The Assistant’s Secret in the Director’s Office

For Noa, the Velmar Group tower always emptied at the same hour. At eight, the last secretaries gathered their handbags, the guard began his rounds, and the elevators stopped ringing. Then, on the top floor, what had truly kept him in that job for the past year began.

He was twenty-four and had a body he had learned to care for with patience: slim, with a narrow waist, long, hairless legs hidden during the day beneath an immaculate suit. No one in the building suspected what he wore underneath. That afternoon he had put on a black lace set against his skin, stockings that held halfway up his thighs, and above all, the satin ribbon Adrián had given him and that only tied at his neck when they were alone.

Adrián Vega ran the company from the office at the back. Fifty-two years old, tall, broad-shouldered, with gray hair he always combed back. In meetings he was a man of few words and quick decisions; in private, he was something entirely different. It had been he who, months earlier, had noticed the way Noa lowered his gaze when speaking to him, and who turned that reluctance into a game neither of them would ever admit to in daylight.

—Lock the door —Adrián said without looking up from the screen when Noa came in that night.

The click of the latch was enough to quicken his pulse. It was the same signal as always, and his body already knew it: the shallow breath, the heat climbing up his neck, the hands that suddenly didn’t know where to go.

—Come here.

Noa went around the oak desk. Adrián turned his chair, looked him over from head to toe, and, without hurry, loosened his tie. Then he unbuttoned his shirt, button by button, until the lace crossing his chest came into view.

—All day sitting in that meeting, smiling at the investors —Adrián murmured, sliding a finger under the strap—, and all the while you were wearing this.

—I put it on thinking about this moment —Noa admitted softly.

I’ve been waiting for it all afternoon.

Adrián turned him and bent him until his palms rested on the cold wood. He lifted his shirt up his back and unfastened his pants without ceremony, letting them fall to his ankles. The black lace was left in view, taut over his ass. A large, warm hand traced the curve, squeezed it, measured its weight.

—Stay still —he ordered.

Noa obeyed. He felt the brush of beard against his nape, lips descending along his spine, teeth barely biting at his hip. Every caress was slow, calculated, made to make him wait. When he thought he could take no more, Adrián moved the lace aside and replaced his hand with his mouth. The first wet contact made him arch and grip the edge of the desk.

—Please —he begged.

—Please what?

—Please, don’t stop.

Adrián gave a low laugh, a deep sound Noa felt against his skin. He straightened, took his chin, and forced him to turn his head to look at him.

—On your knees.

Noa dropped onto the carpet without hesitation. From below, Adrián seemed even more imposing, his tie loose, his shirt open, his belt already half undone. He ran his thumb over Noa’s lower lip, and Noa opened his mouth before he was asked. What followed was slow at first, a firm hand at his nape setting the rhythm, the orders barely whispered. Noa closed his eyes and gave himself over to the task, the only one in which he felt exactly where he wanted to be.

—Look at me —Adrián demanded, and he lifted his gaze without stopping.

Adrián set the pace unhurriedly, pausing every time he noticed him getting too close, pulling back for a second only to see him open his eyes and seek him out. He liked that power, the power of rationing another’s pleasure as though managing a budget. And Noa liked giving it to him, though he would never say so in those words in broad daylight.

—You’re insatiable —Adrián murmured, brushing his thumb over his flushed cheek—. No one in this company would imagine it.

—That’s the point —Noa replied with a limp smile.

They stayed like that until Adrián gently pulled away, not because he wanted to stop, but because he had other plans. He lifted him by the arms and, with almost no effort, sat him on the desk, sweeping aside a folder of reports that fell to the floor without either of them paying it any mind.

***

—Do you know how many times I thought about this during today’s meeting? —Adrián said, parting his legs and positioning himself between them—. You taking notes, so proper, so formal. And me knowing what you were hiding.

—Tell me —Noa asked, wrapping his legs around Adrián’s hips, the stockings still on.

—I’d rather show you.

The first thrust stripped him of all composure. Noa threw his head back and clung to Adrián’s forearms while he advanced slowly, giving him time, watching his face to measure every reaction. When he was fully inside, he paused for a moment, letting Noa adjust, before beginning to move with a deep, steady rhythm.

The desk creaked with every thrust. The lamp trembled. Noa tried to bite back the sound rising in his throat, but Adrián took his chin.

—You don’t have to stay quiet in here —he told him—. The floor is empty. It’s just you and me.

And then Noa stopped holding back. Every удар made him gasp, every change in angle made him tremble. Adrián held him by the hips, pulled him against himself, set the rhythm with a confidence that completely unraveled Noa. There was something in surrendering to him, in ceasing to decide, that released him in a way nothing else ever could.

—Turn around —Adrián ordered.

Noa turned on the desk, pressing his chest against the wood, offering himself. Adrián entered him again in one stroke, this time without the patience of before. He caught his wrists behind his back with one hand and with the other held his nape down against the surface. The new position opened him wider, made him feel every centimeter, and Noa began to repeat his name as if it were the only thing he remembered how to say.

—That’s it —Adrián growled, leaning over him until he could speak in his ear—. This is what you are when the door closes.

—I’m yours —Noa replied, and he meant it.

The words seemed to ignite something in Adrián. The rhythm became relentless, the sound of skin against skin filled the office, papers slid off the edge one after another. Noa felt the orgasm building at the base of his spine, growing without anyone touching him, fed only by friction and by the weight of the body mastering him.

—I can’t take it anymore —he panted.

—Not yet —Adrián ordered—. Wait until I say so.

Noa gritted his teeth and obeyed, though his legs were trembling and the stockings had slipped down to his knees. Adrián drove him to the edge three times, stopping just before, savoring the power of making him wait. Only when his own breathing broke and his fingers dug into Noa’s hips did he give permission.

—Now.

It was like letting go of a rope stretched taut for hours. Noa came with a long moan, his whole body shaking, his nails scraping the wood. Adrián followed a moment later, plunging in to the hilt, holding him tightly while the last shudder went through him.

***

For a while they didn’t move. Adrián was still bent over his back, both their hearts beating into the silence of the office. Then he straightened, helped him sit up, and brushed the damp hair from his forehead with a tenderness that contrasted with everything before.

—Stay still —he said.

He took a handkerchief from the drawer and cleaned him unhurriedly, pulled up his stockings, adjusted the neck ribbon that at some point had loosened. Noa let him, still loose-limbed, with that strange calm he only ever knew after being with him.

—Are we traveling to the conference next week? —Noa asked, buttoning his shirt.

—I booked a single room —Adrián replied, tying his tie again in front of the window’s reflection—. I hope that doesn’t bother you.

—Not at all.

Noa picked up the folders from the floor, arranged them on the desk as if nothing had happened, and straightened his jacket until he once again looked like the impeccable assistant he always was. In the elevator, as they rode down all thirty floors together in silence, Adrián kept his hands in his pockets and his gaze forward, just like any other night.

But on the ground floor, just before the doors opened, he brushed his back with two fingers. A tiny signal, invisible to anyone else, which Noa understood perfectly. Tomorrow there would be another meeting, another line of investors, another day of proper smiles and immaculate suits. And tomorrow, when the latch clicked again, the two of them would know exactly who each was behind the closed door.