Overtime in the office

Everyone says mixing work with play's a bad call, but Johnny and Phoenix don't give a shit tonight. The office is dead quiet, lights half-dimmed, both of them stuck finishing this monster project that's had them wound tighter than a loaded spring all week. Then Phoenix gets this look in her eye, pure trouble, and suddenly every line item on that spreadsheet stops mattering. Clothes hit the floor fast. She climbs onto his desk like she owns it, pulls him between her legs, and the stress melts away in the raw slide of skin on skin. She's soaked, he's rock-hard, and they're fucking like the building could burn down around them. Papers scatter, chairs roll, moans echo off the walls. He bends her over the conference table next, pounds into her until her legs shake, then she spins around, drops to her knees, takes him deep while he grips her hair and curses under his breath. They don't stop till the project's forgotten and the only thing they're finishing is each other—hard, loud, and reckless.