Late Revisions — A Free Steamy Office Romance Scene by Cassie Hart (2026)

Something a little different today: a free original scene, start to finish, no strings. This one’s from Cassie Hart — contemporary MF, workplace, the slow-burn kind of rivalry that’s really just wanting in a bad disguise. If you like the voice, the full catalog is free to read with Kindle Unlimited, and there’s a first chapter waiting on every book page.

Heads up: this is an explicit scene intended for readers 18 and over. Two consenting adults, one empty office. If that’s not your thing today, our reading guides are a softer landing.

Late Revisions

The office had that after-hours hum to it — HVAC, the buzz of a single bank of lights over the pod they were both too stubborn to leave, the city going gold and then blue through the glass forty floors down. Everyone else had cleared out by seven. It was nearly nine now, and Reese had stopped pretending she was working ten minutes ago.

Across the shared desk, Dominic hadn’t. Or he was pretending better than she was. Sleeves shoved to the elbow, tie gone since six, that line between his brows that showed up whenever the numbers didn’t behave. They’d been fighting over the same deck for three days. They’d been fighting over everything for two years — who got the corner pitch, whose model was cleaner, whose turn it was to be right in front of the partners. It was exhausting. It was the best part of her week and she’d have died before admitting it.

“Slide fourteen’s wrong,” she said, just to make him look up.

He looked up. “Slide fourteen is mine, which is how you know it’s right.”

“It’s aggressive.”

“It’s confident. You should try it.” His mouth did the thing, the almost-smile he used like a weapon. “Looks good on people.”

Reese stood, came around the desk, planted a hand on the back of his chair and leaned in to point at the screen — and the leaning was a mistake, she knew it the second she did it, because now she could smell him, clean and warm under the day, and he’d gone very still under her arm. The cursor blinked on slide fourteen. Neither of them looked at it.

“Reese.” Low. A warning and a question folded into one word.

“What.”

“If you don’t move, I’m going to stop caring about this deck.”

Her heart was going hard enough that he could probably hear it. Two years of this. Every conference room, every elevator, every late night just like this one, both of them circling the thing and calling it competition. She was so tired of being smart about it.

“Then stop caring,” she said.

He turned the chair. That was all it took — he turned, and she was already there, and his hands came to her hips like they’d been waiting years for permission, and when he kissed her it wasn’t tentative, wasn’t a question. It was two years of arguments finally saying what they’d meant. She made a sound against his mouth that she’d have been embarrassed by any other night and he swallowed it, stood, walked her back until her hip hit the edge of the desk.

“Tell me to stop,” he said against her jaw, “and I’ll stop.”

“Don’t you dare.”

He laughed, rough, and lifted her onto the desk like she weighed nothing, and her knees came apart to make room for him without either of them deciding it. His hands slid up her thighs, dragging the hem of her skirt with them, thumbs pressing bruise-soft into the muscle there, and she got her fingers into his hair and pulled just to hear the sound he made. Papers slid to the floor. Neither of them cared.

“Been thinking about this,” he admitted, mouth at her throat now, working down. “Every time you argue with me. You know that? You do it on purpose.”

“So do you.” Her breath hitched as his teeth found the tendon at the base of her neck. “Slide fourteen. God. You did that just to—”

“Worked, didn’t it.”

She’d have had a comeback if his hand hadn’t chosen that moment to slide higher, if his fingers hadn’t found the edge of her and pressed, slow, deliberate, watching her face the whole time like she was a problem he finally got to solve. Her head dropped back. The comeback didn’t come. He made a low, satisfied noise and did it again, and again, until her hands were fisted in his shirt and she was saying his name in a register she’d never used in this building.

“Dominic—”

“I know.” He kissed her, softer now, a strange tenderness in the middle of all that heat. “I’ve got you. I’ve had you the whole time, you just kept arguing.”

She got her hands on his belt to shut him up, and it worked, his breath going ragged as she got it open, as she got a hand around him and stroked and felt the control go out of him all at once. He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes shut, jaw tight.

“Reese. If you want to be smart about this, now’s the last chance.”

“I’m done being smart,” she said, and pulled him in.

After — when the city had gone full dark and the deck was still open on slide fourteen and her blouse had lost a button neither of them could find — he stayed there, forehead against her shoulder, both of them breathing like they’d run up all forty flights.

“Slide fourteen’s still wrong,” she said into his hair.

She felt him grin against her skin. “Rematch tomorrow.”

“Loser buys coffee.”

“Loser,” he said, lifting his head to look at her, thoroughly wrecked and completely pleased about it, “buys dinner. And you’re going to lose.”

She already knew she would. She was already looking forward to it.

Want the whole book?

If rivals-who-finally-crack is your flavor, that’s the whole Cassie Hart lane — contemporary MF with the tension wound tight and the payoff earned. Every title is free to read with Kindle Unlimited, and you can sample the first chapter of anything on its book page before you commit — start on the meet our authors page.

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