coworker!simon riley who barely speaks to anyone but always seems to notice you. he leaves a black coffee on your desk every morning with no note, no eye contact, just a low grunt when you thank him. everyone thinks he’s cold. you’re starting to think he’s watching you more than he should.
coworker!simon riley who fixes your computer when it crashes during a deadline, sleeves rolled up, veins in his forearms flexing while he types. he’s so close you can smell his cologne mixed with gun oil. when you try to make small talk he just mutters “you’re not as useless as the rest of them.”
fwb!simon riley who corners you in the supply closet the second the floor clears for lunch. he yanks your skirt up, drops to his knees and eats you out like he’s starving — thick fingers curling deep while his tongue works your clit until your legs shake. then he spins you around, pulls his mask down just enough and fucks you hard against the shelves, one hand over your mouth so no one hears you moan.
coworker!simon riley who glares at the flirty account manager when he lingers too long at your desk. says nothing, but his jaw ticks under the mask. later that same day he texts you one word: “office?” and you already know what’s coming.
fwb!simon riley who fucks you bent over your own desk after everyone’s gone home. papers scattered everywhere, your computer still on, his thick cock stretching you open while he growls low in your ear, “been thinking about this tight cunt all fucking day, sweetheart.” he keeps one gloved hand over your mouth the whole time so the security cameras don’t catch your sounds.
coworker!simon riley who walks you to your car in the parking garage every night “because it’s on his way.” his hand brushes the small of your back when no one’s looking. you both pretend it means nothing.
fwb!simon riley who has you riding him in the driver’s seat of his truck in the underground garage, windows completely fogged up. he grips your hips hard enough to bruise, guiding you up and down his cock while whispering filthy praise in that rough manchester accent, “that’s it… bounce on it just like that, filthy girl. take every inch.”
coworker!simon riley who still acts completely normal around the rest of the team — silent, brooding, professional. but the second the last person leaves, his eyes go dark and he’s already looking for the nearest locked door.
fwb!simon riley who fucks you slow and deep on the break room couch at 2am during a storm. emergency lights only. he’s got your legs over his shoulders, mask pulled down so you can see the scars and stubble while he stares straight into your eyes the entire time. he doesn’t pull out when he finishes — just stays buried inside you, breathing heavy against your neck like he never wants to leave.
coworker!simon riley who leaves hickeys on your inner thighs that you have to hide under your work pants the next morning. he catches you adjusting your clothes and the corner of his mouth twitches under the mask like he knows exactly what he did.
fwb!simon riley who sends you a text at 11pm during another overtime shift: “elevator. now.” when the doors close he’s on you instantly — pinning you against the wall, fingers inside you before you can even speak, growling “can’t fucking wait anymore.”
