The kiss should’ve been a mistake.
Something we pretended didn’t happen.
But it wasn’t.
Because ever since that night, I couldn’t stop replaying it—over and over again. The way his hands gripped my body like I was something sacred. The way he made me come with just his fingers and a growl in my ear. The way he looked torn apart after, like kissing me broke something inside him.
And maybe it did.
Because three days passed, and he didn’t speak to me. Not in meetings. Not in the hallway. Not even in passing.
I was invisible.
And yet, I could feel him watching me when he thought I wasn’t looking. I could feel the heat of him across the room. Like a storm that hadn’t struck yet, just hovering—thick and electric.
And tonight, the storm finally hit.
It was past 9 p.m. when I got the text
