"Don't stop…"
Too many parts of me were doing everything in their power not to."Please…," he says like this isn't a two-way street. I mean, I'm not here for my health, that's for sure. "Duo, I can't--" Leave your wife? Get away this weekend?... Butter my toast?
I finish up soon after, and then it's over. Post-coital is spent listening for anyone who might've heard - out of habit. When he's satisfied, I'm satisfied, and he gets his foot down from a nearby shelf. I pull on my sleeves and zip up, while he's putting his ring back on and disposing of the evidence: he's still management, after all, after hours or otherwise.
"Duo…" I shake my head as if to stop him, though I know he has nothing to say. He's facing me, looking down as he arranges his tie. He won't look up, and I can't look down without head-butting him. I shift over to one side of the supply closet so he can get by with a handful of Post-It pads, as one can never have too many. I get a parting nod before the door is open and closed; I'm left with the few extra minutes to myself to think.
