I never thought I’d be the kind of guy to get mixed up with a coworker. Especially not Emily. She joined our marketing team about four months ago, freshly graduated, still a little awkward, with a wide, eager smile and an energy that always lit up our gray London office. At first, she seemed a little out of place among the suits—her style was thrift shop chic, flowy skirts paired with oversized cardigans, messy buns and occasionally chipped nail polish. But she had this sly sense of humor that made me laugh at the most stressful times.
I’m Tom, 29, recently promoted team lead and, up to then, very good at keeping things professional. My last serious relationship had flamed out over a year ago, and I hadn’t really been looking for anything more than the occasional Tinder hookup, always making sure nothing got messier than necessary.
But after a few months of working with Emily, that careful distance started slipping. I found myself watching her instead of listening during meetings, my thoughts drifting when she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, or when she’d laugh at my dumb jokes over late-night edits. For weeks, I ignored it. I convinced myself the attraction was all in my head. She was younger, new, and besides, I was technically her manager. Off limits, obviously.
It was during one of those stupid, long Thursday evenings—deadlines looming, everyone else gone—that things shifted. Emily was slouched beside me at the glass conference table, squinting at her laptop. She kicked off her shoes and curled her feet up under her, sipping cold coffee. “Why do these campaigns always end up a last-minute shitshow?” she muttered, then looked at me. “Not that I mind. It’s weirdly… fun. Getting stuck here with you.”
I just shrugged, trying not to let her see the way I was staring. “Maybe we need more disasters, then. Keeps it interesting.”
She grinned, then held my gaze for one long, charged second. That’s when I realized it wasn’t all in my head.
After that night, it got harder to play it cool. We’d sneak each other looks, send memes over Slack, make sarcastic jokes about our incompetent bosses. There was this constant, electric charge whenever we passed in the hallway, even in front of everyone else.
But I hesitated. Christ, I hesitated for weeks. Part because of work rules, but also because I couldn’t tell if Emily was actually into me or just being friendly. What if I’d misread things? The risk seemed huge… but I also felt like I was losing my mind.
Things came to a head at the team’s Friday happy hour. We all ended up crammed into a sticky booth, shouting over the music. Emily squeezed in beside me, closer than usual, and I could smell her perfume—something light and floral, nothing like the sharp, corporate scents most of the other women wore. Under the table, her thigh pressed into mine. I told myself it was nothing, an accident, but she didn’t pull away. Our conversation danced around the usual topics, until the others started peeling off, one by one.
When there were just the two of us left, the air between us felt different. She looked at me, eyes slightly tipsy, and asked, “You ever do something you know you shouldn’t but really, really want to?”
It felt like a test. My heart spiked. I laughed, tried to keep it light. “Yeah, way too often. Trouble seems to find me.”
“Maybe you just want trouble,” she shot back, and there was something daring in the way she smiled. Like she was waiting for me to make a move.
My body did the talking before my brain caught up. Under the table, I slid my hand until it just barely touched her leg—so lightly at first I barely noticed the contact myself. She didn’t move. Then she shifted closer, and my fingers grazed the smooth skin above her knee. Her breath hitched just a bit, and her hand slid over mine, pressing my fingers higher under her skirt.
No one else was paying attention. She leaned in, her mouth brushing the shell of my ear as she whispered, “Let’s get out of here.”
We stumbled into the night, electricity buzzing under my skin. A cab ride later, we were in my flat—messy, old, and suddenly charged with possibility. Once the door shut, we stood awkwardly facing each other, neither moving for a long moment. She was the one to break the tension, stepping right up and kissing me, hard. I groaned, grabbing her hips. She pushed me back onto the sofa, settling on my lap, her hands knotting into my hair as she bit my lower lip, just hard enough to make me gasp.
All the weeks of wanting came rushing out. My hands slid under her shirt, palming warm, bare skin. She wriggled, moaning into my mouth, tugging her cardigan off and tossing it blindly aside. I kissed down her neck, hands tracing the curve of her waist, the softness of her thighs.
“Are you sure?” I had to ask, stopping for a second.
She laughed, breathless, grinding against my erection. “I thought you’d never ask.”
That was it. Weeks of pent-up tension snapped. I slid my hands up her legs, pushing her skirt up around her hips. She wasn’t wearing much underneath—simple black panties, damp already when my fingers brushed her. She hissed, lashes fluttering, bucking her hips against my hand. I circled her clit with my thumb, watching her fall apart, her face flushed and open—nothing performative about it, just raw need.
She pushed her panties aside, guiding me in. I slid two fingers inside her, feeling her pulse and clench around me. “Fuck, Tom,” she gasped, nails digging into my shoulder. I grinned, suddenly high on how much she wanted this, wanted me. When I pulled my fingers out to taste her, she groaned, biting her fist.
Her turn, then. She dropped to her knees in front of me, unzipping my jeans, her tiny, eager hands tracing my cock—hard, leaking, aching for her. She didn’t tease—just took me deep, her tongue swirling, moaning against me, making me lose any sense of where or who I was.
I pulled her up, desperate now, and carried her to my bed, dropping her on the unmade sheets. Clothes went flying—a blur of skin and heat and gasping laughter. When I finally slid inside her, she arched up, hands in my hair, eyes locked on mine.
We moved together, slow at first, savoring every inch of skin, every gasp and whimper. Her hands ran down my back, nails leaving red trails. She wrapped her legs around my waist, meeting every thrust with a wild, hungry need I’d never imagined she had.
The tension between us built—god, it felt like weeks of teasing exploding all at once. She clenched around me, chanting my name, begging me to fuck her harder, deeper, until I finally lost it, shuddering with one of the hardest orgasms I’d had in years. She came right after, crying out, her whole body trembling under me.
After, we lay tangled together, breathless and sweaty, her head on my chest. For a long minute, neither of us said anything. I wasn’t sure what came next—a hundred worries flashed through my mind—but Emily just squeezed my hand and grinned up at me. “Wanna do this again next Thursday?”
And I knew, in that messy, perfect moment, that everything had just changed.