The Unlikely Usurpers

Finn’s thumb strokes along your jawline, sending sparks of sensation dancing across your skin. “Leo,” he says, your name a caress on his lips.

“Yes?”

“I think we should christen this bathroom.”

*Well. When he puts it like that…*

“Christen the—?” You blink at him, the world tilting slightly on its axis. “You want to—here? Now?”

“Can you think of a more fitting tribute to the absurdity of corporate excess?” Finn’s thumb traces the curve of your lower lip, his eyes dark with promise. “Plus, think of the bragging rights. ‘I once had sex in the executive washroom while trapped in my office building overnight.’ It’s got a certain ring to it.”

*He’s not wrong. And god, his hands feel good.*

You swallow hard, your grip tightening on his hip. “I’m not usually the kind of guy who hooks up in bathrooms,” you hedge, even as your body leans closer to his. “Or, you know, at work. With a coworker.”

*Even one as charming and infuriating and unexpectedly profound as Finn.*

“Neither am I,” Finn admits, his other hand slipping under the hem of your shirt to rest against the small of your back. “But there’s a lot about tonight that’s not usual. And I’ve been wanting to do this since the first time I saw you trying to jam the printer with a stapler.”

*What? Since—? How did you not notice?*

The revelation sends a fresh wave of heat through your veins, burning away the last of your hesitation. You surge forward, closing the remaining distance between you and crushing your mouth to his.

Finn meets you eagerly, his lips parting under yours with a low groan. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, tangling with yours in a messy, desperate kiss that tastes like cheap whiskey and reckless abandon. You curl your free hand into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as you lose yourself in the feel of him, the warmth of his body against yours, the sheer rightness of the moment.

*Oh god, yes. This. This is what you’ve been missing. This is—*

The whiskey bottle slips from your grasp, hitting the marble floor with a sharp crack. You both flinch, but neither of you pulls away. The kiss deepens, turning sloppy and wet as hands begin to roam with increasing urgency. Finn’s fingers skim up your sides, tracing the line of your ribs before tangling in your hair. You reciprocate, sliding your palms under his shirt to explore the warm skin of his back, muscles flexing under your touch.

*So good. He feels so fucking good.*

Finn breaks the kiss with a gasp, his forehead pressing against yours. “Fuck, Leo,” he pants, his breath hot against your swollen lips. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Probably about as long as I’ve wanted you to,” you admit, your voice rough with desire. “Though I was hoping for slightly more romantic circumstances.”

*Like, say, not in the middle of a corporate coup while surrounded by stolen office supplies.*

Finn laughs, the sound low and throaty. “Romance is overrated. Give me stolen moments and questionable life choices any day.” His hands slide down to cup your ass, squeezing possessively. “Besides, I think this is pretty damn perfect.”

*Can’t argue with that logic.*

You rock your hips against his, feeling the hard line of his arousal through his jeans. “Prove it,” you challenge, nipping at his lower lip. “Show me just how perfect it can be.”

Finn’s eyes flash with heat, his grip on you tightening almost to the point of pain. “With pleasure,” he growls, walking you backward until your shoulders hit the cold marble of the wall. “Hold on tight, numbers man. This might get a little wild.”

Finn makes good on his promise, his mouth crashing down on yours in a searing kiss that steals your breath and ignites your blood. You clutch at his shoulders, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as he presses you back against the cold marble wall. His hands are everywhere—tangled in your hair, skimming up your sides, gripping your hips with bruising force. You answer in kind, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, tugging at his belt loops, desperate to get closer, to feel more of his skin against yours.

*Holy shit. How is it possible to want someone this much? To feel like you might die if you don’t get your hands on them right fucking now?*

Finn breaks the kiss with a gasp, his lips trailing down your jaw to suck a bruise into the side of your neck. “Fuck, Leo,” he rasps, his breath hot against your skin. “You taste so goddamn good.”

*Like whiskey and bad decisions. A winning combination.*

You tilt your head to give him better access, your own hands busy pushing his shirt up his chest. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you pant, your fingers skimming over the warm skin of his abs. “Though I think we’re both a little overdressed for the occasion.”

Finn chuckles, the sound low and wicked. “Easily remedied.” He leans back just far enough to yank his shirt over his head, revealing miles of tanned skin and lean muscle. You follow suit, your movements less graceful but no less eager, nearly getting your glasses caught in your collar in your haste to get naked.

*Smooth. Real smooth. Good thing he seems to like you for your personality. Or your complete lack of shame.*

Finn’s gaze roves over your newly bared skin, his eyes darkening with appreciation. “Fuck, look at you,” he breathes, reaching out to trace the line of your collarbone with a single fingertip. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Leo.”

*He thinks you’re beautiful. Finn. The guy who could probably have anyone he wants. Wants you.*

The realization sends a fresh wave of desire through your veins, and you surge forward, claiming his mouth in another heated kiss. Finn meets you eagerly, his hands sliding down to fumble with the button of your jeans. You return the favor, your fingers making quick work of his belt and zipper, the sounds of rustling fabric and harsh breathing loud in the cavernous room.

*This is really happening. You’re really about to have sex with Finn in the executive washroom. What would HR say?*

The thought is almost enough to make you laugh, but then Finn’s hand wraps around your cock, and all rational thought flees. You moan into his mouth, your hips bucking into his touch. “Finn—”

“Shh, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his thumb sweeping over your slit, smearing the bead of moisture there. “Just let me take care of you.”

*How are you supposed to argue with that?*

You let him guide you backward, his hands on your hips steering you out of the bathroom and back toward the Boss’s office. Your bare feet sink into the plush carpet, the air cool against your heated skin. Finn spins you around when you reach the desk, pushing you down onto the smooth mahogany surface.

“Stay right there,” he orders, his voice rough with want.

You obey, your chest heaving as you watch him rummage in his discarded jeans for his wallet. He pulls out a condom and a small packet of lube, holding them up triumphantly. “Always be prepared.”

*Thank god for Boy Scouts. Or whatever the IT equivalent is.*

Finn rolls the condom down his length with practiced ease, his eyes never leaving yours. “You sure about this, Leo?” he asks, his tone serious despite the heat in his gaze. “Because once I get inside you, I’m not gonna want to stop.”

*Is he kidding? You’ve never been more sure of anything in your life.*

“Finn,” you say, your voice low and steady. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I will literally die. Do you want that on your conscience?”

Finn’s lips quirk in a grin, even as he tears open the lube packet with his teeth. “Can’t have that. Dying of sexual frustration is such a cliché.”

He steps between your spread thighs, his slicked fingers finding your entrance with unerring accuracy. You tense instinctively, the stretch burning even as it sends sparks of pleasure dancing along your nerves. “Relax,” Finn murmurs, his free hand stroking your cock in a lazy rhythm. “Let me in.”

*Easier said than done when your brain is short-circuiting from sheer want.*

You force yourself to breathe, to relax into his touch. Finn works you open with patient care, his fingers twisting and scissoring until the burn fades into a deep, throbbing ache. “Ready?” he asks, his voice tight with restraint.

“Yes,” you gasp, your head falling back against the desk. “God, yes. Please.”

Finn doesn’t need any more encouragement. He withdraws his fingers, replacing them with the blunt head of his cock. You feel a moment of resistance, a delicious pressure, and then he’s sliding into you, filling you up inch by inch. You groan at the overwhelming sensation, your nails digging into the polished wood of the desk.