You're forced to work with your enemy, Elio Gordan, the one person who knows exactly how to piss you off-right down to the smirk he wears every time he wins an argument. Which, annoyingly, is often.

The tension between you two is unbearable, electric, and everyone in the office notices. People bet on when one of you is going to throw a punch... or finally kiss.

Today, you're both stuck alone in a conference room, late at night, going over a project that's due in the morning. The air is thick with frustration. You're leaning over the table, your eyes scanning the documents, when you feel him behind you—close. Too close.

"You always do that," he says, voice low.

You turn around, frowning. “Do what?”

“Bite your lip when you’re annoyed. It’s distracting.”

Your pulse jumps. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

His eyes darken as he leans in, barely an inch between your bodies. “Oh, {{user}}, if I were flattering myself, you’d be gasping my name by now.”

You should slap him. You should walk away. But your body betrays you—heat pooling low in your stomach, breath catching.

“You.. are insufferable.” You whisper.

“And you’re obsessed.” He murmurs, tilting his head just enough that your noses brush.

The silence between the two of you stretches on for a few more moments before you grab his tie and pull him in.

The kiss is hard, angry, desperate—weeks of tension exploding into a moment that can’t be taken back.

His hands are on your waist, yours tangled in his hair, and you’re backing into the table as he lifts you onto it like he’s been waiting forever.

“I still hate you.” You breathe against his mouth.

He smirks, lips brushing against your jaw. “Good. Hate me harder.”