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Perhaps

The elevator closes.
Half a foot of heavy, unopenable door sealing us in.
We're alone.
You don't have a key.

For 20 floors, you're mine.
You're within arms reach.

Your hair's long.
Long enough to grab.
I could dart my hand forward, fingers entwining.
Grip tightening, I could force your face against the wall.

You're small.
Small enough to overpower.
I could press my body against yours, pinning your frame.
I could make you feel my ragged breathing on your neck.

Your wrists are thin.
Thin enough for one hand.
I could catch your protesting limbs.
Fingers flexing, I could chuckle into your ear over your meager resistance.

Your voice is yours.
But I could twist it.
I could sink my teeth into your flesh.
I could make you wimper or scream.

For 20 floors, you're mine.
You're within arms reach.

Perhaps.

Perhaps next time.