Unspoken things
724 Words
The city night was cooler than usual, a soft breeze tugging at the hem of Leyla’s dress as she stood outside the office building, waiting by the curb. Her arms were crossed, her clutch tucked under one elbow, red heels tapping the concrete in small, tired inpatient beats.
She glanced down the street. No taxi in sight.
Then the familiar growl of a sleek black car purred beside her.
The window lowered.
“Get in,” Miran said smoothly from behind the wheel, one hand resting casually at the top of the steering wheel.
Leyla blinked. “I’m fine, I can—”
“Don’t argue. It’s late.”
A pause.
“Unless you think I bite.”
Her lips curved. “I don’t think. I assume.”
He smirked.
🚗 The Ride
Inside the car, everything felt warmer — the faint hum of soft jazz on the speakers, low lights from the dashboard glowing against his jawline. He drove with one hand, the other resting on the gear shift, thumb tapping lightly.
Neither of them spoke for the first few minutes.
And somehow, the silence wasn’t awkward. It was… charged.
“You live far?” he asked finally, eyes still on the road.
“Ten minutes. If you drive slow,” she replied.
He arched an eyebrow. “And if I don’t?”
“Five.”
He chuckled under his breath. “Bosses who drive fast. You should be terrified.” He then gave her a long stare, his eyes following her every movement.
“I don’t scare easy,” she said, eyes out the window, but smiling.
That smile lingered even as they pulled up to her building. It wasn’t much — modest, tucked away on a quieter side street. But it was hers.
He stopped the car. No rush to say goodbye.
“Thank you,” she said softly, fingers brushing the door handle. “For the ride.”
“And the coffee,” he added.
She looked back at him.
He gave her a slow, deliberate wink.
Leyla’s heart stuttered. But she only smiled — soft, warm, unreadable — then stepped out.
Miran waited until the building door closed behind her before driving off.
🛁 Leyla’s Apartment
Inside, Leyla kicked off her heels, the silence wrapping around her like a soft robe. She turned on the stereo — a mellow playlist started humming through the room.
The zipper of her dress slid down slowly. She let the fabric fall to the floor, stepping out of it as she moved toward the bathroom. Her red lipstick had faded, her bun loosened into waves.
The water in the shower was hot — just the way she needed it.
As it cascaded down her skin, she tilted her head back, trying to rinse the day away.
But he was there. In her mind.
Those eyes. That smile. His knee brushing hers. The way he looked at her — like he could set her on fire without even touching her.
She groaned softly, pressing her forehead to the cool tiles.
This is bad. Very bad. she was falling for her boss!
She dried off, slipped into a loose cotton shirt with no underwear and collapsed into bed. She enjoyed to have her body free at night from tight panties and today she needed to feel herself. With the rhythm of the rain which had started outside, drumming softly on the window, her hand went lower, feeling herself getting wetter.
And as sleep pulled her under, her dreams turned warm, wet, and full of him.
🛁 Miran’s Penthouse
The shower steamed up the glass, fog swirling like smoke. Miran leaned against the tiles, eyes closed, hand gripping the edge of the shelf.
He should’ve ignored the coffee. He should’ve ignored her.
But her scent still lingered — vanilla and something citrusy, something sharp and female.
His jaw clenched.
He could still see the way her mouth moved when she said “I don’t think. I assume.”
He ran his hand down his abs, lower, releasing the pressure that had been building all day.
Her legs. Her dress. Her lips.
He groaned, heat rushing through his veins, his mind filled with her gasp, her skin under his touch, her thighs parting—
The release was fast. Brutal.
But it didn’t ease the ache.
Not really.
- Writer
