Blurred Lines

The early afternoon sun slanted through the sleek glass walls of the office, casting a soft golden haze over everything.

Kiara Laurent sat perched gracefully on the edge of the white leather couch, one leg tucked neatly under the other, back perfectly straight but relaxed—her posture an effortless result of Celeste’s endless drilling.

She wore a soft white blouse today, tucked into a high-waisted dove-gray pencil skirt that hugged her hips and cinched in sharply at the waist, the corset beneath smoothing and shaping her figure with an unrelenting grip. A pair of stockings completed the look.

A delicate gold necklace rested just above the collar of her blouse, catching the light every time she shifted.

Her makeup was fresh and soft: fluttery mascara, warm peach blush blended perfectly into her sculpted cheeks, a glossy nude lip that made her mouth look kissable without trying too hard.

Her hair was wavy today—sleek, polished, parted just slightly off-center to frame her delicate face.

Across from her, curled up casually on the opposite end of the couch, was Seraphina.

Seraphina looked incredible, as usual.

Today she wore a figure-hugging black knit dress with short sleeves, the neckline a modest scoop that still hinted at the soft swells of her full chest.

Her makeup was dreamy and soft—rosy cheeks, a swipe of shimmery shadow, and pinky-nude lipstick that made her lips look plump and inviting.

Her hair was pulled back into a messy high ponytail, with a few wispy strands artfully framing her face, giving her an easygoing, girl-next-door beauty that was totally unfair.

They were supposed to be working.

Technically, they were—budget adjustments, upcoming press events, and restructuring team priorities were all scribbled on the tablet in Kiara’s lap.

But somehow, as it had been happening more and more over the past few days, they’d veered off course.

Way off course.

"And then," Seraphina was saying between giggles, "he actually tried to tell me that the quarterly expense report wasn’t his responsibility! Like—hello? You’re the financial controller. It's literally your whole job."

Kiara laughed, soft and musical, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in that polished, dainty way that had become second nature. She twisted slightly toward Seraphina, careful to move slowly, smoothly—Celeste’s training had hammered home that every motion should seem fluid and feminine, not jerky or rushed.

"I swear," Kiara said, her voice pitched in that lightly melodic register she had worked so hard to maintain, "half of these guys would let the company burn if we didn’t keep an eye on them."

"Seriously," Seraphina said, rolling her eyes dramatically and flopping back into the cushions, her dress riding up just slightly over her thighs. "Good thing they have us."

Kiara smiled, but her heart gave a traitorous little thud.

Her eyes flicked down for a split second—to the smooth expanse of Seraphina’s thigh, the way the knit clung to the curve of her hips—and then snapped back up.

Stop. Focus.

But it was hard.

It was so hard.

Ever since that day—the day he'd gotten so painfully hard while she sat across from him talking business—Kieran hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her.

Every night since, he’d jerked off to thoughts of her.

Every night, it got a little worse. A little more ****.

At first it had been innocent enough—just imagining kissing her, sliding a hand up that tight little waist, tugging down that bra.

Now?

Now he imagined her on her knees. Bent over the couch.

He imagined those perfect tits bouncing while he railed her from behind.

He imagined her moaning his name—or Kiara's name.

And every night, when he finally finished, gasping and shaking, he felt this pang of guilt.

She was his friend now.

Well... she was Kiara’s friend.

And fucking her—or even trying—would blow the entire operation to pieces.

He could almost hear Vivienne’s icy voice:

One slip, Kieran. One moment of selfishness, and you’ll destroy everything.

But god, it was getting harder to resist.

Every time Seraphina smiled at him, every time she leaned in close, every time she brushed against him when reaching for something, it was like a little electric shock straight down his spine.

Right now, sitting here across from her, casual and laughing and teasing, it felt so easy. So natural.

"So, what do you think about Friday?" Seraphina asked, bringing him back to reality.

Kiara blinked, smiling sweetly, pushing down the heat thrumming through her body.

"Friday?"

"Yeah," Seraphina said, stretching lazily—god, those tits—and tapping the tablet. "The charity event. You still want to go?"

Kieran hesitated.

The thought of being paraded around in a tight dress, **** to play the perfect heiress all night, wasn’t exactly appealing.

But if Seraphina was going to be there...

"Of course," Kiara said, voice warm and bright, tilting her head in a way Celeste had said was inviting without being suggestive. "Wouldn’t miss it."

Seraphina beamed at her.

"Good," she said. "It’ll be way more fun with you there."

Kieran smiled back, even as his stomach twisted into knots.

Because he knew exactly what he was going to be thinking about tonight when he crawled into bed.

The same thing he’d thought about every night this week.

Seraphina.

On her knees.

In his arms.

Bent over his desk.

And the worst part?

He was starting to realize that part of him didn’t care about the consequences anymore.

If he could just have her once...

Maybe it would all be worth it.

Seraphina tucked her legs up under her, angling her body toward Kiara with a relaxed smile that made her look even prettier somehow.

It was the kind of **** intimacy that only grew with familiarity—no **** professionalism, no stiff boundaries.

Just two girls—well, one girl and one very complicated situation—sitting around and chatting like they’d been friends forever.

"So," Seraphina said, twirling a loose strand of hair around her finger, "be honest. How much do you actually hate the budget meetings?"

Kiara let out a soft, musical laugh—the kind Celeste had trained her to perfect, light and breezy but not obnoxious.

"On a scale of one to gouging my eyes out?" Kiara tilted her head, feigning thoughtfulness with a polished little smile. "Somewhere between ‘painful root canal’ and ‘listening to a two-hour speech from Mr. Feldman.’"

Seraphina snorted, trying to smother her laughter against her palm.

"You _cannot _tell me Feldman's lectures aren’t secretly your favorite part of the job."

Kiara arched a perfectly-groomed brow—the slight lift of it practiced, feminine—and let her lips curl into a sly, knowing smile.

"Oh, absolutely," she said, voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "Who doesn't love a sixty-year-old man explaining PowerPoint animations like he’s unveiling the secrets of the universe?"

That broke Seraphina completely; she threw her head back laughing, and Kiara found herself laughing too, one hand fluttering instinctively to her chest—a dainty, learned gesture.

Moments like this were dangerously easy.

Moments like this made Kieran forget the tightness of the corset beneath his clothes, the light grip of the shapewear smoothing down every visible line.

Made him forget the way his legs crossed a little too neatly, the way his hands gestured lightly when he spoke, the way every single motion was tuned to femininity without him consciously thinking about it anymore.

It was automatic now.

At least on the surface.

"So," Seraphina said once she caught her breath, nudging Kiara’s knee lightly with her own, "what are you gonna do about the product launch next month? You know the R&D team’s expecting you to sign off on the final branding?"

Kiara made a little face—wrinkling her nose, just a small delicate movement Celeste had allowed—but nodded thoughtfully.

"Yeah. I think I want to tweak the campaign," Kiara said, slipping easily into business mode. "I was looking at the numbers... and the last time we led a launch with that kind of focus group data, we underperformed by about 7% against projections."

Seraphina blinked.

"Wait, seriously?"

Kiara nodded, tapping her manicured nails lightly against the tablet resting on her lap.

"Yeah. It’s buried in the Q2 analytics from last year. I pulled it last night," Kiara said, voice smooth, sure. "If we don't shift the marketing slightly toward experience-based messaging instead of just aesthetics, we’re going to leave revenue on the table. Again."

There was a beat of silence, the weight of it hanging lightly in the air between them.

And then Seraphina smiled—slow, genuine, admiring.

"You’re scary good at this," she said, shaking her head. "I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who actually knows the guts of this company like you do."

Kiara felt a flash of pride—warm and deep, coiling around his chest.

He flashed Seraphina a sweet, modest smile, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear.

"Guess I just... pay attention," Kiara said lightly, even as Kieran inside roared with self-satisfaction.

Because this—this was why he was the only one who could have pulled this off.

Vivienne had spent years molding him for this, even when he hadn’t realized it.

And while Celeste could train him to move, talk, smile like Kiara...

No one could fake the mind behind it.

Seraphina shifted again, closer, propping her chin in her hand as she looked at him with open affection.

And god, it hit Kieran like a freight train.

The urge to just lean in.

Close the tiny space between them.

Taste that soft pink gloss.

Feel those curves pressed against him.

He tightened his thighs instinctively, discreetly trying to tame the sudden hardness stirring under the tight grip of his skirt and corset.

Not visible, he reassured himself. Mostly.

The shapewear helped.

But he could feel it—painfully, achingly—and it made it almost impossible to focus.

Seraphina didn’t notice, thank god.

She was still chattering lightly about something—maybe the event planning meeting?—but her words blurred together in his head, every syllable just background noise to the roaring heat pooling in his stomach.

He shifted subtly, uncrossing and recrossing his legs in a way that, thankfully, remained polished and feminine.

Another little **** victory from all those grueling posture lessons Celeste had drilled into him.

He wet his lips—again, delicately, unconsciously girlish—and **** himself back into the conversation.

"... thinking we could do some kind of influencer soft launch before the big event," Seraphina was saying, eyes sparkling with excitement. "Get the buzz going early, you know?"

"Mm," Kiara nodded, voice breezy, professional. "Smart. Let's loop in the brand partnerships team early, make sure they pick the right faces."

Seraphina grinned at him, all bright-eyed approval and easy trust.

And Kieran smiled back, the perfect poised Kiara smile.

But inside?

Inside he was a disaster.

A mess.

Wrecked by the need that coiled tighter around him every second they spent sitting this close.

By the bone-deep hunger he knew he could never act on without detonating everything Vivienne and Celeste had built.

Still, as they kept talking, laughing, leaning closer, letting that easy, magnetic friendship weave tighter between them, he couldn’t help but think—

If things were just a little different...

Maybe he wouldn't have to choose between keeping Kiara alive

—and taking everything he wanted.