Recap: After opening up about his divorce, Greg admitted to Alex how long it had been since he’d had any real intimacy, how months without affection or release had left him restless and horny. What started as a quiet, almost vulnerable conversation between them shifted into something heavier, charged with all the tension that had been building since the night Alex first caught him with a hard-on. Greg’s honesty broke the wall, and Alex’s curiosity filled the space, turning what might’ve been just another late-night talk into something physical, messy, and intense. Alex dropped beside Greg, finally giving in to the urge he’d been suppressing, and Greg groaned through the first blowjob he’d had in months. For Greg, it was a much-needed release after so long being denied. For Alex, it was the moment his secret crush became real. Together, they crossed the unspoken line between boss and employee, slipping into a raw kind of connection neither had planned but both had wanted.
Last night still sat heavy in my body when I woke.
The sun was already sneaking through my curtains, bleeding warmth across my sheets. My mouth felt dry, my chest tight, and for a second I thought I might feel the weight of guilt pressing down. But it wasn’t guilt that hit me first. It was memory.
The memory of Greg’s cock thick and heavy against my tongue. The way his groans had broken through the air, rough and unrestrained, like I’d stripped him of every layer of control he wore so perfectly at work. The taste of him. The heat. His hand tangled in my hair when he couldn’t stop himself from pushing deeper.
I rubbed my face hard, trying to shake it out of me. But the ache in my throat, the faint soreness, and the hard length straining under my sheets reminded me I hadn’t imagined any of it.
And fuck, I couldn’t stop replaying it.
Greg. My boss. Sitting beside me last night, face twisted like I’d been giving him oxygen after drowning. My mouth full of his cock, the taste of salt and musk spilling down my tongue. And when he came…fuck…the heat of it, the sound he made, the way he looked down at me with something that felt like hunger and relief at the same time.
I groaned into my pillow, rolling onto my side like that would somehow ease the ache between my legs. It didn’t.
Dragging myself out of bed, I padded down the hall barefoot, trying to push my thoughts somewhere…anywhere…else. But the second I stepped into the living room, I noticed that Greg was on the couch shirtless.
The morning light poured over him, making the lines of his shoulders and chest look sharper, carved in shadow and glow. Just a pair of boxers clung low on his hips, the fabric stretched across his thighs. He sat wide-legged, casual, like he had gotten way too comfortable living here.. A steaming mug of coffee was cradled in one hand. The other arm sprawled lazily over the backrest, big and relaxed.
The TV was on low, the sound of a baseball game buzzing faintly in the room.
He didn’t even flinch when he noticed me. Just looked over, eyes calm, voice still rough from sleep.
“Morning Alex.”
I swallowed hard, heat crawling up my neck. “Morning, sir.”
He smirked faintly at that, shaking his head. “Greg. Remember? You don’t need to call me ‘sir’ when I’m in your apartment.”
I gave a stiff nod, moving toward the kitchen because I needed something…anything…to do with my hands. “Right. Greg.”
The normalcy of it stunned me. He was sitting there like this was just another Sunday morning. Like I hadn’t had his cock down my throat last night. Like we hadn’t already burned every HR policy and line between us.
The apartment smelled faintly of coffee. The TV hummed. He stretched once, broad chest flexing as he shifted against the couch cushions, eyes flicking to the game.
I filled a glass of water at the sink, drinking just to buy time, my thoughts spinning.
How was he so calm? So fucking casual? Sitting there shirtless, sipping coffee, talking baseball. Acting like we were just two guys, just coworkers, just… buddies who happened to share an intimate moment last night.
And me? I was falling apart inside.
I leaned against the counter, watching him without meaning to. The way his forearms flexed when he lifted his mug. The trail of hair that started at his chest and ran down into his boxers. The faint bulge shifting casually whenever he adjusted his legs. He didn’t cover himself, didn’t even notice or maybe he didn’t care.
I downed the rest of the water, set the glass in the sink, and grabbed the coffee pot. My hands shook slightly as I filled it, trying to focus on the simple rhythm of brewing instead of the sight of him sprawled across my couch.
When the pot was full, I poured myself a mug and hesitated, heat coiling in my chest.
Should I sit? Stay standing? Pretend like this wasn’t eating me alive?
I finally forced myself across the room and lowered into the cushion beside him. The couch dipped under his weight. Our thighs didn’t touch, but they were close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off his skin.
He didn’t shift. Didn’t look at me at first. Just kept his eyes on the game, sipping his coffee. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I clutched my mug with both hands, heart pounding, throat dry.
Then he spoke.
“Hey,” he said, quieter now.
My chest froze. I turned my head slowly, nerves twisting my stomach.
“About last night…”
The words snapped through me like electricity.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, coffee dangling between his hands. His eyes weren’t sharp like they were at work. They were softer. Honest.
“That,” he said, his voice deep but even, “was one of the best blowjobs I’ve ever had.”
The air left me in a rush.
I blinked, fumbling. “I—I was just—”
A smile curved at his lips, not cruel, but amused. “Don’t look so shocked, Alex. I meant it.”
He leaned back again, stretching his arm over the couch, chest broad in the light. “Last night… you were good. Really fucking good man.”
I stared down at my coffee, hands trembling slightly, my heart crashing against my ribs.
How could he say it so easily? Like he was complimenting me on a well-written email or a clean draft of a report? Like I hadn’t spent the entire night replaying every sound he’d made, every twitch of his hips, every taste of his cock sliding hot down my throat?
Meanwhile, he was here. Calm. Shirtless. Watching baseball like it was nothing.
And yet… part of me liked it.
Part of me liked how unbothered he was. How he carried it like it wasn’t a scandal or a mistake or something shameful. Like it was just a thing that happened. Like it was okay.
My eyes drifted, against my will, to the slope of his thigh under the shorts, to the faint outline pressing against the fabric, to the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.
I forced myself to look away, sipping my coffee, but the image burned in my head.
Greg glanced sideways at me, caught me watching. And instead of making it weird, he just chuckled under his breath, deep and smooth.
“Relax,” he said, low and easy. “You don’t need to act like you committed some crime.”
Didn’t I, though? My boss. In my apartment. Shirtless, drinking coffee, talking about my mouth on his dick like it was the most normal thing in the world.
And yet, sitting there next to him, feeling the heat of his body, I realized I didn’t want to relax. Not really.
Because maybe the crime was the best part.
────୨ৎ────
The morning ended on the couch.
Greg and I sat there like we were just two guys, sipping coffee, watching baseball. The game was nothing special…some middle-of-the-season slog where the crowd’s cheers rose and fell in lazy rhythm. But I couldn’t focus. Not when Greg’s bare skin was right there, the morning light catching the ridges of his chest. Not when his boxers rode up higher on his thighs every time he shifted.
And then there was the way his legs spread, wider and wider, like he was letting me see more, like he knew where my eyes kept drifting.
The curve of his bulge pressed soft against the fabric. His quads, dusted with dark hair, stretched and flexed when he adjusted. He didn’t look at me when he did it. Just sipped his coffee, eyes on the TV, like it was all unintentional.
But it wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t.
I sipped my coffee slower, stealing glances I shouldn’t, my stomach a knot of nerves and heat.
The game ended. We sat there until the commentators wrapped up, and then life crept back in.
The day slipped by in fragments.
A quick grocery run where I pushed a cart half full of basics, my head buzzing with thoughts of him shirtless on the couch. A lunch with an old friend where I barely listened to half of what she said, nodding at the right times but thinking about Greg’s voice rough in my ear last night, his cum spilling down my throat.
When I came home, the apartment felt different. Like it had absorbed him into the walls, into the cushions. His coffee mug was still sitting on the table. His office shoes by the door. His presence everywhere.
By evening, the light outside had shifted warm and orange. Greg was out at the gym, and I drifted into the spare room; the one I’d turned into a half-practice music studio, cluttered with sheet music and the old upright piano against the wall - the same one Greg was living in.
I sat on the bench and let my fingers wander the keys, the familiar rhythm grounding me. Slow, lazy chords melted into something more fluid, soft. It felt like an evening for music - an evening where I could let my thoughts stretch out without suffocating me.
I lost myself in the sound.
Which was why I didn’t hear the door open. Didn’t hear the footsteps until a voice cut through, low and rough, just above my shoulder.
“You’re good.”
I jumped slightly, fingers stumbling against the keys before stilling.
Greg was standing there. Fresh from the gym, sweat clinging to his shirt so it stuck to his chest, outlining the bulk of him. His shorts hung low, fabric darkened where it had absorbed the sweat along his quads. His hair was damp, his breathing still a little heavy like he’d just come up the stairs.
For a second, I couldn’t move. Just sat there, staring at him in the doorway, trying not to notice how the smell of him… clean sweat, deodorant, something raw drifted in with him.
“You didn’t hear me come in.” He smirked, towel draped around his neck.
“No,” I admitted, laughing softly, nerves tightening in my stomach. “I, uh… got lost in it.”
He nodded, eyes lingering on the keys, then on me. Slowly, he crossed the room and dropped onto the bed, towel hanging loose over his shoulder.
The bench creaked when I shifted, the piano still humming with the last note. I turned slightly, hands resting in my lap.
“You always play?” he asked, leaning back on his palms.
“Not as much as I should.” I swallowed, heart racing at how close he was, at how casual he looked sitting on my bed, still catching his breath from a workout.
“It helps clear my head. Makes me feel… free, I guess.”, I added.
He nodded slowly, eyes flicking to the piano again. “Yeah. I get that. For me, it’s the gym. Hitting the weights, zoning out… it’s the only place I don’t feel like I’m in my own head all the time.”
Something about the way he said it made me tilt my head, curious. “So is that why you went to the gym on a Sunday? You doing okay Mr.Lawson?”
Greg let out a breath, his hand tugging at the towel looped around his neck. He pulled it free and dropped it onto the bed beside him, like the weight of it was too much.
I shifted on the bench, turning fully toward him now. The piano hummed faintly with the last chord I’d played, but the air between us had changed.
He hesitated at first, his jaw working, then pushed himself off the bed and crossed the room. Slowly, deliberately, he sat down at the edge of the bed right in front of me. Close enough that the space between us felt charged, but not yet dangerous.
“Yeah… so…” He rubbed the back of his neck, searching for the words. “I don’t usually talk about this stuff.”
I stayed quiet, giving him room. My fingers brushed nervously against each other in my lap.
“My wife,” he started, the word catching on his tongue. Then he corrected himself quietly. “Ex-wife, technically. Things started breaking long before we signed papers. Little cracks at first. Shit you don’t notice until it’s too late.”
His eyes dropped to his knees, thumbs fidgeting against his thighs.
“She… she wasn’t into things I was into. Sexually. Intimacy, all of it. At first, I thought, fine, you compromise, you let it slide. But then years go by, and the bed goes cold, and suddenly you’re two people living in the same house, avoiding each other in the kitchen.”
He laughed, but it was dry, bitter.
My eyes lingered. I couldn’t help it.
The way his chest rose under his sweat-damp shirt, the outline of his pecs pressing through the thin fabric. The ridges of his abs, still visible even beneath the cling of cotton. His thighs spread wider on the mattress, the shorts straining across them, pulling just enough that I could see the heft of him resting heavy against the fabric. And then, worse…his lips. Soft, full, slightly wet when he dragged his tongue over the bottom one before speaking again.
I shifted on the piano stool, pulse thudding in my throat.
Greg’s voice dropped. “So… when last night… what happened between us…” He paused, eyes locking on mine. “It felt good Alex. Like… in a long time.”
The words hit me like heat.
I became shy, my mouth twitching toward a smile I tried to swallow down. My hands gripped my knees tighter.
“I—uh… Greg,” I managed, my throat dry. “I’m sorry you had to go through all that. I just… I helped in any way I could.”
His mouth curved, but it wasn’t cruel. Just knowing. “Yeah, man. You did. Thing is… it’s difficult, you know? For a man like me. Who just wanted to fuck his wife.”
He looked at me then. Held me in it.
“Like, c’mon. Us guys? We’re horndogs. That’s who we are. But months without sex?” He shook his head slowly, tongue clicking against his teeth. “That’s just cruel.”
I laughed nervously, too sharp, then it died on my lips. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh—”
Greg broke the tension himself, a rough chuckle rumbling out. “No, no. Don’t worry. I’m not afraid to admit it. I am a horndog. Always been one.” He leaned back on the bed, propping himself up on his palms, his chest stretching wide, legs spreading further. “Hell, I’ve been horny all damn day. Even this morning. Watching baseball, sitting there next to you.”
His eyes glinted, the corner of his mouth tugging.
My stomach dropped, heat flushing through me.
I swallowed, voice smaller. “…Yeah. I noticed.”
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