The weekend after our first night together blurred into a haze of skin and heat. We barely left his bedroom. Food was delivered to the door; clothes were optional. He f****d me slow in the morning light, fast against the window at dusk, deep and filthy on the rug in front of the fireplace until we were both too spent to move.
But by Monday, something shifted. The raw urgency settled into something darker, more deliberate. Alex had always been controlled—every suit perfect, every word measured. Now that control turned inward, focused on me. On us. On how far he could push before I broke open for him.
It started small.
He came home from the office later than usual, tie already loosened, eyes sharp. I was on the couch in one of his dress shirts again—nothing underneath—reading. He didn’t s
