Need.

Maybe its desire.

The loud thud beating like a drum against my chest is just an echo of desire.
He crouches behind me, his hand resting gently on my shoulder, as he reads the report on my laptop. The hairs on the back of my neck reach out for more, in dire strain. I hear him comment on my report, but I am unable to take his words in.
The room is cool, yet my body is plastered to my dress, sweat tracing pathways down my back.

He leans in, correcting my horrendous spelling. His head is right next to mine.
My eyes hover over the sentences. They look almost blurry now. I wonder if he can smell my anxiety, or my fear, or my never-wilting need of him. Maybe he can smell my Lancôme La Vie Est Belle scent. It’s a whole lot of modest “maybe’s”.
“It looks fine to me. I think a few changes in your sentence structure here and here should work”, he says pointing at my laptop screen.
Dizzy with desire, I nod enthusiastically.

Do you know? Do you know the thoughts travelling endlessly through my mind?
Strands of my hair stick to my face. Its safe to say I am a melting mess. His hand which gripped my shoulder earlier, now brushes it gently. My eyes dance around the room, wondering if the others can see the exchange taking place right now. They all seem to be drowning in their own business, with mentally heightened fences, unable to see what’s going on. I pace my breathing, in-out-in-out-in-out, matching the rhythm of the strokes his hand makes across my shoulders. Its slight, almost unnoticeable, but my inner thighs feel the impact most.

Oblivious to the people around the room, his head drops next to mine, still staring at my laptop screen, and an almost-whispering voice escapes his lips. “What part of you is aches for me?”
“I’ll take that as a rhetorical question”, I respond, feeling the roughness in my throat. I’m parched. There is a bottle of water right next to my laptop, but my arms are paralysed. He has taken control of every inch of my body.
His hand moves towards the back of my neck, carefully tracing pathways of lust, of what could happen if we just unlock the door we have been fighting to keep closed. “Watch your hand. There are people around”, I say, adjusting myself in the chair.
“Let them see”, he chuckles, as he moves the laptop screen closer to me, almost blocking people from seeing our little exchange. He looks at me. I can feel his eyes dancing all over my body, eyeing everything. He tilts his head, trying to get me to look at him. I give in and look at him. My eyes are slightly opened- “bedroom eyes” is what I call this. I blink slowly, looking down. His alpha male presence envelopes me and at this point I am unbothered about my surroundings.

His other hand rests on my thigh, toying with my dress between his fingers. The burgundy-coloured chiffon material falls victim to his fingers. He pulls the dress up slightly, giving his hand room to move beneath. My soft skin moves as the weight of his hand manoeuvres through, to my inner treasure, hidden from him. I slouch on the chair, opening my legs for him. I look down at him, with a smirk on my face, eyes almost closed. I feel dizzy.

His hand reaches the fabric door of my treasure. He doesn’t knock. I guess he doesn’t need to. Instead, he moves the fabric to the side, unveiling me, leaving my lips bare for him.
“Let me get in a room alone with you and I won’t hold back like this”, he says, breathing heavily.
His fingers are greeted with a fountain of moisture hidden between my lips. His index finger travels through it, intrigued by what awaits it. Jolts of pleasure attack me. My lungs succumb to the heavy breathing. A slow rhythm begins. He looks at me drip but my mind is the diamond. That’s how we got to this in the first place. Our minds are too dangerous for each other and we have been using modesty as a weapon to shield us from moments like this. I gave him a chance with my mind and now my body has surrendered.

The rhythm of his fingers inside of me plays a tune I could never truly repeat, even on my good days. He knows the tune by heart even though it’s the first time his fingers have played on such strings. My thighs suffocate his hand. My head tilts back and I stare at the ceiling. Every few seconds the room goes dark, as my lids envelope my eyes. I can’t keep them open for long. I guess I am transcending into his world. I let out a soft moan as his finger curls inside of me. Drunk with desire. He removes his finger, sliding it down my thigh and leaving traces of wetness. His hand lowers my dress, straightening it out. It looks untainted, like he never did any damage to begin with.

I am weak.
I guess this is what happens when he fucks your mind first.
“I guess we have opened the door we fought to keep closed”, he says, getting up and brushing his lips against my ear.

I need him.