May You Live Until You Die ⚡

The winter air bit at your cheeks as you walked toward the office building, your outfit looking perfectly innocent to any passerby. Beneath the thick knit of your sweater and the modest drape of your skirt, you felt dangerously exposed; the lack of underwear was a secret that thrummed against your skin with every step. Your phone sat heavy in your pocket, a silent reminder of the scandalous photos you’d sent Lars only hours ago.

When you reached his cubicle, the professional atmosphere felt suffocatingly tight. Lars was staring at his monitor, but the moment you approached, his posture stiffened. He didn't look at the lunch bag you placed on his desk; instead, his eyes raked over you, dark and heavy with the frustration you had spent all morning cultivating.

Without a word, he stood, his chair scraping harshly against the floor. He grabbed your hand, his grip firm and possessive, pulling you toward the back hallway where the supply closets lay in shadow.

"You're a menace,"

He pulled you into the cramped, dim supply closet, the door clicking shut with a finality that made your heart leap. The scent of paper and cleaning supplies was instantly overwhelmed by the heat radiating from him. Lars didn't waste time; he backed you against a shelf of binders, his hands sliding down to your thighs.

"Those photos..." he rasped, his breath hot against your neck as he felt the smooth, bare skin where your tights met your thighs. "They've been driving me insane all morning. And now you show up looking like this?"

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your skirt, tugging it up. The cool air of the closet hit your bare skin, making you shiver, but the heat of his touch was far more intense. He groaned, his forehead dropping against yours as he realized you were just as undone as he was.

"I have twenty minutes before I'm expected back," he muttered, his voice thick with a desperate, focused hunger. "And I'm going to spend every second of it making you regret being so reckless."

Lars didn't give you a chance to answer. With a sudden, powerful movement, he hooked his hands under your thighs and hoisted you upward. You let out a soft, muffled gasp as your back hit the cold metal shelving, the impact jolting through your spine. He braced himself, one hand gripping the edge of the shelf for leverage while the other squeezed your ass, his fingers digging into your soft flesh with a possessive strength.

"God, you're so soft," he growled, his eyes searching yours in the dim light. He leaned in, his nose brushing against yours, his breath hitching as he felt the heat radiating from you.

He began to work at the hem of your skirt, his movements frantic yet purposeful. The friction of his palms against your skin sent sparks through your nerves, and you found yourself clinging to his shoulders, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist to pull him even closer.

"You wanted this, didn't you?" he whispered, a dark, knowing smirk playing on his lips before he pressed his mouth to yours.

The man you had been dating for months was a quiet, gentle soul who always held the door open and spoke in soft, measured tones. But this Lars this version of him that was currently crushing you against the shelving was a stranger. He was primal, unyielding, and driven by a raw, dark hunger that made your blood sing.

You leaned your head back, a low moan escaping your throat as his hands moved with a newfound, aggressive confidence. The contrast between the shy man who brought you flowers and this man who was currently devouring your mouth was intoxicating. You loved the danger of it; you loved seeing the cracks in his polished, professional exterior.

"Lars..." you breathed, your fingers digging into the fabric of his dress shirt, pulling him closer.

"Don't call me that," he growled, his teeth grazing your jawline as he fumbled with his belt, his movements frantic and uncoordinated. "Not right now. Not when you're looking at me like that."

He fumbled with his trousers, his breathing coming in jagged, uneven hitches that betrayed just how much he was struggling to maintain control. When he finally freed himself, the air in the small closet felt like it was vibrating with the tension between you.

Lars gripped your hips with bruising force, pulling your legs even wider around his waist. He didn't ease in; he drove into you with a single, punishing thrust that knocked the breath from your lungs. Your head hit the shelf with a soft thud, and you bit your lip to keep from screaming his name, your eyes wide and glazed with pleasure.

"Tell me," he hissed, his eyes dark and predatory as he began a heavy, rhythmic pounding that made the metal shelves rattle. "Tell me you meant every single word in those texts."

You could only nod, your body arching against him as he reclaimed the dominance he had been suppressing all day, his movements becoming faster, more desperate, and utterly unyielding.

The rhythmic thud of his hips against yours sent a shudder through the entire shelving unit. Binders slid precariously, and a stack of paperweights rattled dangerously against the metal. Panicked by the noise, you reached out, your fingers white-knuckled as you gripped the edge of the shelf for stability.

You buried your face into the crook of his neck, seeking refuge in the scent of his skin. Every time a cry threatened to burst from your throat, you stifled it against his collarbone, turning your moans into low, vibrating hums that were lost against his skin. The muffled sounds only seemed to fuel him; he leaned into your touch, his teeth grazing your shoulder as he drove deeper.

"Good girl," he rasped, his voice a rough vibration against your ear as he felt you trembling. He increased the tempo, his hands sliding from your ass to the shelf to anchor you both as the small space became a blur of heat and friction.

Your legs, wrapped tightly around his waist, swayed uncontrollably with the sheer force of his momentum. The sensation was overwhelming, a dizzying pendulum of heat and pressure. Releasing your white-knuckled grip on the shelf, you reached out to cling to him, your arms winding around his neck as you pulled his burning body flush against yours.

"Honey... Lars, god..." you whimpered into his skin, your voice a broken, breathy plea. The name felt heavy on your tongue, a desperate anchor in the storm of pleasure he was conjuring.

Lars let out a guttural sound, something between a groan and a snarl, as he felt your walls tighten around him. He didn't slow down; instead, he gripped the undersides of your thighs, hoisting you higher to change the angle, driving into you with a final, frantic intensity that made the entire closet feel like it was spinning.

"Stay with me," he choked out, his eyes blown wide and dark, focused entirely on the way you were coming undone beneath him.

The end came with a violent, shattering intensity. You arched your back, your fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders as a silent scream died in your throat against his neck. Your entire body convulsed, your internal muscles clenching around him in rhythmic, desperate waves that pulled a choked, primal roar from Lars's chest.

He buried his face in your hair, his movements turning heavy and sluggish as he spilled into you, his body trembling with the force of his own release. For a long moment, the only sound was the frantic, uneven thudding of two hearts fighting to find their rhythm again.

As the adrenaline began to recede, the reality of the situation rushed back. The silence of the office outside the door felt heavy. Lars slowly lowered you back to your feet, his hands lingering on your waist as he helped you adjust your clothing. He looked down at your thighs, where your tights were now snagged and torn, a messy testament to the last ten minutes.

"We have ten minutes," he whispered, his voice still wrecked, his eyes scanning your flushed face with a terrifyingly smug warmth. "Fix your hair. I'll see you at the desk."

You leaned against the cool metal of the shelf, your legs feeling like jelly as you tried to steady your breathing. Your heart was still hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. With trembling hands, you pulled your skirt down and attempted to smooth out the ruined tights, the jagged tears around your thighs a stinging reminder of his hunger.

Lars didn't wait for you to finish. He straightened his shirt, though his fingers were clumsy, and began fastening his belt with a focused, predatory calm. His eyes never left yours, watching you struggle with a look of intense, dark satisfaction.

When he finally turned to the door, he looked nothing like the man who had walked into work that morning. His hair was mussed, his tie hung loosely around his neck, and his face was flushed a deep, telltale crimson. He cracked the door just an inch, glancing out into the hallway before slipping out into the light.

A few minutes later, you emerged from the supply closet, walking with a slight, unsteady wobble in your gait. As you approached his cubicle, you saw him sitting perfectly still, staring at a spreadsheet, though the smug, lopsided grin playing on his lips told a completely different story.

As you approached the cubicle, you caught the eye of a coworker passing by. Instantly, the predatory heat in Lars's gaze vanished. He blinked, his shoulders dropping into a relaxed, unassuming slouch as he suddenly became the picture of professional focus. The dark, commanding man from the closet was gone, replaced by the quiet, slightly awkward Lars everyone knew.

He adjusted his hair and stared intently at his monitor, his expression becoming neutral, almost studious. The only giveaway was the way his tie sat slightly crooked and the faint, lingering flush on his cheekbones that no amount of office lighting could mask.

"Oh, hey," he said, his voice regaining that gentle, soft-spoken quality as he looked up at you, offering a small, polite smile that felt entirely too innocent. "Did you... did you find everything okay? I'm sorry, I was just finishing up this report."

The mask was perfect. But as your eyes met his for a split second, you saw that tiny, wicked glint in his eyes a silent, smug promise of what was coming when the office lights finally went out.

Authors note: this is so bad I’m sorryyyeehehhh let me know if you want to be added to the tag list