Chapter 2: The Accidental Peek - Office Temptation
The Vega Grande rose from the desert like a mirage of black glass and twisted steel, its apex piercing the relentless blue Nevada sky. Divakar’s corner office occupied the top floor, a silent kingdom overlooking the endless neon scroll of the Strip. It had been three weeks. Three weeks of eighteen-hour days, of negotiations that tasted like blood and dust, of smiling for cameras with Shanaya’s hand a cool, steady weight in his. The fissure from the jet seemed buried under a thousand details, a thousand decisions. He almost believed it was healed.
Almost.
The morning had started with a brutal, necessary workout in the building’s subterranean gym—a punishing session of weights and bag work meant to purge the lingering ghosts of the night. The deal was finalizing. The board was happy. Shanaya had found a preschool for Riya that she loved. The email he’d sent rejecting Gabi Sterling had never been acknowledged, and he’d assumed the matter was closed. A momentary lapse, corrected.
He stood now under the blistering spray of his private office shower, the black marble enclosure steaming. The water beat against his skull, his shoulders. He braced his hands against the cool wall, head down, watching the suds and sweat spiral into the drain. His body hummed with a tired ache, his mind blissfully empty of everything but the heat and the pressure.
The door clicked open.
A draft of cooler, cologne-scented air whispered in. He didn’t turn. It was probably Arjun, his head of security, with an update. “Give me five,” he said, his voice gruff.
“Oh, my god. I’m so sorry.”
The voice was all wrong. British. Smooth. Apologetic, but without real panic. Divakar turned.
Gabi Sterling stood just inside the bathroom, one hand on the door handle. She wore a cream-colored pencil skirt that hugged the pronounced curve of her hips and a silk blouse unbuttoned one notch too low. Her blonde hair was in a sleek ponytail. Her eyes, a cool, assessing emerald green, weren’t on his face. They were locked lower, taking in the water sluicing over his chest, his stomach, down to the clean shaved area between his legs. Where his cock, stirred from the heat and the sudden shock of her presence, was thickening, lifting from its resting state against his thigh.
He made no move to cover himself. A strange, cold calm settled over him. “Get out.”
She didn’t. Her breath hitched, a tiny, audible sound. Her teeth sank into her full lower lip. Her gaze was fixed, mesmerized, on his growing erection. “I… I was bringing the finalized Nevada gaming licenses. They just arrived by courier. The door was ajar…” Her explanation trailed off as his hand, moving almost of its own volition, reached down. He wrapped his fingers around his shaft, giving himself a slow, firm stroke. It was a challenge, a fucked-up test of boundaries. He was fully hard in seconds, jutting out, heavy and erect under her blatant stare.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said, his voice low. He continued to stroke himself, a lazy, hypnotic rhythm. “I withdrew the offer.”
A flicker of a smile touched her mouth. “Your head of HR never followed up. I assumed the silence was a negotiation tactic.” She took a step further in, letting the door sigh shut behind her. The lock engaged with a soft, final click. “I took the initiative. Started work last Monday. You’ve been… preoccupied.”
He remembered now. Vague memos about “new COO onboarding.” He’d been buried in financing sheets. He’d dismissed it. The betrayal from his own team was a distant, secondary irritation. The primary sensation was the heat in his groin, the obscene thrill of her hungry eyes on him, and the crushing weight of his own hypocrisy. He’d fucked his wife raw to erase this woman’s image, and now here she was, in the flesh, smelling of vanilla and sharp, citrusy gin, watching him jack off in his shower.
“This is a mistake,” he growled, but his hand didn’t stop moving.
“Is it?” She took another step, her heels clicking on the marble. The mirror fogged at the edges, framing them in a haze. She was close enough now that the spray misted the front of her blouse, darkening the silk, making it cling to the pert shape of her breasts. Her nipples were hard points underneath. “You look at me, Mr. Rajput. I see it. Even when she’s on your arm.” She said ‘she’ like a dirty word. “You look. And I look back.”
Her hand came up. Not to touch him, but to her own blouse. She popped another button. Then another. The fabric fell open, revealing a sheer black lace bra struggling to contain full, heavy breasts. Her skin was pale, flawless. “You sent an email,” she whispered, stepping into the edge of the spray, fully dressed, getting drenched. “But you didn’t mean it.”
He should shove her out. He should fire her on the spot. He should think of Shanaya, of Riya, of the shattered bathroom door on the jet and the sound of his wife’s sobs.
Instead, he let go of his cock and reached for her. His wet hand snaked around the back of her neck, crushing her mouth to his. The kiss was a battle—all teeth and invading tongues, a clash of perfumes and hot water. It tasted like betrayal and it was fucking electrifying. She moaned into his mouth, her hands clawing at his shoulders, his back, dropping to clutch at his ass, pulling him against the soaked fabric of her skirt.
He spun her around, pushing her face against the cool, fogged mirror. Her breath fogged a circle on the glass. “You want initiative?” he hissed in her ear, his free hand hiking up her soaked skirt. He found the waistband of her panties, a flimsy lace thing. He didn’t bother pulling them down. He yanked, and the material tore with a sharp rip. She cried out, a sound of pure shock and excitement.
He was rock hard, prodding against her. He spit into his hand, slicked himself roughly, and positioned the broad head at her entrance. She was wet—soaking through the torn lace and her own arousal. He didn’t wait. He didn’t tease. He drove into her with one brutal, deep thrust, filling her completely, burying himself to the hilt.
“Fuck!” she screamed, her fingers scrambling against the mirror.
He fucked her like he was trying to destroy something. Like he was trying to destroy the part of himself that wanted this. Each slam of his hips drove her body against the glass. The mirror rattled in its frame. His grip on her neck was vise-like, holding her in place as he pounded into her from behind. The room filled with the sounds: the slap of wet skin, the ragged panting, the slick, rhythmic squelch of his cock plunging into her tight, clutching cunt.
“You think you’re clever?” he grunted, pistoning into her. “You think this is a game you win?”
“Yes!” she shrieked, pushing back against him, meeting every thrust. “Oh, god, yes! It is! Fuck me! Fuck me harder!”
He obliged. He reached around, tearing her blouse and bra aside, grabbing a handful of her breast, squeezing the soft flesh brutally. He bent her further over, changing the angle, hitting a spot that made her legs buckle. She was babbling, a stream of filthy, encouraging obscenities in that clipped accent. “Your cock is so big… splitting me open… fuck, I’ve wanted this since I saw your picture… wanted you to use me…”
Her words poured gasoline on the fire in his gut. He was losing himself in the raw, physical truth of it—the incredible tight heat of her, the way her body yielded and fought, the sheer forbidden filth of fucking a stranger in his office while his family was somewhere in this same city. He thought of Shanaya’s knowing eyes, her whispered “I’m scared,” and he fucked Gabi harder, as if he could exorcise that fear through this act of violence.
His climax ripped through him with no warning, a brutal, convulsive eruption. He shoved deep and held there, groaning as he emptied himself into her in hot, pulsing jets. He stayed buried inside her, slumped over her back, breathing like a bellows.
Slowly, the world came back. The sound of the shower. The feel of the wet, ruined silk under his hands. The smell of sex and steam and her perfume.
He pulled out. He turned off the water. The silence was absolute, broken only by their dripping bodies and her shaky exhale.
She turned around, leaning against the mirror. Her clothes were destroyed, her makeup smeared. She looked wrecked, triumphant. A slow smile spread across her face as her eyes dropped to his softening cock, glistening with their mixed fluids. “So,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Do I have the job?”
He stared at her, the reality of what he’d done crashing down with the weight of the building itself. He felt nothing. No satisfaction. No triumph. Just a cold, hollow emptiness. And the certain, grim knowledge that the lock on the gilded cage had just sheared completely off.
From the office beyond the bathroom door, he heard the distinct, sharp click of high heels on polished concrete. Then Shanaya’s voice, light, calling out.
“Divakar? Jaan? I brought you lunch from that place you liked. Are you in here?”
The heels clicked closer, crossing the vast office toward the bathroom door.