“So you caught me,” he says, his grin as crooked as the lamp over the coffee machine. I stare at the cup in my hand as if the reason he’s standing here is swimming in the milk foam. “Micha?” I ask, though I already know. My neighbor from across the way, with whom I only ever talk about the weather and trash collection—now he’s standing here, in the sterile hallway of this seminar building, and heat rushes to my cheeks.
The Coincidence
“A funny thing,” he says, setting his cup next to mine. “Thought I didn’t know anyone here. And then you.” His voice has that warm undertone I usually only noticed from a distance. Today he’s standing way too close. I smell his shower gel, mint and something woody. “The course ‘Lateral Leadership,’ right?” I ask, fighting the rising blush. He nods. “Since when are you interested in leadership? You’re always so quiet and reserved.” It sounds like an accusation but it’s a compliment—or vice versa. I don’t know how to take it.
The first lecture drags on like chewing gum. I sit two rows behind him, staring at his neck where his hair is too long. A red thread clings to his collar. I could get up, walk over, pick it off. Instead, I bore holes in the air. During the break, I head for the coffee machine, but he’s faster. “So, learned anything?” he asks, leaning against the counter. I pour milk, spill some. “That nodding along gets you far.” He laughs, a deep sound that echoes in my belly.
The Approach
At lunch, he sits down at my table uninvited. “Is this okay?” he asks, but his hand is already next to my plate. “Yes,” I say, while my knee twitches under the table. We talk about the course, about jobs, about the stupid heat outside. Nothing special. But every time he laughs, he shows his teeth, and I think about how they’d feel on my skin. The thought hits me so suddenly and clearly that I almost startle. I take a sip of water to calm down.
In the afternoon, we’re divided into work groups. Of course, we end up together. The task is absurd—a roleplay about conflict resolution. “You play the angry employee, I’ll be the boss,” he says, sliding his chair closer. I feel the warmth of his thigh through the fabric. “And how do you resolve the conflict?” I ask, my voice husky. He leans in until his mouth almost touches my ear. “I listen first,” he whispers. His breath brushes my earlobe, and goosebumps spread down my neck. “And then?” I ask, turning my head, looking him straight in the eyes. Gray-green with golden flecks. “Then I find a solution that works for both of us.” His gaze is steady, and I know we’re not talking about the roleplay anymore.
The Desire
The evening lecture is torture. I feel his gaze on my neck, every time I turn around, he looks away. Or smiles. That smile that says: I know what you’re thinking. I’m thinking the same thing. After the official end, I stand at the bar, sipping a white wine that’s way too sweet. He appears next to me, orders a whiskey. “I’m in room 312,” he says, without looking at me. “Just in case you want to talk about the roleplay some more.” I laugh, a nervous giggle. “Maybe.” He downs the whiskey in one gulp, sets the glass hard on the counter. “I’m going up now. You know where.” And then he’s gone.
Half an hour later, I’m standing in front of his door. I told myself three times not to go. That it’s crazy. That we’re both taken. That it’ll only cause trouble. But my body didn’t listen. I knock, softly, just twice. He opens immediately, as if he’d been waiting behind the door. “You came,” he says, his voice rough. “I don’t know if this is a good idea,” I whisper, but I step inside anyway. The door clicks shut. We stand facing each other, maybe a meter apart. I smell his aftershave, the whiskey, something sweaty. “It’s not good,” he says, taking a step toward me. “It’s the dumbest thing we could do.” Another step. His hand lifts, brushes a strand of hair from my face. “But I still want it.”
The Foreplay
His kiss is gentle, almost hesitant, as if he wants to push me back one more time. But I part my lips, and immediately he becomes bolder. His tongue explores my mouth while his hands tangle in my hair. I moan softly, and the sound encourages him. His lips travel to my neck, nibbling at the sensitive spot below my ear. I close my eyes, let myself fall. My hands seek his body, gliding over his shoulders, his back, the curves of his muscles through the thin shirt. He’s warm, firm, and I want more.
“I’ve always watched you,” he murmurs between kisses. “At the mailbox. When you get the mail. Your hips, the way you move.” I laugh, a choked sound. “I thought you only talked about the weather.” He pulls my shirt over my head, his fingers deft. “That was camouflage.” His mouth finds my breast, first the left, then the right. He sucks gently, circles with his tongue until my skin tightens and I bury my fingers in his hair. “More,” I whisper, and he obeys. His hand moves lower, over my belly, under the waistband of my pants. He unbuttons them, pulls down the zipper, and I lift my hips to help him. His fingers glide over the fabric of my panties, feeling the moisture that’s gathered there. “You’re already so wet,” he breathes, and I moan in agreement.
He pushes my panties aside, his fingers dipping into my wet folds, stroking, exploring. I bite my lip as he finds the most sensitive spot and presses gently. “Yes, there,” I groan, and he repeats the motion until I arch against him. “I want to taste you,” he says suddenly, and before I can answer, he’s on his knees before me, pushing my pants and panties down until I stand naked before him. He looks up, his gaze dark with desire, then he lowers his head and his tongue meets me. A shiver races through my body. I grab his hair, hold him tight as he licks me with slow, savoring strokes. His breath is hot on my skin, his tongue circles my clit, dips into me, back out. I feel the tension building inside me, my legs starting to tremble. “Don’t stop,” I beg, and he sucks harder, until I convulse and a cry breaks from me. I lean against the wall as the waves subside, and he stands up, a satisfied smile on his lips.
The Surrender
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