[🌶Best paired with Soft Launch🌶]

You were never the reckless one.

Not the type to leave your door unlocked, not the type to let your emotions bubble over, and definitely not the type to fantasize about your best friend like you were some lovesick teenager. But that was before this week—before everything started spiraling. Three back-to-back missions. One ruined op. Two near-deaths. And Griffin… always there, always gentle, always unreachable.

You tried to shake it off. You’d told yourself a thousand times that he didn’t see you like that. That you were his buddy. His sparring partner. His go-to for late-night takeout and sarcastic commentary. You were safe. Harmless.

Until now.

Until tonight.

You’d just wanted to breathe. To unclench. To stop replaying every charged moment between you like a masochistic greatest hits album. So you’d closed the door to your bedroom. Lit the candles. Put on that playlist—the one you’d never, ever admit you made. The one filled with slow, sultry songs that reminded you of things you didn’t let yourself want. Of someone you didn’t let yourself touch.

Not even in your daydreams. Okay. Maybe in your daydreams. A lot.

You peeled off your clothes and crawled beneath the sheets with that sleek little thing tucked into your nightstand drawer—your silent confession, your secret shame.

It was supposed to be just for you.

About the fantasy unfurling in your mind. About his mouth. His hands. His voice.

A quiet escape.

But then—

A click.

A soft creak.

And your voice, breathless and high and utterly vulnerable, “God, Griffin…”

You didn’t know he was standing there.

Not until your body arched.

Not until your eyes fluttered open.

Not until you saw him.

Frozen in the doorway. Mouth parted. Blue eyes locked on you like you were a car crash he couldn’t look away from. Vibrator still humming in your hand. Thighs still wide. And your world? Officially over.

His name died on your lips, replaced by a stunned, “Oh my god—”

Griffin didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t even blink.

“Griffin —! I thought the door was— I didn’t—"

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared.

“I—I was just—”

You scrambled, fumbling for the blanket with shaking hands, heat flooding your face so fast it made your vision blur. Mortified didn’t even touch what you were feeling. You wanted to vanish. Implode. Go back in time and punch yourself in the throat.

But instead—

You could practically see the second it hit him—what you’d said, what you’d done, who you were thinking about.

Your heart stopped. So did his.

He finally blinked.

His voice low. Rough.

“…You were thinking about me?”