All Chapters of UNHOLY CRAVINGS: Dirty Shorts : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Elena didn’t wait for me to make the next move. She reached down, hooked her fingers in the waistband of my sweatpants and boxers, and pushed them low enough to free my cock. The cool kitchen air hit the overheated skin and I hissed through my teeth. She wrapped her hand around me without hesitation, stroking once from base to tip, thumb sliding over the head where I was already leaking. “Fuck,” I muttered. Her mouth curved again. I gripped her hips and lifted her onto the edge of the counter in one motion. She made a soft sound of surprise that turned into a quiet laugh. The shorts she wore were so thin I could feel the heat of her through the fabric when I stepped between her thighs. I tugged them down her legs along with her panties. She lifted her hips to help, and then she was bare from the waist down, legs spreading wider to make room for me. The sight of her like that—tank top still on, dark hair coming loose, thighs open on her own kitchen counter—nearly undid me. I drag

The office was supposed to be empty by seven. It was almost nine-thirty. I sat at my desk on the forty-second floor, the only pool of light left in the open workspace. Everyone else had gone home hours ago. The cleaning crew had already passed through, leaving the faint smell of lemon disinfectant in the air. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city glittered in the dark like it had nothing to do with the quiet pressure building behind my ribs. The report still wasn’t finished. Mr. Calder had asked for it by morning. Not requested. Asked in that calm, low voice that somehow carried more weight than other men’s shouting. I was three weeks into the job—new assistant, still learning the systems, still trying not to look like I was drowning—and I was not about to hand him incomplete work. I rubbed my eyes and kept typing. The soft chime of the elevator down the hall made my head lift. Footsteps followed, measured and unhurried, on the polished concrete. I knew that walk. Natha

I wore the skirt the next time I stayed late. Black, knee-length, fitted enough that it moved when I walked. No tights. The blouse above it was simple, the top two buttons left open because I already knew how he looked at my throat. By 8:40 the floor was empty again. The cleaning crew had come and gone. Only the soft glow from his corner office and the single lamp at my desk remained. I finished the last section of the revised report, saved it, and walked the short distance to his open door. Mr. Calder was standing at the window with his back to me, phone to his ear, speaking in low, clipped sentences to someone in another time zone. He didn’t turn when I stepped inside. I set the folder on his desk and waited. He ended the call, slipped the phone into his pocket, and finally looked at me. His eyes moved over the skirt in one slow pass. Approval, dark and immediate, settled in his expression. “Close the door,” he said. I closed it. The soft click of the latch sounded louder tha

I noticed him on a Thursday. The building across the narrow courtyard had the same layout as mine—old brick, tall windows, fire escapes zigzagging down the sides. Most of the units kept their blinds half-drawn or their curtains closed after dark. His didn’t. His window sat almost directly opposite my bedroom. Same floor. Close enough that if we both stood at the glass we could have read each other’s expressions without trying. I had seen him a few times in the hallway of our building when the mail came—tall, dark hair that always looked a little messy, the kind of quiet face that made people look twice. We had never spoken beyond a polite nod. That Thursday I came home late, kicked off my shoes, and started undressing without turning on the overhead light. The small lamp on my nightstand was enough. I pulled my blouse off, then my bra, and reached for the soft T-shirt I slept in. Something made me glance up. He was there. Standing in his own bedroom, shirt already off, the warm

It happened just after midnight. I had already turned off the lamp and climbed into bed, body still humming from the show I had given him twenty minutes earlier. The apartment was quiet. The courtyard below was dark. I lay on my back staring at the ceiling, thighs pressed together against the residual ache, when the knock came. Three short, deliberate raps. I knew. I got up, pulled the oversized T-shirt back on, and walked to the front door without turning on any lights. My pulse beat hard in my throat. When I looked through the peephole he was there—dark shirt, hair slightly messy, expression unreadable in the dim hallway light. I unlocked the door and opened it. He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. The door clicked shut behind him. For a second we just stood there in the dark entryway, close enough that I could smell the faint scent of his skin and the night air he had brought with him. Then his hands were on me. He backed me against the wall, mouth f