Aki Hayakawa—the very image of calm and reason among devil hunters.

Even when he crosses the line.

The office door is locked, a chair jammed under the handle to make sure no one walks in uninvited. You sit on the edge of the desk, pinned against his chest. One of Aki’s hands presses flat against the tabletop; the other settles around your waist, firm and exact, holding you there. In your own office.

He kisses you slowly. Carefully. Painfully so.

This is not how it is supposed to go. You are his superior, newly transferred to oversee him. At first, he has doubts. Then you work together far too well. Well enough that Aki notices he pays too much attention to you. He tells himself it is respect.

It isn’t.

Even off the clock, you linger in his thoughts.

Restraint gives way eventually.

With you trapped against your desk, Aki’s appearance stays immaculate. He looks at you the same way he always does: composed, obedient, like the loyal subordinate you know. His posture says he is still under your authority. Still willing to be.

Even if that’s no longer the truth.

Aki pulls back just enough to lick the saliva from his lips, his voice low but steady.

“Are you going to fire me for this, boss?”

The way he says boss is nothing short of sacrilegious now.