Knox

The clock on my nightstand says 2:52 am, and I’ve been tossing and turning for the last two hours.

I can’t believe I kissed Jason.

In the office.

And the worst part? If I had to do it all again, I wouldn’t change a thing.

My mind keeps replaying our moments together, and my emotions ping-pong between desire and shock. Feelings I’ve buried for years have been unlocked, and they’ve shoved themselves front and center, refusing to be ignored. Loss and love and longing are swirling in my mind and in my chest, to the point where it’s difficult to breath. I think about how I hurt Jason, so wrapped up in my own grief that I abandoned the person I loved so much, the person I should have protected.

I swing my legs out of bed and shuffle to the kitchen for a drink of water. I consider taking an Ambien, but I’m afraid I’ll sleep through my alarm, so I heat some water and make a cup of Nightly Calm tea. As I wait for it to cool, my phone lights up with a text. My heart stutters when I see Jason’s name flash across the screen.

Jason: you awake?

Knox: Why, is this a booty call?

Jason: Bruh. Please.

Knox: Fine. What’s up?

Jason: I wanted to say sorry. You know, for today.

Knox: For kissing me? Because I’m not sorry.

I hold my breath, waiting for his response. It takes a while, which only amps up my anxiety level.

Jason: I’m sorry about the timing. I’m not sure how I feel about the kiss.

Knox: Take a guess.

Long pause. I take my cup of tea and walk back to the bedroom. Finally:

Jason: I guess I’m scared, tbh.

Knox: Of what?

Jason: You.

Knox: You don’t have to be.

Jason: I’m not so sure about that.

Knox: I can’t promise much, but I promise I’ll never hurt you again.

I wait for several minutes, but he never responds. I put my phone on the table and get back in bed, but sleep won’t be coming any time soon. Was the kiss a one-off? Can Jason ever forgive me for how I left him all those years ago? Is there a chance for us to start over, and if so, how would that work with our current work situation?

It’s close to five in the morning before I finally fall into a fitful sleep, and when my alarm goes off at 6:30, I can already tell my day will be a challenging one.

***

By 1:30 in the afternoon, I’m hitting a post-lunch slump, staring blankly at my computer screen. I’ve read the report in front of me three times, and I still have no idea what it’s about. When I stopped by Jason’s office this morning he wasn’t in. I take guilty pleasure in imagining him getting as little sleep as I did.

I’m about to give up on the stupid report when Jason barges in, slamming the door behind him. I stand up, feeling a strong sense of déjà vu from yesterday. But today he walks purposefully behind my desk, takes my shoulders firmly in his hands, and shoves me against the wall. His mouth crushes against mine, and for a moment my lips go slack with shock. This seems to spur him on, and he opens his mouth wider until I’m kissing him back, and then it’s all urgent lips and wandering tongues and teeth nipping and teasing until I think I might die if I can’t touch him properly.

He shifts his weight and I think he’s retreating, but instead he grinds his pelvis into mine, and we both groan. He moves his lips to my neck, and a shiver of need shoots down my spine and straight to my groin.

“We need to stop,” I pant. “We can’t keep doing this.”

“Yes,” Jason hums against my jaw, running his hand down my stomach, making quick work of my belt buckle.

“Jason.” My voice is full of warning. The boss’ voice.

He ignores me, just as I hope he will.

My pants are unbuttoned, unzipped. His hand sweeps in my boxers and grips me firmly, and my head tilts back as I whisper a string of profanities that would send my mother to an early grave. I’m so worked up I can already feel the edges of my orgasm forming, the nerve endings curling down my legs to my toes. My hand finds the placket of his fly, and I grip the length of his cock over the fabric of his khakis. His breath catches.

“Oh, God,” he says, then pulls his hand from my shorts and takes an unsteady step back. His face is flushed, and his eyes are wild and unfocused. I fumble with my shirt tail and gesture towards his head with my chin.

“Do something about your hair.” He runs his fingers over the tangled curls and sits on the edge of my desk. We look at each other for a long, tension-filled moment.

“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen.” I say. “You’re going back to your office, and I don’t want to see you for the rest of the day.”

“Okay…”

“And then, I’m going to text you my address, and you’re going to come over tonight at seven sharp, and I’m going to do unspeakable things to you. Understand?”

“Perfectly.”