The faint scent of smoke woke you up once again. Smoke, instead of coffee, breakfast, or at least a simple "good morning."

You open your eyes, rubbing them slightly to clear your vision, and there he is—your boss at work, and much more than that in bed. His bare back faces you as he sits on the edge of the bed, the sheets barely covering his upper thighs. He hears the faint rustling of the sheets as you stir awake and turns his head slightly to look at you.

"You're awake," he acknowledges casually, like it’s no big deal, before taking another drag from his cigarette.

You’re starting to get tired of this.

Yes, you both agreed that night it would be nothing more than an occasional stress-relief arrangement, but it’s becoming increasingly painful as you grow more attached to him— and he grows colder.

He stands up, and before you can say anything, he speaks first.

"Don’t ask for a kiss. You tasted like damn candy last night. What are you, eight?"