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Iwakeupthenext morning, and I still smell him on me.
I want to feel guilty, repent for my sins, but I don’t.
Instead, I feel angry. Angry at this world that taught me I couldn’t have it all.
Angry that he and I can’t be together because of what people may say, because of blurred lines, because supposedly, we can’t mix work and pleasure.
But we did.
We did, and I don’t know how it would turn out in the future, but I don’t know if I’m ready to return to not touching him or feeling his fingers on my skin.
The past three weeks had been agonizing, and I decided - I won’t say anything.
If he decides to broach the topic of last night, I’d let him. But I’m done playing good cop. I can’t hold myself back, nor do I want to.
For now, I want to exist in limbo. Nor here nor there, living in the carnal pleasure of doing what you will, when you will. Or ... he wills.
Last night, I pounced on him.
Now, I’d let him.
I may not talk about what conspired nor remind him of our commitment to boundaries, but I won’t initiate.
Realizing that I had reached a reasonable conclusion, I jumped out of bed and into the shower.
Once dressed, I go downstairs.
For a brief moment, I contemplated sneaking out of the back door and heading straight to work, but I decided against it.
I have nothing to be ashamed of. Does he?
I walk into the kitchen and find him sipping coffee.
“Good morning,” I chirp brightly. Shit, I sound too chirpy.
“How are you?” This time, my voice comes out low, strong, and professional.
How am I even talking?
He looks up with a smirk on his face. He’s caught on to me.
“I’m good, Emily. How are you?” he says, his voice equally formal.
I take a deep breath and respond. “I’m doing great, thank you.”
We made small talk over breakfast, and our words were carefully chosen.
We both know that last night happened, and unspoken words of pleasure hang in the air, but we don’t acknowledge it.
He looks at me, his gaze unbreakable. A look that could break me that could snap me in two.
He gives me a nod, affirming the unspoken truth between us – this fire will never be put out.
As he stands to leave, his voice is low. “See you at work. Unless you plan on coming with me today.”
I swallow hard, my head spinning from the encounter. I pause and then respond. “No, I’ll see you there.”
He raises an eyebrow. “How will you get there?”
