Late at Night (erotica)

Late at night, I’m still in my office, doing the corporate budget, deep in the details. I barely notice the cleaners going back and forth. I hear the swish of fabric and ignore it. There’s too much to do. Then something wafts into my office, something floral and a little bit spicy. Jasmin? Cinnamon? It barely registers.

But a few nights later, it happens again. The swish of fabric and that scent. This time I look up. “What the?” But there’s nobody there. The scent lingers. I feel it swirling around my office, like Paris on a summer night. I shake away the cobwebs and return to work.

For the next few nights, my senses are on high alert. Where are you? Who are you? Then it happens again. I spring to the door of my office and just catch a glimpse of your white coat as you round the corner. Aha, you’re from the lab. I take the stairs down, not really knowing where to go. I get to the R&D floor. As I open the door, out of breath, I catch the faint scent of you, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from.

Breathing heavily, I wander from room to room, starting to feel a little dizzy, until I see light coming from under a door. I open the door and there you are, engrossed in computer reports. I clear my throat. You jump, startled.

“I’m sorry. I thought I was alone,” you smile.

“Were you just up on the F-finance floor?” I stutter. My god, but you’re beautiful.

“Oh yes, our printer is broken. I know it sounds old fashioned, but I work better from paper reports. Can I help you with something?  I’m Lady Inamorata.”

The scent is strong. I feel my arousal growing. But I soldier on. “Nice to meet you. I’m Lyke Maladay, VP Finance. You know we have a no scent policy here, don’t you?”

You’re all smiles and apologies as you get up. You didn’t realize I had a sensitivity. You’ll never let it happen again. You come toward me, as though to usher me out of the office. Was that a flash of cleavage I see between the lapels of your lab coat? My body responds. Through my embarrassment, I see your eyes burning into mine, holding my gaze. I miss the atomizer’s hiss, but I feel the effects of the large dose of perfume. Everything goes hazy, but through it all, your eyes hold mine.

Your voice comes from miles away. How aroused I am. How beautiful you are. How susceptible I am to the perfume of your body.  How much I want you. Need you. Have to have you. How you and your department suffered during the cost cutting, how critical your work is, how much I want you to succeed, how addicted I am to the sound of your voice. How I won’t remember anything about the evening, but how a thought will nag at me about how important finding a new, innovative project is. How I will search until I find your research proposal and how I will get it included in the budget, even if I have to fight for it. And the promise. Oh, the promise. That if I do all these things, I will get the chance to be with you, to work with you, to help and protect you. I’m drifting in a fog of love and arousal until everything goes blank.

Late at night, I’m still in my office, doing the corporate budget. I notice that it’s past midnight. Funny, that. Shaking my head, I grab my coat and head for the door.

© Lyke

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