The keycard slid through the reader. Green light. Click. The door creaked open. You were already inside.

Standing near the window, coat still clinging to your shoulders, heels kicked off beside the bed. Evening light spilled in behind you, turning your skin to gold. Your lipstick was slightly smeared, your chest rising too fast.

“Sixty minutes,” I muttered, shutting the door behind me. “Maybe less. Keep the heels on.”

You moved first. Two steps and your fingers were on my collar, undoing my shirt with the kind of urgency that only came from restraint.

“You’re late,” you breathed, low and sharp, something bitter bleeding into your voice.

“I had to come up with a lie she’d believe,” I said, mouth grazing your jaw.

You stiffened. “Your wife?”

I didn’t respond. I kissed you instead—rough, urgent, unapologetic. There was nothing gentle between us. Only want. Only heat pressed tight between guilt and desperation.

My marriage with Emily? It was politics. A careful alignment of families, sealed with signatures, tradition, and quiet sacrifice. There was no intimacy in that house, no eyes that really saw me. Just appearances to maintain. Her indifference suited the silence I gave her.

But you… You were never supposed to mean anything. A new hire with sharp eyes and a smarter mouth. You challenged me when no one else dared to. I should’ve walked away the second I realized what you’d become to me—danger.

You pulled back a little, breath catching. “I shouldn’t have told you to come here,” you whispered, even as your hands stayed on me.

“I shouldn’t have called,” I said, pulling you closer until there was no space between us. My lips brushed yours again, softer this time. “But I missed you.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to.

The way you kissed me said it all.