The skyline of Downtown Los Angeles shimmered like a mirage through the glass windows of CrossTower, a 42-story luxury steel-and-glass fortress that housed one of the most powerful corporations on the West Coast.

It was past midnight. Most of the city was winding down — not the office of Nathan Cross.

Fluorescent lights cast a glow on the 39th floor conference room, where Isla Morgan sat alone, her fingers dancing over her laptop keys. Her blazer was gone, heels kicked off under the long oak table. Her silk camisole clung to her skin in the LA heat, the top two buttons undone, revealing a sliver of cleavage and a delicate gold chain nestled between her collarbones.

The office was silent — until it wasn’t.

The door clicked softly.

She didn’t turn around. “Who’s stalking me this late?”

The voice that responded was low, deep, edged with danger. “Didn’t know I needed permission to walk into my own conference room.”

She closed her laptop, slowly. “Nathan.”

He stepped into view, rolling up the sleeves of his black dress shirt. No tie. No smile. Just those devastating dark eyes that had haunted her since her first week at Cross & Holt Industries.

“I didn’t think you were still here,” she said, voice calm, but her body was already betraying her — pulse quickening, thighs shifting.

“I’ve been watching you,” he said, unapologetically. “For the last ten minutes.”

“Enjoy the view?”

He tilted his head slightly, voice rough. “You sitting there like that, legs crossed, hair messy, shirt clinging to your tits? I could jerk off to the image alone.”

Her breath caught.

“You’re not exactly subtle, Nathan.”

He smirked, walking around the table, closing the distance. “Neither are you, Isla. You know how many times I’ve had to shut my door after a meeting just to get the image of your mouth out of my head?”

She stood slowly, standing eye to chest with him. “You could’ve done something about it.”

He stepped closer, crowding her space. “You have no idea what I’ve imagined doing to you.”

“Then show me,” she whispered.

That was all it took.

He grabbed her jaw, fingers tight but not cruel, and kissed her hard.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t careful. It was raw, all teeth and tongues and months of tension exploding in an instant. She moaned into his mouth, fingers clawing at his shirt as he backed her against the glass wall, the city lights glowing behind them.

“I’ve been dreaming about bending you over this fucking table,” he growled, lips trailing down her neck. “You’re mine tonight, Isla. Every filthy part of you.”

She shivered, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him tighter. “Then stop teasing and take me.”

He spun her around so fast she gasped, pushing her face-first against the cold glass. She saw their reflection — her flushed, lips parted, chest rising, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.

“You like being watched, baby?” he rasped. “Let the city see what I do to you.”

He yanked her skirt up, exposing lace panties soaked through.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “So wet for me already?”

“All for you,” she moaned, arching her ass toward him.

He slapped it — once, hard. She cried out, biting her lip.

“You’re gonna take me just like this,” he growled, pulling her panties aside. “Hands on the glass. Don’t fucking move.”

She braced herself, body trembling with anticipation. Then he was inside her in one brutal thrust.

“Fuck, Nathan!”

“Jesus, Isla. You’re so goddamn tight.”

He started to move, hard and fast, no pretense of gentleness. Each thrust slammed her against the glass, the view of LA blurring as he drove into her over and over.

“You feel that?” he growled in her ear. “That’s how badly I’ve wanted this. Wanted you.”

She moaned, nails dragging down the window.

“I love how you moan my name. Say it again.”

“Nathan—ah, fuck—you feel so good…”

“That’s it,” he growled. “Let the whole damn building hear you.”

He reached around, fingers finding her clit, rubbing tight circles as he fucked her harder, faster. Her legs began to shake.

“Come for me, Isla. Be a good girl and come all over my cock.”

That sent her spiraling — her moans turning into screams as she clenched around him, waves of pleasure crashing through her. He didn’t stop, thrusting through her orgasm, chasing his own.

He grunted, pulling her back by the throat, burying his cock deep one final time as he came with a low, feral growl.

They collapsed against the glass, breathing hard, skin slick with sweat.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, laughing breathlessly.

He turned her around, kissing her softer now. “You okay?”

“I’m perfect. Though my legs are officially out of commission.”

He lifted her with ease, setting her down on the edge of the table again. “Then I guess I’ll have to carry you.”

She smirked. “What makes you think you’re done with me?”

His eyes darkened again. “You think I’m stopping at one round?”

She licked her lips slowly. “Not if you know what’s good for you, Mr. Cross.”

He grinned, dropping to his knees between her thighs. “I guess it’s gonna be a long night.”