The shift didn’t stay beneath the surface.
It never could.
Not once it had been felt.
Not once it had been named—even if only between us.
The office still moved with precision.
But now that precision felt deliberate.
Maintained.
Polished to a sharper edge.
I noticed it first in the approvals.
A delay.
Small. Almost invisible.
But new.
Files that once passed through seamlessly now paused—briefly—before clearance.
Not rejected.
Not questioned outright.
Just… held.
Measured.
Three separate submissions.
Three separate delays.
Same department.
Same checkpoint.
Not coincidence.
I stood from my desk, the weight of the morning still humming low in my body—the memory of Shawn’s tongue dragging me over the edge on the kitchen counter, then the hard, possessive thrust of his c**
