked relentlessly on the first. The contrast between the wet heat of his tongue and the cooler air of the office sent shivers racing across her skin. “I have dreamed about this,” he confessed between kisses, switching sides to lavish equal attention upon her neglected nipple. “About having you in here, just like this.” His hips rocked forward instinctively, grinding against the apex of her thighs through their layers of clothing. The friction was maddening, building a delicious pressure that made both of them groan simultaneously. “Tell me you want this too,” Oliver demanded hoarsely, pulling back just enough to look into her hazy eyes. “Tell me you have thought about me like this.” Before Harper could answer there is a knock on the door. Oliver pulls back and she covers her bare chest with her hands.

The knock on the door sent a jolt of panic through both of them. Oliver’s head snapped towards the sound, his eyes widening in surprise before narrowing with irritation. “Who the hell is that?” he growled under his breath, his hands still trembling slightly from the interruption. He moved quickly to grab his discarded shirt, pulling it on with jerky movements as he tried to regain his composure. His face was flushed, his hair disheveled, and the obvious bulge in his pants made it clear what had been happening moments before. “Just a minute!” he called out gruffly, his voice carrying an edge of frustration that would be recognizable to anyone who knew him well. His gaze darted back to her on the desk, taking in the scene with a mix of concern and regret. Harper’s hands covering her bare chest, her hair tousled from his fingers, the flush on her cheeks- all evidence of their interrupted moment. “Shit,” he muttered.

Harper moved off the mahogany desk and buttoned up her shirt. She turns her back to the door and tried to calm her nerves. Oliver watched her move off the desk, his jaw clenching as he struggled to control his breathing. The sight of her hurriedly buttoning her shirt while facing away from the door sent a pang of regret through him- he hated that someone had interrupted this moment between them. “Stay there and act normal when I open the door,” he instructed quietly, his voice regaining some of its usual authority despite the tremor of desire still running through it. He ran a hand through his messy hair in an attempt to make it look presentable, though the flush on his cheeks and the slight dampness of his lips betrayed what they had been doing just moments before. “Who is it?” he called out again, his tone sharp with impatience. The doorknob turned slowly, and Oliver took a deep breath before moving to black her view from whoever stood on the other side.

The door opened slightly to reveal an employee with light brown hair, thick rimmed glasses and wearing a white buttoned up shirt. “Sir, your meeting with marketing has been moved to the projection room, apparently they want to show you some slides...” he said. As he spoke, Harper busied herself by gather the scattered documents on the desk and placing them into neat piles. Oliver’s jaw tightened at the interruption, his patience wearing thin. He glanced over his shoulder at her busying herself with organizing the papers, the domestic gesture contrasting sharply with the charged atmosphere of moments ago. “Projection room,” he repeated curtly, already dismissing the employee with a wave of his hand. “fine, give me ten minutes.” The employee hesitated, noting Oliver’s disheveled appearance and the unusual activity in his otherwise pristine office. “Sir, Mr. Henrik is already waiting...” the employee said hesitantly. “I said ten minutes!” Oliver’s voice rose slightly, his temper flaring. “Close the door on your way out!” The employee quickly obeyed, pulling the door shut and leaving them alone once more. He let out a frustrated sigh, running both hands through his hair as he leaned against his desk. “Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, watching her carefully arrange the documents with focused precision. “Can’t even give five minutes of peace around here.”

Harper turned to look at him. It is clear she is not wearing a bra under her shirt. She steps closer to him and straighten his shirt. “Price of being the boss. Go to the meeting, I will tidy up here,” she said softly, trying to sound professional as usual. Oliver’s eyes immediately dropped to her chest as she stepped closer, the thin fabric of her blouse doing little to hide the absence of a bra. The sight made his breath catch in his throat, and he had to force himself not to reach out and touch her again. “Don’t do that,” he said quietly, his voice still tough with desire. His hands came up to cover hers as she tried to straighten his shirt. “You are making it worse.” His fingers tightened around her wrists gently, holding her hands against his chest. The warmth of his skin seeped through the fabric, a reminder of how close they had been just moments before. “I can’t just walk out here like this,” he admitted, nodding toward the obvious bulge in his pants. “Give me a minute to calm down.” He moved away from her reluctantly, pacing toward the window with his back turned.

For a moment Harper just stood there then she bent down and started picking up the documents that fell to the floor. Oliver watched her bend down to gather the scattered papers, his jaw clenching as the movement caused her blouse to ride up slightly, exposing the curve of her spine. The simple action was somehow more tantalizing than anything that had happened on his desk. “Stop that,” he commanded sharply, his voice losing its earlier roughness and taking on a commanding tone. “Leave them. Let housekeeping deal with it later.” He strode back to her in three long steps, grabbing her wrist and pulling her upright. His grip was firm but not painful, his eyes intense as they scanned her face. “You are going to make me late for this meeting if you keep bending over like that and I am not sure I trust myself not to join you on the floor.” he said gruffly. His free hand moved to adjust his belt automatically, a nervous habit from years of hiding his reactions in professional settings.