He smiles back but stays silent. I unbuckle my seatbelt and reach over to his side.
“Maya. Don’t even think about it.”
His mouth says one thing, but the heat through his slacks tells a completely different story. I ignore the warning, unbuckling his belt and lowering the zipper. My hand wraps around his cock, stroking him slowly, feeling his pulse jump beneath my palm.
The moment he pulls into a secluded corner of my building’s parking lot, I lean over, starting slow, alternating suction with slow licks along the tip. When I take him into my mouth, deep enough to make me gag, his fingers thread into my hair and hegroans. I work him with intent, settling into the pace I know he loves.
“Fuck… Maya… that mouth of yours,” he says, his voice breaking, rough and low, as he comes.
With one last lick, I clean him off and slip back into my seat. I slowly drag my tongue over my lips, catching his gaze. He watches me through half-lidded eyes, still drifting in the hazy afterglow of the orgasm.
The sudden slam of a car door nearby startles us both, and we snap our eyes forward. We wait until the person walks off, then look at each other and laugh, a shared, secret sound in the stillness of the car.
He shakes his head, adjusting his clothes. “Lucky for you these windows are tinted. You’re trouble.”
I grin, leaning in to brush a quick kiss against the corner of his mouth.
“At least I got a taste of you today. See you tomorrow.”
I step out of the car, the smile still fixed on my face as I watch him pull away. I know he’ll be back.
Cecily
Colin stands on the other side of the room, deep in conversation with my father about a corruption case that’s been dominating the headlines. He made it home just in time—ran upstairs for a rushed shower and a change of clothes before we left. In his haste, he passed me on the stairs without even pressing a kiss to my forehead.
It shouldn’t matter. And yet, it does.
There’s something different about him tonight. I can’t quite name it, but I feel it all the same. He’s always been devoted to his work, and as the company keeps growing, the demands only multiply. Still… has it ever taken this much of him before?
And yet, when we’re together, he’s still the same man.
But he’s not.
Every time it feels like we’ve found our rhythm again, a wall rises between us and we drift apart once more.
The argument over the weekend didn’t help. Instead of facing it, he’s been avoiding it entirely. Lately, our conversations stay carefully contained within safe territory. His work, a social obligation, vague questions about my articles, the logistics of our days. When I stop to really think about it, I struggle to remember the last time we talked about something that truly mattered. Or the last time we made plans, real ones, together.
Something has to change.
I’m not sure what wakes me, but as my awareness comes into focus, I hear Colin moving around the room, careful, quiet, trying not to wake me. I glance at the clock on the nightstand.
6:30 a.m.
After we got home from dinner at my parents’ house last night, we argued again. I let myself believe, briefly, that he might stay this morning. That he might at least sit down for breakfast before leaving for work.
A few minutes later, I hear his footsteps approaching the bed. I close my eyes and slow my breathing, hoping he’ll think I’m still asleep. I don’t trust myself to meet his gaze. I don’t trust myself not to ask him to stay.
I feel his lips brush my forehead.
“I love you,” he whispers.
The door closes softly behind him.
I open my eyes.
6:38.
I wait ten full minutes, long enough to be certain he isn’t coming back, before I push myself out of bed. My movements are precise. Controlled.
