Chapter 73

Amelia

I was already late.

The box of updated print materials was heavier than I expected, digging into my hip with every step as I crossed the back hallway toward the freight elevator. The building was unusually quiet, only a few straggling volunteers and junior staff still moving through the halls. Most of the senior team had gone home for the night.

Or so I thought.

The elevator doors were just starting to close when a hand reached between them. They hissed open again.

Richard stepped inside without looking at me.

He pressed the button for the third floor.

I swallowed.

He didn’t say anything, just stood at the other end of the elevator, hands in his pockets, jaw tight. I shifted the box in my arms, hyperaware of his presence. Every nerve in my body lit up the moment the doors closed.

We started moving.

Then, as we passed the second floor, he turned and hit the emergency stop.

The elevator jolted, lights dimming slightly. We halted mid-floor, caught in silence.

I didn’t move.

He stepped closer.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice low.

“I was assigned the print delivery.”

His eyes scanned the box, then my face. Slowly. Deliberately.

“Convenient,” he murmured.

He was in front of me before I could reply, crowding me against the back wall of the elevator. His mouth hovered over mine, the heat of his breath making my knees weak.

“I missed you.”

“We saw each other four hours ago,” I whispered.

He raised a brow. "And you’re not already thinking about what would’ve happened if we’d been alone for five of them?"

I didn’t answer.

Instead, I let the box fall to the floor with a thud.

His mouth crushed mine, all heat and urgency and barely-contained need. My back hit the elevator wall with a dull thunk. He didn’t hesitate. His hands were under my shirt, tugging my bra down, exposing me to the cool air.

He bent, sucking one nipple into his mouth while his hands yanked my pants down past my knees. I hissed, the sound ricocheting off the walls. He dropped to his knees, grabbed my thighs, and buried his face between my legs.

"Already so wet for me. You knew what you were doing bringing that box down here."

I braced one hand against the mirrored panel, the other threading into his hair as he licked me, slow and deep, like he had all the time in the world. I bit my lip to keep from moaning out loud.

"You're shaking already," he murmured, breath hot against me. "You like being caught, don’t you? Having to stay quiet while I make you fall apart."

I whimpered. He wrapped an arm around my thigh and kept going until I was dripping, until I was grinding against his mouth, until I was seconds away.

Then he stood.

His pants were unzipped in seconds. He grabbed my hips and flipped me around, pushing my cheek to the elevator wall. My breath fogged up the mirror as he slid into me from behind with one measured.

“Say it,” he growled into my ear, his body flush against my back.

“Say what?” I gasped.

“That you want it like this. That you love sneaking around. That you love being my dirty little secret.”

“I love it,” I breathed. “I love that you can’t stop yourself. That you’d stop an elevator just to fuck me.”

He groaned and slammed into me harder, one hand gripping my hair, the other between my legs.

“You think I won’t make you scream? In here?” he whispered. “You think I won’t fill you so deep you’ll feel it for days?”

He pounded into me like he meant it. Like he couldn’t get deep enough, couldn’t get close enough. My hands scrambled at the mirrored wall, leaving streaks of sweat and heat.

When I came, I bit down on my own arm to keep quiet. He followed, hips jerking, breath ragged as he buried himself one last time.

We stood there, panting, for a beat.

Then he eased out of me, hands gentle now. He tucked himself away while I shimmied my pants back up, cheeks flushed and chest heaving.

He pulled out a folder from his coat and opened it like we hadn’t just defiled a government elevator.

I fixed my hair in the mirror.

“Back to work, then?” I asked.

He didn’t look up. “Don't know if I can focus after that.”

“Good.”

Adam was waiting by the front reception, leaning against the desk like he had nowhere else to be.

“Print delivery?” he asked.

“Yep,” I said brightly. “Updated precinct layouts and absentee request cards.”

He nodded, but his eyes lingered too long. “You’re hard to find lately.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Hm.”

I forced a smile. “I’ll copy you on the delivery logs.”

Adam didn’t say anything else, but the suspicion in his eyes stayed long after I walked away.

Two days later, I tried to sneak into Richard’s office suite.

Most of the staff had left for the night. The corridors were quiet, lights dimmed.

I moved quickly, folders in hand for cover, my steps careful.

I was just pressing my thumb to the biometric panel when a voice cut through the silence.

“What are you doing?”

Our new Senior Optics Manager, Camille.

I spun around so fast I nearly dropped the folders.

“Oh—hey. I was just… Richard asked me to bring him these.”

She arched a brow. “He asked for sealed folders to be hand-delivered after hours?”

“They’re time-sensitive,” I said, keeping my voice light. “He wanted them directly.”

“What are they?”

“Briefing updates. From the comms team.”

She stepped closer, her arms crossing over her chest. “Let me see.”

Shit.

I hesitated. Then held them out, praying she wouldn’t actually open them.

She didn’t. Just stared at the top one, then back at me.

“I’ll walk you in.”

“No, that’s okay—”

“I insist.”

I smiled tightly. “Of course.”

Inside the suite, I placed the folders on the desk like they were radioactive. Camille’s eyes didn’t leave me for a second.

“Tell him I’ll follow up tomorrow,” she said.

“Will do.”

I left before my sweat could fully soak through my shirt.

That night, the mindlink lit up like fire through my bloodstream.

Review session. Strategy Room. Now.

I didn’t pretend to hesitate.

The room was already locked when I arrived. He opened it from the inside, yanked me in, and slammed it shut behind us.

He backed me against the long table, kissed me hard, then dropped to his knees.

“No time,” I said, but I was already pulling my tights down.

He dragged his tongue over me with an eagerness that made me dizzy.

“You’re soaked,” he muttered between strokes. “You’ve been thinking about this all day, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” I breathed. “I can’t stop.”

“You’re fucking addicted.”

I could only nod, thighs trembling as his fingers joined his mouth.

“I’m going to ruin you,” he whispered. “I’m going to make it so no one else will ever be able to touch you without you crying for me.”

I came fast and hard, slumping against the table.

He stood, unbuckling his belt, eyes glazed. “Turn around. Hands flat. Ass up.”

I obeyed.

He entered me again, rough and full, one hand pressing between my shoulder blades, the other on my clit.

We didn’t speak much after that. Just the sound of bodies meeting, gasps, whispered curses. The table creaked beneath us.

We came together. Shuddering. Wordless.

He rested his forehead against my back for a beat before pulling away.

When I left the room, when I stepped out into the cool night air and started the walk home, my chest felt lighter than it had in days. I couldn’t stop smiling. Every step felt like it hummed with the memory of his touch, his voice, the way he'd looked at me when he came undone.

Dangerous or not, impossible or not, I felt wanted. And that feeling settled deep in my bones, warm and golden and impossible to shake.