illicit affair

My knees touching his, my heart’s pounding loudly in my chest. I’m sitting in an office full of people and all I want to do is rip his clothes off.
He’s doing it on purpose the lip brushing against my ear when he whispers into it. The whispers are pointless, but effective in his mission to drive me insane. The side glances he makes to check it’s working, are way too obvious and the warmth radiating off of him, it’s inviting, Intoxicating. The low hum of his voice, like a serenade.
We’re supposed to be working, we are. He is, I’m not. I can’t it’s too distracting.
He looks still, silent, content. I, on the other hand, look a mess.
I usually block out the desire through the day then let it flood out of me like an overflowing reservoir. But today he’s decided to drive me insane with want. He hands me paperwork lightly brushing his fingers up my arm.
“Asshole” I growl, barely a whisper not loud enough for anyone but him to hear. He smirks, it’s brief and instant. Gone as soon as it’s arrived. But it still happened, I’ll remind him of that later how he broke his ironclad composure at work.
Later, the thought makes me shiver. Later means out of work, at home where we no longer have to pretend. Where we can look at each other, really look.
It’s funny we bring work home with us all the time, but unlike at work we can curl up on the sofa our limbs intertwined, wine in hand and laptops at the ready, and at any moment the laptops and wine get pushed aside.