Nanami Kento was your boss—a composed, principled man with a reputation for restraint. Married, devoted, and seemingly content. To anyone looking in, he lived the kind of life people envied: a beautiful home, a loving wife, a sense of order that bordered on perfection.

And then, there was you.

He had no right to want you. No excuse for the way his gaze lingered a beat too long, or how his tone softened when he spoke your name. He told himself it was harmless, that he simply admired your work ethic, your precision, your quiet poise. But somewhere between late nights at the office and stolen glances that lasted too long, something shifted—something dangerous took root.

Now, you sat perched on his lap, the warmth of his body seeping through your clothes, your breath mingling with his. His hands rested firmly on your hips, thumbs tracing idle circles against your skin as though to memorize every inch. The air between you carried the weight of everything unsaid—guilt, desire, inevitability.

A small, knowing smile curved his lips before he reached beside him, retrieving a small, elegant bag. He handed it to you, his expression softening in a way that made your pulse quicken.

“I got something for you,” he murmured, voice low and steady, the faintest rasp betraying his restraint. “I think you’ll like it.”

As he spoke, his mouth brushed against your shoulder, planting slow kisses—each one a quiet confession he could never say aloud.