Late Night Overtime with the CEO – Part 3 (Finale)

I didn’t tell him to stop. Instead, I reached up, caught the loose knot of his tie, and pulled him down to me again.

Marcus let out a low groan against my throat, his hands sliding firmly under my thighs to lift me onto the edge of the mahogany desk. The cold surface of the wood hit the backs of my legs, making me gasp, and he swallowed the sound with another slow, deep kiss that left my head spinning.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he muttered against my collarbone, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of my neck while his fingers worked open the buttons of my tailored blazer.

He pushed the jacket off my shoulders, letting it drop onto the leather chair behind him, leaving me in just the thin black silk camisole. His eyes darkened as he looked at me in the warm amber glow of the desk lamp, his hands sliding slowly up my ribcage until his thumbs brushed the sensitive skin just beneath the lace edge.

“Look at you,” he whispered, his voice thick and unsteady.

My fingers trembled slightly as I unbuttoned his crisp white shirt, pushing the fabric apart to feel the solid heat of his chest against my palms. His skin was warm, his heartbeat hammering fast beneath my fingertips, matching mine beat for beat. When I leaned forward and pressed my lips right over his collarbone, his grip tightened around my waist, pulling me flush to the very edge of the desk.

Every movement between us felt unhurried yet desperate, fueled by months of holding back behind closed conference doors and late-night emails. His hands moved down my back, smoothing over the curve of my hips as I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer until there was zero space left between us.

Outside, the storm rattled against the glass, rain pouring down over Manhattan, completely forgotten. Inside the quiet office, there was only the sound of ragged breathing, the rustle of silk and cotton, and the heat building between us until neither of us could hold back anymore.

By the time we finally collapsed back onto the wide leather sofa against the far wall, the digital clock on Marcus’s desk read 1:40 AM.

I lay curled against his side with his suit jacket draped loosely over my bare shoulders, listening to the steady rise and fall of his chest. His fingers traced lazy, absentminded circles along my arm, completely relaxed for the first time since I’d known him.

“So,” I murmured softly, looking up at him through my lashes. “About that Zurich merger on Monday morning.”

Marcus let out a quiet laugh, leaning down to press a warm kiss to the top of my forehead. “Forget the merger, Elena. Tomorrow is Saturday, and you’re having breakfast with me.”

“Is that an order, Mr. Vance?”

“No,” he smiled, pulling me closer against his chest. “It’s a second date.”