Earlier that day, their bodies pressed against each other in the elevator, tongues swirling, as the car raced toward their office on the top floor. As they kissed, fondled and grasped each other, they both wish the damn thing would slow down and give them more time.
Two weeks. It had been two weeks of illicit kissing, usually arranged via flimsy excuses to take elevator rides together.
Two weeks of knowing glances in meetings. Two weeks of inappropriate text messages. Two weeks of fantasizing about a chance to spend just one night together.
In other words, two weeks of pure desperation.
The elevator was approaching their floor. You broke our kiss, leaning your forehead against mine...