Guilt O'Clock

Tuesday morning arrived far too early.

Roy lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, the pale grey light of dawn just beginning to seep around the edges of the curtains. His alarm hadn't gone off yet. It didn't need to. It never had. For as long as he could remember, his body had been tuned to mornings. Early riser. First in the office. Coffee brewing while the rest of the city still slept.

That morning, though, his body had staged a quiet rebellion.

He was exhausted.

Bone-deep, limbs-heavy, eyes-burning exhausted.

He shifted slightly and groaned, one hand dropping to his stomach as if bracing himself against the weight of his own awareness. That was when the other two sensations made themselves impossible to ignore.

Guilt.

And arousal.

Of course.

Because apparently his conscience and his body had decided to wage war inside him at the exact same time.

Roy closed his eyes and let out a slow breath through his nose. He had known this would happen. He had known, logically, clinically, that the aftermath would be messy. He just hadn't anticipated how persistent it would feel.

Last night had been a mistake. No. That wasn't fair. Last night had been a decision. A calculated one. A necessary one.

At least, that was what he had told himself.

He had needed to do it. That was the whole point of the wish, wasn't it? At least that was the working theory. The attachment, the impossible affection, the way women were thrust into a relationship with him that they had no say in. Not that they acted upset about it. To the women, all was how it should have been. That didn't really make Roy feel too much better.

If he was correct, it only ended one way. Freeing Claire, or any of the women who would end up being his girlfriend, only happened when he orgasmed. He had to see it through. He had to complete the loop. He had to let the wish run its course so it could move on.

One time should have been enough. One time to free Claire from him. One time to clear the board so he could go back to Elaine, where he belonged.

And yet.

On the couch, with Claire's warmth pressed against him, her affection pouring out unchecked and unguarded, something in him had... slipped. He had let himself fall into it. Let himself believe, if only for a little while, that the feeling was mutual. That what she was offering him wasn't something borrowed or manufactured, but real.

Dangerously real.

Long enough to recover.

Long enough to move to the bedroom.

Roy exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Two times.

That wasn't necessity. That was indulgence.

And that thought made his stomach twist.

He stared up at the ceiling again, tracing a faint crack in the plaster that he'd meant to fix for years. Was this who he was becoming? A man who used people, even gently, even with good intentions? A man who let himself enjoy something he knew he shouldn't, simply because it felt good in the moment? Simply because he could?

He hoped not.

God, he hoped not.

But he couldn't lie to himself either.

He had enjoyed it.

Claire had been... wonderful. Bright, energetic, affectionate in a way that felt effortless. She laughed easily. She touched him like she wanted to be there. Like there was nowhere else she'd rather be. And there was something disarming about that, something that cut straight through his usual hesitations and self-doubt.

And she was sexy. There was no point pretending otherwise. In bed she had been just as lively and warm and enthusiastic as she was everywhere else. It was impossible not to respond to that.

Impossible not to notice how much she reminded him of her mother.

That thought made him wince, even as another part of him lingered on it.

Was that what Elaine had been like when she was young? When she'd just married Mark? If so, Roy understood a great deal more than he ever had before. He understood how a bond like that could form. How a marriage could grow deep roots and last decades.

Understanding it didn't make his position any less uncomfortable.

After Claire had left, close to midnight, he hadn't slept right away. He'd lain there in the dark, the room still carrying traces of her presence, replaying the night whether he wanted to or not. His body had refused to settle, buzzing with leftover energy and a stubborn need that simply would not be ignored. And the more he dwelled on what he'd done, the more aroused he grew.

Eventually, practicality had won out. One bottle of hand cream. One box of tissues. Six minutes of memories.

He wasn't proud of it, but it had worked.

Enough, at least, to finally let him drift off.

Only to meet her again in his dreams.

Roy groaned quietly and rolled onto his side, then immediately regretted the movement. Everything felt sore. Used. Not in a bad way, exactly. Just... thoroughly exercised. He was going to feel it all day.

And judging by the way his body was already insisting on making itself known again, the way his erection was awake before he was, he was probably going to have to deal with things once more in the shower if he wanted any hope of being productive.

Terrific.

He lay there a moment longer, staring at the dim room, and tried to focus on what came next. On what needed to happen. He hoped, truly hoped, that the next time he crossed paths with another woman, the wish would activate again. That Claire would be free of him. That the unnatural pull would break cleanly and leave her where she belonged.

With Adam.

At the same time, a traitorous part of him hoped it wouldn't work.

Adam was a lucky man.

Roy swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat there, shoulders slumped, rubbing at his thighs. As he finally **** himself upright, he let out a low groan, acutely aware of every sore muscle Claire had earned him the night before.

Standing there in the half-light, he shook his head and huffed out a humourless laugh.

Now he understood.

Not just why Adam was happy.

But why he stayed in such good shape.