Sweet Escape 3

My boss Nolan calls me to his office. I get up from my desk and smooth out my clothes before leaving. I knock lightly on his door.

"Hello," he says as I walk in.

His eyes light up, and he greets me with a soft smile.

"Hello, Nicole."

I return the same warmth.

"Helloo."

He gestures toward the couch in his office.

"Please, sit."

He walks over to the door and closes it -- something he never does. It catches me off guard. He approaches slowly, our eyes locked, our smiles growing. Then he sits beside me, paperwork laid out on the coffee table in front of us.

He picks up a form.

"It's about your retirement plan. I got a few quotes -- this one's the best," he says, flipping the page and pointing to the figures.

But I can't concentrate -- not on the numbers, not on the plan. I'm watching him. The way he talks, how confident he is. How effortlessly handsome.

I place my hand over his to pause him, my touch lingering longer than necessary. He stops talking. I can feel his eyes on me. Slowly, I slide my hand away, allowing my touch to burn into his skin.

He clears his throat and moves on to the next document, this time leaning closer, brushing his arm against my leg. Like a chess match -- every move subtle but loud in silence.

Instead of looking at the page, I look at him. Our eyes meet and hold in that comfortable silence. He sets the papers aside.

"You drive me crazy," he says softly.

He reaches out, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, trailing down my neck. His look shifts -- desire simmering behind those careful eyes.

I lean in, close enough to feel his breath, close enough for him to close the gap. And he does -- his kiss is deep, hungry, full of longing. More intoxicating than I ever imagined.

My hand moves behind his neck, fingers tangled in his hair. We pause briefly, both of us catching our breath, silently asking if this is real -- if we're really doing this. Then another kiss -- softer, more certain. Lips to chin, chin to neck, neck down to chest. A soft breath escapes me. My skin tingles.

I feel wet. I want more.

He looks at me -- eyes wandering from mine to my lips, down my neck, stopping at the curve of my cleavage. He plants a kiss on my breast. I push him back playfully, straddle his lap, and kiss him again.

"There's the wildness I saw in you," he murmurs, grinning.

I bite my lip, teasing.

"Oh yeah? How?"

His gaze is deep, reverent.

"I see you, Nicole. I see you."

Those words ignite something in me. I kiss him harder. The air is electric.

His bulge presses against me -- hard, demanding. I can't help myself. I move against him, hips rolling gently. My soaked thong clings to me. He moans into my mouth, then pulls back and starts sliding the straps of my dress off my shoulders -- slow, intentional, like he's unwrapping a gift he's wanted for far too long.

He pauses to take me in.

"Wow..." he breathes. "You're beautiful."

I blush, smile, and kiss him softly. My fingers move to his shirt, unbuttoning one button at a time, feeding the anticipation. We press into each other again, warm, wanting. I shift up slightly, still kissing him, and start to undo his belt... then the button... then his zipper.

He stops me. Looks into me with care.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," I respond with a smile.

He kisses me again, slower this time, his lips lingering like he's memorizing the taste of me. Our movements sync, not rushed--just deep, like we've both waited lifetimes for this. His body enters mine with a soft gasp escaping my mouth. The world melts away. It's just us, skin against skin, heartbeats echoing each other's rhythm. Each thrust is a whisper, each breath a confession.

His hands cradle my face, his forehead pressing against mine.

"You feel like home," he murmurs.

I close my eyes and let myself fall--into the moment, into him.

We stay like that, tangled and trembling, riding waves of pleasure that build from our connection, not just desire. And when the peak comes, it crashes through us like a tide--leaving behind nothing but soft breaths and quiet awe.

His arms pull me in as if he's trying to keep a part of me inside him. We don't speak at first. We just breathe. He strokes my back with the gentleness of someone holding something precious. Eventually, he lifts his head and looks at me, smiling like he's in a dream he doesn't want to wake up from.

"Come," he says, softly. He helps me up, still tender, kissing my forehead. He grabs tissues and helps me clean up, taking care of me like I'm sacred. He gives me water, his hand brushing my cheek while I drink.

Then he wraps his arms around me again, grounding me in that stillness. The kind that follows a storm. The kind that says this meant something.

After a moment, he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright... back to business," he says playfully, though his eyes are far from businesslike.