Romans & histoires Over The Desk

"Oh, crap! I didn't realize it was already this late." "It's okay, Mom," I assured her. She licked her lips and shook her head, but I quickly shook my head to stop her from saying anything out loud. There were still those side offices, and I thought someone might be in one of them. The way she was looking at me, I was worried she might say something that would give away our inappropriate relationship. "Can I help?" I asked. "Sure," she replied. "Come over here." I walked around the counter and stood next to her at her desk, but she had a massive spreadsheet open on her screen and it just looked like an endless wall of numbers, with a column of names on the left side. I shook my head immediat

I don’t want any trace that I’ve been here. The office is immaculate, everything on his desk precisely arranged. I glance around at the cupboards but feel myself drawn back to the desk. From what I know of Braden, he would keep anything sensitive close. The heavy wooden desk has several drawers, but I focus on the ones I haven’t yet searched. Still something makes me check them once again to be safe.

"I will get you a new chair and a new desk, anything you want, so are you taking the job?" "Yes I will". Going over to the door, he locked it before going over to her, pulled her up, " I think we ought to celebrate by breaking in this office, we will be spending lots of time in here" his mouth came down on hers as he lifted her up into the desk, laying her down he got on top, his hands started undoing the button of her blouse.

Elara pov The soft, amber glow of the setting sun spilled across the high-end mahogany desks of the private executive suite, casting long, peaceful shadows across the room. The hum of the servers in the adjoining tech room had finally quieted down, leaving behind a tranquil silence that felt incredibly rare. On the glass conference table, folders of financial audits, court filings, and decrypted bank transactions sat neatly stacked, a testament to the brutal, exhausting battle they had waged all day.

Paperwork, neatly stacked but endlessly generating, littered the floor and scattered across the wide, mahogany expanse of my desk. My office, occupying the entire top floor of the CazoS tower, felt more like a cage of steel and glass than a workspace. I was busy, finalizing documents that secured a hostile takeover—the kind of work that demanded precision and ruthlessness.

She stumbled out of the room, Anna hot on her heels, continuing the rant I wasn’t going to listen to. I sat back down in my chair, reaching out to straighten a few things, counting down the minutes until the scent in question found me. Trevor walked over to the window and opened it before reaching for the bottle of scotch. If the drama didn’t calm down soon, I was going to have to stash that away. “I am not handling any paperwork that has touched that desk,” he said. I ran my hands through my hair and glanced around, desperately trying not to make eye contact. I bit back a smile to myself when I caught sight of some lace under the desk. “I’ll clean it,” I mumbled.

Was he trying to get a rise out of me? No he actually wanted me here, hence his insistent texting and gloating and fucking hell he looked explosively beautiful. In his study that was surrounded by the shelves of large bookcases, His desk was crafted from tempered glass and brushed steel, creates an impression of effortless elegance. With sleek, angular lines and a floating design, it commands attention while maintaining a sense of openness. The surface is clean, almost seamless, with discreet LED lighting that highlights the sharp edges of the desk, enhancing its modernity.On the desk sits his laptop with a mouse to complement the tech setup his chair black leather.

Three words, quiet and final: "I want eyes on her." Derek's building was glass and clean lines and easy confidence — very Derek, I was learning. He showed me the desk himself. Right outside his double doors, window to the left, morning light coming in at an angle that made the whole space feel open. Good chair. Clean surface. "Manage my schedule, correspondence, the door," he said. "Standard. Nothing unreasonable." I ran my hand along the desk edge. My heart was slamming. Not because of Derek. Not because of the job or the building or any of it.

Oak asks, planting soft kisses down my neck. I shake my head. "No, sir." "I pulled my cock out under my desk and jerked off while I watched you work," he breathes, making my nipples harden at the filthy mental picture he's painting. "I came all over the underside of my desk thinking about fucking you." "Are you serious?" I ask, my thighs clenching around him at the mere idea that he was so desperate for me even then that he couldn't control himself.

Wesley sat behind his sleek mahogany desk, the light from his computer casting a soft glow on his chiselled features. He had been working late into the evening, his mind consumed with numbers and spreadsheets. It was then that he heard the familiar "ping" of a new email arriving in his inbox.