##elevator doors closing## The lift doors closed with a soft metallic thud and the bright overhead lights made my white mini dress feel almost too tight, clinging to the curve of my waist and the swell of my chest so that the low neckline showed a generous amount of cleavage with every breath.
##elevator moving## The hem sat high on my thighs, the fabric pulling slightly when I shifted my weight in the high heels, and I had to resist the urge to tug it down again. The man in the elevator had no idea.. I was wearing it... for him...
Callum Voss stood opposite me, jacket open over a crisp shirt, phone in one hand. I had known his name for weeks from the small plaque on his office door. We had never spoken but to confess I'd wanted to for months would be an understatement.
He glanced up from his phone once, eyes moving slowly over my dress before returning to his screen, and the silence between us felt thicker than it ever had on the way up.
I watched the numbers climb and tried to keep my breathing even.
##elevator emergency## The lights cut out without warning and the lift jerked to a sudden stop between floors. A thin red emergency strip glowed along the ceiling, turning the white dress pale and luminous against my skin in the sudden dark. My breath caught hard in my throat. I pressed back against the wall, one heel slipping on the smooth floor, and a small, startled sound left me before I could stop it.
“Oh my.. um.. what's happening?!”
Callum looked up at once, phone forgotten.
“Just the power,” he said, voice low and steady, as though he were used to calming people in tight spaces. “They’ll sort it.”
I shook my head, eyes wide in the red glow. The walls felt closer with every second. Without quite deciding to move I took a step toward him, then another, until my shoulder brushed the sleeve of his suit and the scent of clean cologne reached me.
“I.. I.. Don’t… like being stuck.”
He didn’t step away. Instead he shifted slightly so I could lean more easily, one hand coming to rest lightly at my elbow, warm through the fabric of the suit. When the lift gave another tiny shudder I made a panicked, involuntary noise and pressed closer to him, my forehead almost against his chest, fingers curling into the front of his shirt without asking. The cotton was warm from his body. I could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath my hand.
That was when I felt it.
A firm, unmistakable bulge against my hip, right where my dress had ridden a little higher. Heat rushed to my face even in the dim red light. I should have moved back. Instead I stayed exactly where I was, thighs pressed tightly together, the thin white fabric doing nothing to hide how suddenly aware I had become of every point where we touched.
My cleavage rose and fell in a quickened pace.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured, the words close to my hair, tone quieter than before and edged with something careful.
“Am I?” I managed, the question coming out smaller and more uneven than I intended.
His palm slid from my elbow to the small of my back, broad and steady, holding me there as though it were the most natural thing in the world. I let him. In the emergency light I could see the open collar of his shirt and the pulse at the base of his throat, steady and visible. My own hand stayed fisted in the cotton, knuckles brushing warm skin beneath. When I shifted my weight the bulge pressed more firmly against me and a quiet sound slipped out, half gasp and half something I had not meant to let him hear.
“I’ve got you,” he said, though his voice had roughened noticeably. “If you want.”
“Have you?” I whispered back, the words coming out hesitant and almost coquettish despite the tremor still in them. “Yes... You've.... got me." i sighed. His words cutting through me in a way he surely didn't know.
His hand tightened at my waist. The dress had no give; every breath I took made the fabric drag slowly across my skin. I felt the heat of his palm through it, fingers spreading as though he were learning the shape of me in the dark, and the sensation made my body tingle.
“Tell me… if you want me to stop,” he said, almost against my temple, the request quiet and deliberate, each word careful yet laced with a warm, confessional tone.
I didn’t answer. Instead I turned my face so my lips brushed the edge of his jaw, a barely-there touch that still made him inhale. My free hand found his, the one at my waist, and guided it lower until his fingertips rested on the bare skin just above the hem of the dress. The contact was light, almost polite. Heat moved through me, low and insistent.
“I’ve… um... seen you,” I said, the admission hesitant, almost shy, the words stumbling a little. “Leaving. Most evenings.”
His thumb stroked once along the top of my thigh, slow enough that I felt every inch of it. I arched just enough for the dress to shift, the neckline dipping lower. His breathing caught.
“Yeah,” he answered, voice rough and low. “I’ve seen you too... A lot.”
“You have?”
“Hard not to,” he said, quieter still, the honesty plain in the way he held me, the smile in his voice telling me everything.
He answered by drawing me fully against him, both arms settling around me so the bulge pressed unmistakably between us, firm and warm through the thin fabric of my tight dress. I let my hands wander up his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart under the suit, then higher to the open collar. My fingers brushed the warm skin at his throat.
He made a quiet sound, half restraint and half something deeper, and one of his hands slipped beneath the hem at last, palm cupping the back of my thigh, lifting just enough that I rose onto my toes in the heels.
The dress rode higher. Cool air touched skin that had been covered only moments before. I whimpered, the sound small and involuntary, and pressed my mouth to the side of his neck because it felt safer than looking at him in the red light.
“Callum…right?”
He stilled at the use of his name, then exhaled sharply, the sound almost a disbelieving laugh.
“You know my name?,” he said, tone surprised but warm, not displeased.
“The.. um.. sign,” I admitted against his skin, my words stuttered and a little breathless. “On.. um.. your door.” I confessed, though stopping short of telling him how many times I'd walked past his office hoping to bump into him.
His hand tightened on my thigh, fingers flexing once. The other stayed at my back, holding me steady while the emergency light painted us both in that thin red glow. I could feel how hard he was, how carefully he was keeping still, and the knowledge made my thighs squeeze together inside the tight white fabric.
“If the lights come back,” he said, voice low and rough now, each word deliberate and a little strained, “I won’t… be able to pretend this didn’t happen.”
I lifted my head. In the dimness his eyes were dark and fixed on my mouth. One of my hands had found its way into his hair without my noticing; the other rested over his heart, feeling the quickened beat beneath. The dress felt suddenly too small, too thin, every place we touched burning through it like it didn't exist.
“Then don’t, pretend” I whispered, the words breathy and a little emotional... “Not yet.”
He pushed in closer, mouth a breath from mine, and I rose to meet him. My heels assisting me. His hand slid higher on my thigh, thumb tracing the edge of where the fabric had gathered, and I heard myself make a sound that was pure want.
For the longest moment the whole lift seemed to hold its breath with us, the red light steady, the heat between our bodies the only thing that mattered.
Then.. the floor lurched.
##elevator moving## The main lights flared back on without warning, bright and clinical. The lift began to move. We sprang apart as though burned, though his hand lingered a second longer at my waist before dropping away. I tugged the hem of the dress down with shaking fingers, colour high in my cheeks. He straightened his jacket, breathing hard, eyes still on me as though he could not quite look away.
##elevator door opening## The doors opened on a floor that wasn’t mine.
A woman with a stack of files stepped in, glanced between us once, and pressed the button without comment. The silence felt enormous. I kept my gaze on the numbers, thighs pressed tight together, the memory of his palm still warm on my skin, the bulge I had felt still vivid in my mind.
##elevator door opening## ##office sounds## When the doors opened again on my floor I stepped out on unsteady heels, trying to compose myself and failing, one hand smoothing the dress while my pulse raced.
He followed.
“Tessa,” he said quietly behind me, voice low enough that only I would hear, the use of my name making me turn sharply. His mouth curved, not quite a smile. “Stairs are quieter. After ten. If you still… want to time it.”
I opened my mouth, closed it again, words failing me.
The lift doors slid shut on the heat still written across his face.
My hand was already reaching for the stairwell door, and I had not yet decided whether I would wait for him or not.
