I woke before dawn. The room was dim, the air thick with that half-dreamed quiet before sunrise. For a second, I thought I’d imagined it; the sound of someone pacing, a low exhale near the doorway. But then I saw Greg’s silhouette moving across the faint light from the hallway. Shirtless. Restless.
I hadn’t really slept either. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him in the kitchen, the way his hand had slid around my waist, the way his mouth had tasted…like we’d been starving for weeks.
Now, he was just standing there, looking at me like he was debating whether to leave or climb right back into my bed.
“You’re up early,” I whispered.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he said. His voice was rough, tired, maybe guilty. Or maybe just turned on.
I sat up, running a hand through my hair, pretending to stretch. “Yeah. Same.”
The silence stretched. I woke up with a hard on…remembering every place he’d touched me felt hot again, like my cock remembered.
“I should head out for a walk,” he said finally, like he was trying to convince himself.
“Right,” I murmured. But neither of us moved.
He lingered at the door, hand on the frame, eyes darting over me in the half-dark. That was all it took. One look. I could feel it again, rising between us like a tide we both knew would drown us if we didn’t move.
And then….he rushed towards me.
“Greg—”
He didn’t answer. Just came closer, close enough that I could feel his breath on my cheek. My pulse went wild.
“We shouldn’t,” I said, and it came out almost as a laugh.
“Yeah,” he breathed. “We really shouldn’t.”
His fingers brushed my jaw. I leaned into it.
That was it. That tiny movement broke whatever thin restraint we’d been pretending to have. His mouth found mine, soft at first, then hungrier. Slow, deliberate, like we were both trying to memorize it this time.
He pulled me against him, his skin warm, his heartbeat hammering against my chest. Every sound in the room disappeared…the ticking clock, the city outside, the world itself. Just breath and skin and need.
I tugged at the waistband of his sweatpants, and he groaned into my mouth, deep and low.
“Alex,” he whispered. My name, like he didn’t know if he wanted to say it or stop saying it.
We fell back onto my bed, tangled, half-laughing, half-desperate. His hands were everywhere, tracing me like a secret he’d been trying to keep and failing miserably.
He shifted on top of me, the mattress dipping under his weight. That familiar change in him…Greg going from hesitant to sure, from soft to commanding…rolled through the air like a warning I didn’t want to heed. His mouth trailed down my neck, slow, deliberate, each kiss heavier than the last.
“Turn over,” he murmured against my skin.
The words hit me like a pulse. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. I moved without thinking, my breath catching as his hand pressed between my shoulder blades, keeping me still.
His other hand slid down my side, fingers tracing the line of my hip before finding their way lower. Everything he did was measured, confident, but not rough. There was a tenderness under it, like he hated himself for how much he wanted to fuck me.
The first push of his cock inside me made my chest tighten. He leaned over me, breathing hard, his mouth close to my ear.
“Still want me to stop?” he whispered.
I shook my head before I could even think.
He laughed quietly, breath hot on my neck. Then he started to move, slow at first, then deeper, steadier. Each thrust felt like him trying to convince himself it didn’t mean anything, and me proving it did.
The room filled with sounds that felt too loud for morning..the creak of the bed, the soft gasp every time he fucked me harder. His hand slid around my waist, pulling me back to meet him, and I bit into the pillow just to keep my moans from spilling out.
“ AAhh..Greg,” I breathed.
He grunted in response, low and rough, his rhythm faltering only when I reached back and grabbed his thigh.
He bent forward then, pressing his chest to my back, his hand gripping my jaw to turn my face toward him. Our lips met in a clumsy, desperate kiss. It wasn’t careful anymore…it was real and messy and too much.
When he came inside me, he groaned against my shoulder, body shuddering against mine. I followed seconds later, every nerve in my body going white-hot before fading into nothing but the sound of us catching our breath.
Silence fell heavy after that.
He rolled onto his back, one arm flung over his eyes, chest rising and falling fast. I turned toward him, still trying to catch air, watching the light spill over his skin. He looked both ruined and peaceful, like someone who’d been fighting himself all night and finally gave in.
For a while, neither of us said anything. The quiet stretched, comfortable and uneasy all at once.
Then he muttered, voice low and hoarse, “We’re not good at stopping, are we?”
I let out a weak laugh, tracing the edge of the sheet between my fingers. “No,” I said. “We’re really not.”
He turned his head, eyes finding mine. For a second, it looked like he might say something else…something honest, something big. But he didn’t. He just reached out, brushed his fingers over my shoulder, then dropped his hand back onto the bed.
The sun was climbing higher, spilling across the room, catching the mess we’d made…the tangled sheets, the clothes on the floor, the space between us that never stayed empty for long.
And lying there beside him, I knew the truth neither of us would say aloud.
We’d keep trying to stop.
But we never would.
────୨ৎ────
Greg was still sprawled across the bed when I finally forced myself up. My legs ached, my body humming. I stood there for a moment, watching him lay n@ked on my bed, one arm behind his head, his hair a mess, chest rising and falling in slow, lazy breaths.
It didn’t feel like a mistake. Not in that quiet. Not when he kissed me like that.
But by the time we were both dressed, the distance was back. Greg was quieter, slower with his words. He poured coffee without looking at me, like if he didn’t meet my eyes, it might erase what happened.
Neither of us mentioned the sex. We just moved through the morning routine, pretending to be two people who hadn’t spent their morning fucking like animals. Pretending we hadn’t broken every possible HR policy.
The drive to work was worse. The silence wasn’t comfortable anymore. It was heavy, full of everything we couldn’t say. I caught him glancing at me once at a red light, but he smiled and turned away before I could hold the look.
By the time we walked into the office, the mask was already on. Greg’s voice slipped back into that professional tone, low and steady, his hand brushing the small of my back for half a second as we passed through the door. A warning. Or reassurance. I couldn’t tell which.
The hum of printers, the clack of keyboards, the chatter of employees, it was all too normal. Like the world hadn’t shifted overnight. I took my seat, tried to focus on my screen, but every sound in the room felt amplified. Every time Greg spoke from his office, my chest tightened.
And then John appeared.
Mid-level manager. Smart, nosy, the kind of guy who noticed everything. He leaned against the edge of my cubicle with his coffee mug, watching me a little too long.
“Rough night, huh?” he said, voice light, but his eyes sharp.
My stomach flipped. “What?”
He shrugged, smirking. “You just look… tired. Guess the boss is keeping you busy lately.”
I tried to laugh it off, but my throat went dry. “Yeah. Long week.”
John’s grin didn’t fade. He tapped his mug against my desk before walking off, but I could feel his eyes on me as he left.
When I finally looked toward Greg’s office, he was already watching. Just for a second. Then he dropped his gaze back to whatever was on his desk, jaw tight.
That was the moment it hit me.
Someone knew. Or thought they did.
And if John was even half as curious as he looked, keeping this secret was about to get a whole lot harder.
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