Page 36 of Wells

Cera makes the sound again, higher this time, and my body answers before I can stop it. I ride into her harder, and the recognition twists with the pleasure until I cannot separate them.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Peoria is there, sprawled across her bed. The mask, the red lips, the blue beneath the rhinestones, all of it flares white hot behind my own eyes.

I bury the thought before it can overtake what is happening here, in the flesh. The only reason my brain is making connections is because I am so fucked up over one woman that I am hearing her ghost in another.

I don't slow down. The wrongness of it grinds against the pull of her body, and the friction torches what restraint I have left.

Cera's breathing comes apart. Her hands slide forward on the desk, and her nails scrape the wood. She tips her head back, the line of her throat bared, and I refuse to think about anything except that she is here, that she is real, that she wants this as much as I do.

"Fuck, Wells."

My name in her mouth detonates the last of my control. My right hand comes to the base of her neck as I bend into her, burying myself as deep as I can go. The tempo breaks open and goes rough, and the push and pull of it wipes out the room, the rules, every reason I had for not doing this.

She comes first.

The sound is unmistakable. Her whole body locks and then releases in a wave that tightens around me and drags me over the edge with her.

The climax hits hard enough to white out everything. My vision blurs, my chest seizes, and the release rolls through me. The only problem is, it doesn't quiet the wanting. It makes it louder.

I pull out and step back, and the air between us goes electric. My hands shake when I strip the condom off and tie it. The motion is automatic. My breath is still uneven.

It's like we both realized in that exact moment that we crossed a line we shouldn't have, but neither of us knows how to handle it.

Cera straightens slowly. She doesn't turn around. Her hands stay braced on the desk, and her shoulders rise and fall with the effort to steady herself.

The silence fills the room, and there is nothing comfortable in it. It's the quiet that settles after a wreck, when no one knows where to put their hands.

Without a word, I walk into the private bathroom and shut the door behind me. The trash can sits under the sink. I drop the tied condom and run the water too hot and scrub my hands longer than necessary.

The soap smells antiseptic. The mirror reflects nothing useful. My face is locked down, the same as always, when I won't let anyone in.

When I walk back into the office, Cera has already straightened her skirt. Her hands smooth the fabric over her hips once, then drop. Her underwear is gone from the floor, back where I don't see the evidence of what we did. It's almost like we can pretend it never happened.

Cera tucks her blouse in and tests the buttons. Her hair is still neat. She does not look wrecked or upset.

But nothing feels right. Apologies seem insulting, and reassurance is just presumptive. More than anything, acknowledgment of any kind feels dangerous.

Cera breaks it first.

"Well. That was efficient."

The line lands dry and unbothered, with just enough humor to keep it from cutting. She glances at the desk, then back at me, and her mouth quirks in something that is not quite a smile.

"Good to know the project wasn't the only thing we could finish under deadline."

I stare at her.

She doesn't flinch or reach or angle for anything. How the fuck did I just let that happen?

I expected something else. Not tears, Cera doesn't strike me as the type, but a question at least, or a demand, some signal that this meant something to her, or that she wants it to, like all women after an unexpected fuck.

The deflection is so smooth that it takes a second to register. She is handing both of us an exit and refusing to make a thing of it.

She picks up her tablet from the desk and checks the screen. Her posture is relaxed. She could be wrapping up any work session.

"I'll test all of the links and buttons this weekend and make sure we didn't miss anything. I'll let you know before Sunday night if anything needs adjusting."

Her voice is level, a late meeting that ran long. I keep my face flat and nod.