A Target Above His Collar

Chapter 1

The printer groaned in the corner, spitting out warm pages that smelled of ozone and defeat. Miranda leaned against the filing cabinet, pretending to study a quarterly report. Leo’s scent—clean cotton, cedar, and something earthier, saltier—cut through the sterile office air from ten feet away. He was at his desk, the muscles of his back shifting under his shirt as he typed, a silent, concentrated force.

She traced her own collarbone, the ghost of a touch. Her full lips parted on a silent exhale. A freckle just above his shirt collar held her gaze like a target.

He looked up. Not at the report in her hand, but at her mouth. His brown eyes weren’t playful now; they were serious, dark, stripping her bare against the grey cubicle wall. The hum of the fluorescent lights became a roar in her ears. He said nothing. He didn’t have to. The air between them thickened, charged with every unsaid, filthy thing.

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Chapter 2

The door swung open with a bang, cracking the heavy silence. Mr. Henderson stood there, tie askew, a tablet clutched in his hand. His eyes scanned the room, landing on them.

“There you are. Client emergency. The Vanguard presentation for Tokyo—all the data is corrupt. It needs to be rebuilt from the archived source files. Tonight.”

Miranda straightened, the report slipping slightly in her grip. Leo turned his chair, his face a mask of professional calm. “Of course. What’s the scope?”

“Massive. You two are the only ones who know the system architecture well enough.” Henderson’s gaze flicked between them. “It’s a solo job, but it’s too much for one person. You’ll have to tag-team it. The building will be empty. Security will be notified you’re here.” He dropped the tablet on Leo’s desk. “Get it done. I need it by 7 AM.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving a vacuum filled only by the hum of the servers in the adjacent room.

Miranda let out a shaky breath. “Well.”

Leo leaned back, the leather of his chair groaning. He didn’t look at the tablet. He looked at her. “Alone all night,” he said, his voice low. “That’s a dangerous assignment, Miranda.”

“Is it?” She pushed off the filing cabinet, her heart hammering against her ribs. The playful facade was gone, burned away by his direct stare. “We’re professionals.”

“We are.” He stood, closing the distance between them in two slow strides. The scent of him was overwhelming now. “But professionals can have urgent needs, too.”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. The air between them wasn’t charged anymore; it was liquid, thick with promise.

“Tell me you don’t feel it,” he murmured, his brow furrowed with a seriousness that stole her breath. “Tell me to boot up the workstation and get to work.”

She couldn’t. The words were ash in her mouth. Instead, a single, reckless syllable escaped. “Leo.”

It was permission. It was surrender.

He cupped her face, his thumb brushing the constellation of freckles on her cheekbone. His kiss wasn’t gentle. It was a claim, hungry and deep, swallowing her gasp. Her hands flew to his shoulders, feeling the solid muscle beneath his shirt. He walked her backward until her hips met the edge of his desk, papers scattering to the floor.

When he broke the kiss, they were both breathing hard. “The files can wait,” he said, his voice rough.

“They can wait,” she echoed, her fingers already working the buttons of his shirt.

He made quick work of her blouse, his mouth finding the curve of her neck, then lower. He laid her back on the cool, hard surface of the desk, his hands and mouth worshipping every inch of her. His tongue traced a searing path down her stomach, and when he finally tasted her, she cried out, her back arching off the desk. The world narrowed to the stroke of his tongue, to the building, coiling tension deep in her core.

He pulled her to the edge, turning her onto her hands and knees right there on the office floor. The position was primal, exposing. He entered her from behind in one slow, devastating push, filling her completely. A ragged moan tore from her throat.

“This,” he grunted, his hands gripping her hips, setting a relentless, deep rhythm. “This is what we’ve been working toward all day.”

It was all the dirty talk she needed. The slap of skin, his growled praises in her ear, the feel of him hitting a spot that made her see stars—it built and built, a frantic, shared climb. She felt his control fraying, his movements becoming erratic, urgent.

“Miranda,” he warned, his voice strangled.

It was the sound of her name on his lips that shattered her. The climax ripped through her, a silent, blinding wave that clenched around him, pulling him over the edge with her. He stiffened, a low groan vibrating against her back as his own release spilled hot inside her.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing echoing in the sterile office. He slowly pulled her up, wrapping his arms around her, holding her shaking body against his. He pressed a kiss to her sweaty temple.

“The files,” she whispered into his chest, though she didn’t move.

“Still can wait,” he murmured, his hold tightening.

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Chapter 3

For a full minute after the door clicked shut, neither of them moved. The only sound was the frantic thrum of Miranda’s pulse in her ears. Leo’s arms remained locked around her, his body a rigid wall of heat at her back.

“Did that just happen?” Miranda finally whispered, her voice cracking.

Leo’s chest vibrated with a low, stunned laugh. “He saw us. He definitely saw us.”

“And he just… left.” She slowly turned in his embrace, searching his face. The serious intensity had shifted into something more bewildered. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Leo said, his hands settling on her bare hips, “that the Vanguard files are officially the last thing on Henderson’s mind for us tonight.”

A shaky breath escaped her. “So, we’re… not in trouble?”

“I don’t think getting caught was part of the corporate HR training module,” he said, a hint of his playful smirk returning. He brushed a strand of damp hair from her cheek. “But that look he gave wasn’t anger. It was more like… approval of initiative.”

The absurdity of it hit her, and a startled giggle bubbled up. She covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking. Leo grinned, pulling her closer until their foreheads touched.

“This is insane,” she breathed, the laughter subsiding.

“It is,” he agreed, his tone softening. “And we still have six hours until sunrise.” His gaze dipped to her lips, then back to her eyes. “The question is, what do you want to do with them?”

The charged atmosphere had transformed. The frantic heat was now a slow, simmering burn, banked by the surreal interruption and the unspoken permission it carried. The office, their private arena, felt different now—sanctioned, even.

“I want,” she said, tracing the line of his beard with her finger, “to take my time. Now that we’re not waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

His brown eyes darkened with understanding. “No more rushing.”

“No more rushing,” she echoed.

He took her hand, his thumb stroking her palm. “Then let’s start over. Properly.” He nodded toward the scattered clothes on the floor. “Get dressed. I’ll make us some terrible coffee from the break room.”

“The worst coffee,” she agreed, a genuine smile spreading across her face.

As they moved to gather their things, a new, deliberate tension filled the space between them—a promise of exploration, not explosion. The night stretched ahead, wide open and full of silent, knowing possibility.

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Chapter 4

The coffee was indeed terrible, bitter and scorched. They drank it leaning against the break room counter, the silence now a comfortable, simmering thing. Miranda’s skin still hummed from his touch. Leo watched her over the rim of his mug, his dark eyes tracing the line of her neck, the way her pulse fluttered just beneath her jaw.

He set his mug down with a soft clink. The quiet was heavy with intent. He moved behind her, his chest pressing against her back, his hands coming to rest on her hips. His lips brushed the shell of her ear.

“I’ve thought about this,” he began, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her. “About your ass. It’s so firm, so perfect. I want to fuck it.” His hands slid around to cradle her through her skirt. “I need you to tell me if I can.”

A shiver, hot and liquid, coursed through her. The raw request, spoken with such serious desire, undid her completely. She nodded, turning her head to find his mouth. “Yes,” she breathed against his lips. “God, yes.”

He guided her back to the desk, his movements deliberate. He slowly pulled her up from where she leaned, turning her around and bending her over the cool surface again. His hands gripped the firm curves of her hips, possessive and sure. “Let’s take our time this round,” he whispered, the promise thick in the air.

His mouth was a brand on her spine, tracing each vertebra down to the waistband of her skirt. He peeled her clothes away with a slow reverence that felt more intimate than their frantic first joining. His tongue laved the swell of her ass, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before his mouth moved lower, finding her still wet and swollen from before. He feasted on her with a focused, languid hunger, his fingers spreading her open for his tongue until her knees trembled and desperate, wordless sounds fell from her lips.

Only when she was slick and quivering did his attention return. A slick, cool touch at her entrance—lotion from his desk drawer. He worked a single finger inside her slowly, his other hand stroking her clit in a counter-rhythm that stole her breath. He added a second finger, stretching her with a patient, burning fullness, his mouth on her neck, whispering filth and praise that coiled the tension in her belly impossibly tight.

When he finally pressed the thick head of his cock against her, it was with a controlled, relentless pressure. He pushed past the tight ring of muscle in one slow, devastating inch, burying a groan against her shoulder. He held there, letting her body adjust, clenching wildly around him. Then he began to move, shallow thrusts that deepened with each pass.

The friction was exquisite, a white-hot fullness that rubbed directly against every overwhelmed nerve. His grip on her hips tightened, his thrusts growing harder, deeper, his rhythm fracturing as he chased his own peak. The slap of skin, his ragged breaths, the feel of him so deep inside her—it was too much. Her orgasm detonated, a silent, convulsing wave that clenched and milked him. He roared her name, his body jerking as his own release spilled hot and deep within her, his hips grinding against her until the last pulse faded.

He collapsed over her, his weight a welcome anchor. For long minutes, there was only the sound of their struggling breaths and the distant hum of the city. He finally pulled her up, turning her in his arms to hold her shaking body against his. He kissed her forehead, her closed eyelids, her swollen lips, a silent language of possession and awe. The night outside the windows began to pale into dawn, but inside, wrapped in him, the world was perfectly, finally complete.