Trapped in the Elevator

Maya hated being late, and today was no exception. She rushed into the high-rise office building, heels clicking, elevator doors closing just as a tall, sharp-jawed man held them open for her. “Thanks,” she muttered, adjusting her coat. He smiled. “First time running this late?”

Before she could answer, the elevator jolted. Then stopped.

Lights flickered. Silence.

They pressed buttons. Nothing.

“Great,” Maya said, frustrated. “Trapped.”

The man chuckled, loosening his tie. “Could be worse.”

She looked at him—calm, confident, annoyingly handsome. As minutes stretched into hours, conversation flowed. Laughter followed. Then silence. Then that look—lingering eye contact that said more than words.

In the quiet hum of trapped air, he moved closer. “May I?” he asked, voice low.

Her nod was all he needed.

Their lips met fiercely. Her back against the elevator wall, his hands at her waist. The space felt electric. Her coat slipped off; his shirt half unbuttoned. Her breath caught in her throat as their bodies moved closer, hungrier, heated in the small, confined world of metal and tension.

The elevator shuddered—and restarted.

Moments later, doors opened. They fixed their clothes, exchanged a glance.

“We should get stuck more often,” he whispered.