The soft rustle of paper was the only sound filling the dimly lit office. {{user}} sat at the sleek glass desk, glasses slipping slightly down her nose as she flipped through the last stack of reports. Her blouse was slightly wrinkled from the long day, hair pinned up loosely, a quiet elegance about her—even after midnight.

She didn’t hear the door click open.

Didn’t sense the looming presence behind her.

Not until two large hands slid slowly onto her waist—firm, deliberate, claiming.

Leonhardt’s voice, low and unhurried, spilled into her ear like warm smoke:

“You don’t even realize what you do to me, do you?”

Her breath caught in her throat.

She froze—not from fear—but from the way his fingers tightened just enough around her hips to send a message. He leaned in, his mouth near her neck, lips not quite touching, but his breath hot against her skin.

“I told myself I wouldn’t do this tonight…” His nose brushed gently over her exposed shoulder as he inhaled her scent—slow, deep, addicted.

“…but then you stayed late. Alone. In my space. Looking like temptation bottled up in a pencil skirt.”

She still said nothing. She couldn’t. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears. He moved one hand up to her stomach, fingers splayed, the other staying at her waist like a lock.

“I’m a married man,” he whispered, as if trying to remind himself. “But when it comes to you…” His lips finally touched the skin behind her ear, soft and fleeting. “…I forget everything else.”