What's next?

Hanging

Kevin's breath hitched as Emily's fingers traced the tense line of his neck, her touch feather-light yet electric. The office chair creaked under his shifting weight, but he didn't move away. Somewhere in the logical part of his brain, alarms were blaring—*married, kids, inappropriate, HR disaster*—but the rest of him was acutely aware of how warm her palms felt through his dress shirt.

"Emily—" His voice came out rougher than he intended, and he cleared his throat. "The report."

"Mmm," she hummed, ignoring the protest as her thumbs circled the taut muscles at the base of his skull. "You’ve been staring at that screen for hours. Your shoulders are like rocks." Her lips brushed the shell of his ear, just barely, as she added, "I bet your wife doesn’t even notice." The words were a calculated strike, and they landed. Kevin’s jaw tightened.

A phone buzzed somewhere—his, probably, in his jacket pocket. The sound snapped him back to reality like a bucket of ice water. He caught her wrist, gently but firmly, and turned in his chair to face her. "You should go home."

Emily didn’t pull away. Instead, she tilted her head, her blue eyes wide and disarmingly innocent. "I don’t *want* to." The simplicity of it threw him. No games, no coy act—just the raw, unsettling honesty of someone who didn’t know how to hide desire yet.

Kevin's grip on her wrist loosened slightly, his fingers lingering against her pulse point where he could feel the rapid flutter beneath her skin. He exhaled sharply through his nose, torn between the warmth of her proximity and the cold, rational voice in his head reminding him of the ring on his left hand. "Emily," he said again, softer this time, "this isn't—"

"A good idea?" she finished for him, her lips quirking into a small, knowing smile. "Yeah. I know." But she didn't move. Instead, her free hand came up to pluck the paperclip heart from where it had fallen onto his keyboard, her fingers brushing his in a deliberate, fleeting touch. "But since when do good ideas ever feel like this?"

The phone buzzed again, insistent, and Kevin closed his eyes for a brief second before reaching for his jacket. The screen lit up with his wife's name—*Sarah*—and a single-line text: *Kids are asleep. You coming home soon?* The guilt hit him like a physical weight, settling heavy in his chest. He typed out a quick reply—*Just finishing up. Be there by eleven*—and tossed the phone back onto the desk with more **** than necessary.

Emily watched him, her expression unreadable. When she spoke, her voice was quieter, almost hesitant. "You don’t have to lie to her." There was no judgment in it, just a simple observation that made Kevin's stomach twist.

"I’m not," he said automatically, then winced at the half-truth. He *was* finishing up. Eventually. Just not in the way Sarah meant. He rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly exhausted. "Look, Emily—"

Emily didn’t let him finish. Instead, she stepped back just enough to perch on the edge of his desk again, her knee brushing his thigh as she crossed her legs. The movement was casual, practiced—like she’d rehearsed it in her head a dozen times. "You’re thinking too much," she murmured, tapping the paperclip heart against her bottom lip. "I can hear it from here."

Kevin’s gaze flicked to her mouth, then away, but not fast enough. Emily smiled, slow and feline, and let the paperclip drop into his open palm. Her fingers lingered, tracing the lines of his lifeline before pulling away. "You know what my grandma used to say?" she asked, swinging her foot idly. "‘If you have to talk yourself out of something, maybe you shouldn’t.’"

The air between them crackled. Kevin’s throat went dry. He could count the freckles on her nose from here—three, unevenly spaced—and the way her blouse gaped just slightly where she’d undone the top button earlier. He’d noticed. Of course he’d noticed.

Emily leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Tell me you haven’t thought about it." Not a question. A challenge. Her knee pressed into his thigh, warm and insistent. "Just once. When you’re alone in your car. Or in the shower." Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. "I know you have."

Kevin’s pulse roared in his ears. The office was too hot suddenly, the AC humming uselessly as sweat prickled at the back of his neck. He should’ve stood up. Walked away. But his body betrayed him, leaning infinitesimally closer, drawn like a magnet to the heat of her.