The Storeroom Encounter

***Bryony Hinsley POV***

The elevator doors slide open with a soft hiss, revealing the two men who rule my professional existence. Darius is the first to step out. Today, he wears a crisp, tailored black suit paired with a stark white shirt and a silver tie. His eyes are glued to his phone screen as he snatches his coffee off the silver serving tray I hold. Without sparing a single glance my way, he strides directly into his office, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.

Dorian follows immediately after. He strolls out of the elevator in a relaxed grey suit, his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the top to expose a generous expanse of his toned chest. He stops in front of my desk, grabs his custom mug, and offers me a charming wink.

"Good morning, Bryony," he says with a cheerful smile before heading into his own office across the hall.

Blushing under his attention, I carry the empty tray into the kitchenette. I grab my work tablet from my desk, clutching it tightly to my chest, and hover anxiously outside Darius’s closed door. I silently pray he is in a good mood today. Before my knuckles can even graze the frosted glass to knock, his husky, deep voice rings out from within, demanding to know if I am going to enter or stand out there all day.

I jump, quickly pushing the door open enough to slip my body inside. Darius sits behind his large mahogany desk, his fingers rapidly typing away on his laptop keyboard. He doesn't look up. I stand there, shifting my weight awkwardly from foot to foot, trembling under the sheer weight of his intense, pinning gaze as he finally lifts his head. His icy blue eyes lock onto mine. He cocks his head to the side, waiting in silence.

I step forward, using the tablet as a shield, and rattle off his daily schedule. However, when he bluntly asks for the hospital charity document to sign off on, a wave of panic sets in. I quickly check my hands, realizing I foolishly left the only required piece of paper sitting on my desk.

Darius rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed by my incompetence. His large hand remains outstretched and waiting over the desk.

"Ah, one minute, sir," I stammer.

Hearing his irritated sigh, I quickly duck out of the room, fetch the missing document, and slide it onto the desk in front of him. As he instantly signs it, handing it back without even looking at me, I notice how exhausted he looks. Dark circles shadow his vibrant blue eyes, and his normally warm, golden skin is unusually pale, drained of its typical vitality.

I get caught staring, forgetting what I am supposed to be doing as I openly admire my boss. Darius clears his throat. When he raises a single, knowing eyebrow and chuckles at my stumbling, red-faced apology, I thoroughly embarrass myself. I turn on my heel and flee the room, quickly shutting the door behind me.

They always leave me flustered. I always feel cloudy in their imposing presence. I once passed out just forgetting to breathe around them. I hadn't eaten much that day, so my brain was already sluggish. I woke up flat on the floor to Dorian’s concerned face leaning over me, while Darius just stared at me from his desk like I was an idiot. Seriously, who forgets a basic bodily function?

That specific day made me realize exactly why no one else wants this demanding job. It is incredibly hard to focus on actual work around them. They are massive distractions without even trying. I also find Darius can be quite horrible; I don't think he realizes the nasty things he says when angry. Luckily for him, I have incredibly thick skin. Given the harsh reality of my life, secretly sleeping in the freezing backseat of a Honda Civic every night, I desperately need this job and the generous paycheck that comes with it. No amount of verbal abuse is going to make me quit. But I always make sure I have my tablet in hand when I enter his office, just on the off chance he throws something. I once watched him hit the tech guy with a full water bottle in a fit of rage. With his notorious anger issues, everyone in this building walks on eggshells around him except Dorian. The tech guy never came back after that incident.

Sitting back at my desk, I laugh at the memory before focusing on my computer screen. The job itself is surprisingly easy and pays well, demanding very little physical activity beyond answering phones and carrying heavy files. The real challenge is the ghastly hours. I am literally on call twenty-four-seven. I function as a secretary and personal assistant, often dragging my work into the early hours of the morning before big corporate deadlines.

Later in the afternoon, I hit print on a new batch of files and walk into the small printer room situated just off the kitchenette. I wait for the pages, but the machine beeps loudly, flashing a red error code. The paper tray is empty. Bending down, I pull the tray out and open the nearby drawer.

Finding the nearby cupboard empty, I let out a frustrated sigh and head down the hall to the main storeroom. I flick on the light and scan the metal shelves. Cursing whoever decided to stack the heavy boxes of copy paper on the very top shelf, inches from the ceiling, I kick off my heels and pull out the small step ladder.

I climb up in my bare feet. I am on my tiptoes, stretching my arms high, my fingers digging into the cardboard as I slowly drag the heavy box to the edge of the metal shelf.

"Need a hand?"

Dorian's deep voice suddenly sounds directly behind me.

I gasp loudly, jumping in fright at his sudden appearance, and instantly lose my balance. My foot slips off the edge of the ladder. As I desperately grip the sharp edge of the metal shelf with my fingernails to keep from falling backward to the floor, a large, warm hand clamps firmly onto my ass to steady me.

Dorian grips my left butt cheek hard, his wide palm anchoring my weight. My heart hammers wildly against my ribs. As my initial panic subsides, raw, undeniable physical awareness takes over. I can feel the distinct, heavy shape of his hand pressing into my flesh through the thin fabric of my dress pants. The contact is grounding, yet shockingly explicit. His thumb presses dangerously close to my pussy right through my pants, the firm pressure rubbing directly against my sensitive clit. Thank god I decided to wear pants today instead of a skirt.

Intense heat rushes through my veins, pooling heavy and wet between my thighs. The intimate contact sparks a sudden, unfamiliar ache in my groin, a throbbing pulse of raw arousal that makes my breath hitch in my throat.

"Ah, boss," I squeak out, my voice high and breathless as I look down over my shoulder.

Noticing exactly where he’s grabbed me and how deeply his thumb is wedged against my crotch, a sly, deliberate smirk creeps onto Dorian's handsome face. The feel of his dominant hand claiming my ass makes me burn with a feverish blush. I have to fight the desperate urge to squeeze my thighs together, wanting nothing more than to grind down against the friction of his thumb to soothe the sudden, dripping ache between my legs. What is wrong with me?

His dark eyes lock onto mine. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he drags his hand down. He trails his wide palm over the curve of my butt, his fingers grazing down my inner thigh, mapping the sensitive skin of my leg all the way down to my bare ankle before finally pulling away.

I gasp out loud at the sudden loss of contact. My skin flushes a deep, burning crimson. I am drowning in absolute embarrassment over my intense physical reaction to my supposedly gay boss. It makes zero sense, but my body is practically humming from his touch.

Dorian pauses, tilting his head slightly. He appears to sniff the air for a brief second, his smirk widening into a highly knowing smile at my obvious flustered state, as if he can smell the heavy arousal dripping from me. Without another word, he reaches up effortlessly. Bypassing me, he grips the heavy box of paper I was painstakingly trying to retrieve with one hand and pulls it down from the top shelf like it weighs nothing.

I scramble down the step ladder, desperate to put space between us. I shove my feet back into my heels and snatch the box from his hands, clutching it to my chest like a shield.

"Were you looking for something?" I ask, my voice shaky as I feel hot and flustered, walking swiftly from the storeroom back down the hallway to the printer.

"Yeah, I tried to print something when I realized the printer was out of paper," Dorian claims smoothly. He follows me right into the small room, leaning casually against the counter right next to the machine.

I tear the cardboard box open, load a fresh stack of paper onto the plastic tray, and insert it back into the printer. Clearing the flashing error code, I hit print. The machine instantly whirs to life, printing out the scheduled documents. I staple them together securely and place them on the counter. When no more pages come out, the room falls silent.

I turn to Dorian. "Are you sure you hit print?" I ask, raising a skeptical eyebrow at him.

Dorian pauses. He taps his chin, a playful glint in his dark eyes as he says, "I think so."

Rolling my eyes at his blatant nonchalance, I march straight out of the room, crossing the hallway, and head directly into his office to check his computer myself. I hear his heavy footsteps following right behind me. I reach his desk, leaning over to wake up his computer monitor. When I glance back over my shoulder, Dorian hasn't followed me all the way inside. He comes to a complete stop at the entrance, leaning casually against the doorframe. He just stands there, his arms crossed over his broad chest, silently and intensely watching me, leaving his true intentions unknown.