I’ve been working at Caldwell & Hunt Capital for a little over three years now. Investment banking is brutal, everyone knows that, but there are small things that make it worth the grind. For me, it’s Mr. Greg.
Greg Lawson. Forty-three. My boss. He runs our division with the kind of authority that doesn’t need raising a voice. Hard-nosed, sharp-tongued, fair. A man who never wastes words, never bothers with sugarcoating. The type who respects results, not excuses.
And he has that body. Not in a flashy, gym-rat kind of way, but something broader, built from years of habit. Shoulders that fill out a shirt without trying. Thick forearms, veins pressing against skin whenever he rolls his sleeves up. And that salt-and-pepper fuck, it makes him look like he was carved out of every woman’s guilty fantasy and every gay guy’s unspoken daydream.
Not that I ever let myself think of him that way. Not seriously. Greg Lawson was married. Straight. The kind of straight that didn’t leave any doubt. I mean, I could never picture him even looking at a guy that way.
I met his wife once at a firm dinner. She was polite, quiet. I don’t want to be one of those guys who says, “Oh my god, I knew there was something with them,” but even then, I felt the tension in the room. The silences between them stretched longer than they should. The way her hand clung to her wine glass while he talked told me more than words.
So it wasn’t exactly a shock when the divorce became office news. Papers signed last week. Since then, I've caught myself studying him more than usual. The sharp suits were still there, but he wore them differently now like he wasn’t bothering to tighten the knot on his tie or polish his shoes before walking out the door. His eyes had this distant pull, drifting in meetings like part of him was somewhere else entirely.
And honestly, Mr. Lawson was that rare kind of boss who made you forget he was the boss sometimes. He’d show up in the bullpen during breaks, standing at someone’s desk with his arms folded in those tight tailored pants straining, asking what we had planned for the weekend like we were just guys at a bar. Sometimes he’d drag us out for mini golf after work, trash-talk us the whole time, then be the first one in the office the next morning, sleeves rolled up, already buried in work. He worked hard, played harder. That balance made people want to follow him.
But now? Something in him had shifted. The bite was dulled. The spark was dimmer. After a few days of watching it, I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I couldn’t see my role model sitting behind glass walls, running on empty like that.
So I went over to his office. The blinds were half-closed, his desk littered with files he clearly hadn’t touched in hours. He sat leaned back in his chair, blazer draped over the armrest, fingers rubbing at his forehead like even the quiet was too much. I hesitated in the doorway, not sure if I should speak first.
He didn’t even open his eyes.
“Something you need, Alex?” he asked, voice rough, tired.
I stepped inside. “No, sir. Just… wanted to check in. How’re you holding up?”
His eyes cracked open, narrowing on me like he was deciding if I was worth answering. Then he smirked faintly, humorless. “I’ve been better. But you don’t need to worry about me, my guy.”
I nodded, though my chest tightened. “Still Mr. Lawson. You’ve been through a lot.”
He shrugged. His shirt stretched across his chest, pulling at the buttons. My eyes dragged over the lines before I forced them back up. “Seven years,” he muttered. “Seven years, gone in a stack of papers.” He chuckled, low, like it hurt. “She got the house and suddenly I’m living out of a hotel.”
Something in me twisted. Respect, admiration, and… something else, something lower, sharper. He deserved better than a hotel room and cold takeout eaten off the nightstand.
I shifted on my feet. “You shouldn’t be by yourself right now, sir. Not while you’re figuring things out.”
Greg’s gaze flicked back to me, steady. “What do you suggest, Alex? That I crashed at my employees’ place?” His tone was dry, but not cruel.
I swallowed, steadying myself. “I have a spare room,” I said, careful to keep my voice even. “You don’t have to sit in some hotel room every night, staring at four walls you can’t stand. My place is quiet. There’s space for you, and… I wouldn’t mind the company either.”
For a moment, he just stared at me. His lips pressed together, jaw flexing like he was grinding over whether to laugh or tell me I was insane.
“Alex, that’s… no. You don’t want me in your space. Trust me. I’m a mess right now, and the last thing I want is to impose.”
“No, not at all, Mr. Lawson,” I said quickly, heat rushing to my face. “You’ve been there for me since day one. You’ve mentored me, backed me up when it mattered, even when I didn’t deserve it. Let me do this for you. Please.”
His brows furrowed, his eyes heavy on me. “I’m not sure how long it’ll take me to find a place… or when I’ll even have the time to deal with it.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” I said. “I was using that room for some music composition anyway, just a hobby thing. It’s already set up with a bed. I can clear it out in an afternoon.”
For the first time all week, I saw a faint smile tug at his mouth. “Music, huh. I didn’t know that about you.”
“Yeah,” I admitted with a shrug. “It’s just something I like doing in my free time. Anyway, the room’s comfortable. I’ll make sure you’ve got everything you need.”
His expression softened, though the hesitation was still there. “Alex…” His voice was low, conflicted.
“No, sir. Trust me. It’s no problem at all. I want you there.”
Another long pause. I swore I could hear the sound of his breath as clearly as my own heartbeat. Finally, he let out a rough exhale and leaned back in his chair. “Alright. If you’re sure. Thanks, buddy. I’ll bring my stuff over this weekend.”
“Good,” I said, smiling before I could stop myself. “It’s settled then.”
We wrapped it up quickly after that, didn’t overthink it too much. He just gave me one of those nods of his, the kind that carried weight.
When I walked back to my desk, I was buzzing. The thought of him in my apartment, his things in my spare room, his voice in my kitchen, his smell clinging to the air… it hit me hard. I’d offered it out of nowhere, but the truth was I didn’t know how I was going to behave around him.
Greg Lawson. My boss. My crush for three years. And now he was going to be living under my roof.
The idea twisted low in my gut, equal parts thrill and danger. I knew I should be worried about boundaries, about how close this was about to get. Instead, all I could think about was the heat of him moving through my space, the way my walls would echo with his presence, the way I’d catch myself looking too long, wanting too much.
And I already knew, I wasn’t going to handle it well.
Greg arrived with a couple of heavy suitcases and a couple of garment bags slung over his shoulder. Watching him carry his life into my apartment felt strangely intimate, like I was seeing a side of him I was never meant to see. Suits in muted grays and blues, neatly folded shirts, polished leather shoes, his whole professional armor laid out right there in my spare room. But what got me wasn’t the suits. It was the other stuff.
Sweatpants. T-shirts. A pair of sneakers that had clearly been broken in at the gym. For the first time since I’d known him, I was seeing Greg stripped of that perfect boardroom polish, and it made my chest tighten. The T-shirt clung to his broad torso, showing a chest that clearly saw the inside of a weight room, though he wasn’t shredded like some gym bro. He was just… big. Solid. Wide shoulders tapering down to a trim waist. The kind of build that looked effortless but was anything but. He had the look of a superhero who had set the cape aside for the night, moving through my apartment as nothing more than a dangerously sexy man… and yes, you already know I’m giving a reference to Mr. Cavill.
I lingered in the doorway, pretending to check the space while really just drinking him in. “Please let me know, Mr. Lawson, if you need anything,” I said, trying to sound casual.
“Thanks, man,” he replied without looking up, focused on organizing his things.
I had cleared the room for him…emptied out the wardrobes, put away every trace of clutter, replaced the sheets with fresh ones. I even polished the nightstand. All that remained was my piano in the corner, like a piece of myself I couldn’t quite hide. It wasn’t just about giving him a comfortable space. If I was honest, maybe it was about making sure he felt too at home to leave anytime soon.
────୨ৎ────
Time passed in a blur after that. I busied myself with dinner, sitting on the stool at the kitchen counter, a bowl balanced in front of me. The quiet was soothing, until I heard his footsteps again.
Greg stepped out of the hallway bathroom, and I almost dropped my fork. His clothes had changed, this wasn’t the buttoned-up version of him I knew. Damp hair clung to his forehead, a few strands falling forward, freshly washed. His T-shirt was different too, stretched tight across his chest and shoulders, leaving nothing to the imagination.
And the shorts… fuck. They cut off just above the knee, hugging thick quads dusted with dark hair. My eyes betrayed me before I could stop them, sliding down, tracing the strong curve of his legs. My cock twitched under the kitchen counter.
He looked younger like this, almost boyish…not the intimidating executive I answered to every day, but a man unwinding in someone else’s apartment. A man who suddenly felt five or six years younger.
“No issues with the shower, right?” I asked, forcing my eyes back up. I had gone so far as to stock the bathroom with fresh body wash and shampoo, like some over-eager host.
Greg came closer, and when his hand patted my shoulder, the warmth lingered longer than it should have. “Alex, man. This is too much. You’re too kind.”
I swallowed, smiling awkwardly. “No, no, Mr. Lawson…”
He cut me off, chuckling. “Mate, we’re roommates now. You can call me Greg.”
“Uh, but… Sir—”
“Come on. Only you call me ‘sir’ at the office. You know everyone else uses first names.”
He grinned, glancing down at his shorts before meeting my eyes again. “And I’m not that old, you know.”
That smile nearly knocked the air out of me. My throat went dry.
“Okay… Greg,” I said finally, the word tasting strange but good on my tongue. “Please let me know if you need anything.”
“Sure, man. Thanks a ton for all this.”
I nodded quickly, needing to move, to do something before I gave myself away. Grabbing my empty bowl, I carried it to the sink, rinsed it out, and slipped past him with a polite smile.
But my body was buzzing, every nerve alive. Seeing Greg like this.. relaxed, impossibly close was more intimate than I wanted to admit.
────୨ৎ────
Later that night, I kept thinking about Greg. Still stuck in my head…damp t-shirt, shorts clinging to his quads like they might rip open if he flexed too hard. If only the girls at the office saw him like that, they’d lose their minds. Hell, even I couldn’t get it out of mine.
And now he was in the room right next to me. Living here. This was going to be the new normal. Waking up, seeing him in the kitchen, maybe even going into the office together. Just existing around him was already messing with me.
I lay in bed, wide awake, wondering what he was doing right then. Probably unpacking, hanging up those expensive suits, arranging his cufflinks in neat little rows. I imagined his cologne filling the wardrobe, his shirts perfectly pressed, everything in control like always.
Except my head kept wandering to his body. His presence. The way his aura filled the apartment like I had no say in it. It made my mouth dry. Literally…I laughed at myself, but I really was thirsty.
So I got up. Walked to the kitchen. Took a long pull from the water bottle, but it didn’t help much. On the way back, my eyes just… went. Straight to Greg’s room. The door wasn’t shut all the way. Just cracked open.
I slowed down. My feet made no sound on the floor as I edged closer. I don’t know if I wanted to check on him, or just… check him out.
Inside, the lamp was still on. Greg was on the bed, shirtless, the blanket draped low over his legs. I caught a glimpse of his chest…broad, hairy, the kind of chest that made you understand why he always looked so good in a suit.
But that wasn’t what froze me there.
It was his hand. Down his shorts. Moving.
My breath caught. I stood at the corner, clutching the water bottle like it might save me from myself. Greg - my boss, shirtless in my apartment, jerking off just a few steps away. The sight hit me like a punch. I got hard so fast it was embarrassing.
And yeah, I knew he had a big dick. You could just tell with men like him. The way he carried himself. The quiet confidence. I imagined his cock thick in his grip, sliding heavy and hard under his palm.
I should’ve left. I thought about backing away, slipping into my room and pretending I never saw. But then my hand betrayed me. The bottle slipped, clattering against the floor. The sharp sound echoed down the hall.
Greg’s hand stopped.
Silence.
Then his voice cut through the air, deep and calm but sharp enough to freeze me.
“Alex… "
I was still half-bent over, fumbling to pick up the bottle, heart hammering in my chest. My throat felt tight.
And before I could answer, I heard his voice again
Greg’s voice rolled out from the room, low and rough, “Alex… you up?”
My chest tightened. I froze there in the hallway, half-bent picking up the water bottle in my hand. The sheets shifted again inside, and before I could slip away, the door pulled wider.
Greg stood there. Shirtless. A pair of loose shorts sat low on his hips, fabric tented enough to betray what I already knew I’d seen. His chest rose heavy, the scatter of dark hair curling down his torso, and his eyes caught me in place like a spotlight.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, voice steady, but the heat under it was undeniable. Like he knew exactly what I’d just witnessed.
I swallowed hard. “I… uh—yeah. Just got some water.” I lifted the bottle lamely, like it could shield me from him. My mouth worked uselessly, the words tumbling out: “I, uh… thought maybe I’d get you some. I forgot earlier.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. Not a smile, not yet. “Man, that’s really… sweet of you. Even my ex-wife never looked after me like this.”
My pulse stuttered at that. “Greg, I… I can’t imagine how hard this is for you. I mean, I’ve never been married, but…” My throat closed off before I could finish.
He stepped forward, close enough that the air shifted between us. His body heat poured over me, and when he reached out to take the bottle, his fingers brushed mine..warm, calloused and deliberate. That single touch shot through me, a lightning crack down my spine, straight to the heavy ache in my cock.
“Thanks, Alex,” he said quietly, eyes not moving from my face.
I tried to keep my gaze steady, but it betrayed me. I flicked down, and there it was - his shorts strained against the weight inside, the outline so heavy, thick, I felt my own cock pulse in answer. My breath caught, my throat dry.
Greg’s voice dropped, almost a whisper. “Uh… fuck. Sorry about that.” He shifted his stance, but not to hide it. If anything, the motion pushed his cock forward, proud and unashamed.
My face burned. “Uh… no, that’s… uh… okay,” I stammered.
Greg’s lips twitched into a grin. “It’s just… I mean…” He let out a short laugh, searching for words before shaking his head. “I was just uh...tired” He smiled like he already knew I wasn’t judging him, like the whole thing was nothing more than a slip he wasn’t really embarrassed about.
My face burned. “Sir.. uh.. You… you don’t have to explain,” I managed. My voice cracked.
He chuckled low, deep in his chest. “Alright then.” His fingers scratched idly through the dark hair on his chest, the movement lazy, intimate, like he wasn’t standing half-hard in front of me.
I cleared my throat and stepped back a little, desperate to break the tension. “Okay… I’ll let you get some sleep then. You must be tired today”
“Yeah, man,” Greg said, dragging his fingers across his hairy chest again, scratching it absently like it calmed him. He exhaled, the sound half a sigh, half a laugh. “Feels like the day’s been never-ending.” He shifted his weight, then glanced toward the clock in the living room. “And anyway, we’ve got that meeting with the CEO tomorrow. Big day.”
I forced a crooked grin, blurting out before I could stop myself, “Yeah. Way to end a Saturday.”
That earned a laugh, real and sharp. My stomach knotted at the sound.
“Sorry,” I muttered quickly, realizing what I’d said. “I forgot, you scheduled the meeting.”
Greg just clapped my shoulder, his palm firm, grounding me. The warmth of his hand lingered, steady and unhurried, like he knew I needed the contact more than the words. “C’mon, man. It’s chill. I’m dreading it as much as you are.” His thumb gave a small absent rub before he pulled back, and he let out a quiet breath that sounded almost like a sigh. “Can’t wait for it to be over so we can get back here and actually relax.”
The way he said “we” made something dangerous flare in my chest.
“Yeah… same,” I murmured.
He took a sip from the bottle, muscles in his arm flexing, then looked at me with that lazy ease. “Anyway. We’ll leave at what—eight tomorrow?”
I blinked. “Uh..What do you mean?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I figured since we’re both headed in, might as well tag along with me. You take the subway, right?”
I nodded dumbly. “Yeah. But you don’t have to—”
“Alex.” His tone shut me up instantly. Not sharp, but firm. “This is the least I can do. We work at the same office. Don’t be stubborn, just come with me.”
I fumbled. “Uh… okay, sir. Thank you.”
His brow arched again, and he grinned faintly. “Greg.”
“Right,” I said quickly. “Okay, Greg.”
He hesitated, scratching lightly at his chest before speaking again. “Uh… Alex. It’s best the others don’t know that I’m… crashing at a colleague’s place.”
“Absolutely not,” I said without missing a beat. “Don’t worry.”
Greg gave me a small nod, the corners of his mouth softening. “Thank you.” He lingered a moment longer, then padded back inside. “Good night,” he added over his shoulder.
The door clicked shut, leaving me standing there in the hall, cock aching in my shorts, pulse still echoing with the sound of his laugh and the weight of his hand on my shoulder. My boss - my divorced boss wanted to keep it a secret that he was spending nights under the same roof as me. Did that mean something? Or was he just being cautious, careful not to look like he was showing favoritism at work?
I went back to my room smiling, wondering if I was just being delusional to think something could happen between us… or if maybe, just maybe, it really could.
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