I am home in the bed high as fuck on pain meds because I got acute pancreatitis out of nowhere because 4 gallstones got stuck in my common bile duct, and I had to have an emergency removal of my gallbladder ✌🏾 and no Erik Killmonger was not waiting for me when I came out of surgery. I was pissed and my feelings are still hurt😒
Summary: Modern AU — Elijah and Elias were separated as toddlers following their parents' traumatic divorce and conditioned to believe they were the only child. Decades later, they've established successful lives on opposite ends of the country, without ever knowing the truth. When Stack travels south for work, a bizarre encounter at a local grocery store disrupts all they thought they knew. As buried lies emerge and family secrets come to light, the twins are forced to confront the past that was stolen from them.
Pairings: Elias “Stack” Moore x Black Fem!reader and Elijah “Smoke” Moore x Annie
Warnings: 18+, explicit language, use of the n-word, family dynamics, uncovered secrets, angst, hurt/comfort, family trauma, parental lies, emotional distress, sibling separation
Word count: 6.8k
(ch. 1), (ch. 2), (ch. 3), (ch. 4)
The first thing that Stack noticed was that Smoke didn’t rush the tour. He didn’t move like a man trying to impress him. Instead, he moved like a man who already knew what he built was solid.
“C’mon,” Smoke said, pushing the office door open.
Stack followed him back onto the gym floor, and this time it felt different. He felt less out of place and more in sync.
“That’s cardio." Smoke nodded toward a row of ellipticals and treadmills. “Don’t nobody like it, but everybody need it.”
Stack huffed. “Figures.”
A woman with a braided bun jogging glanced between them twice and then did a full double take.
“Hold up,” she said, slowing her pace. “Am I trippin’ or—”
Smoke didn’t even look at her. “You trippin’. Keep runnin’.”
She squinted harder. “Nah…cause why y’all—”
Stack smiled politely. “We get that a lot.”
She blinked. “A lot of what??”
Smoke kept walking. "Don't you got 10,000 steps to hit? I know you barely halfway there now. Get to it.”
Stack had to bite back a laugh as he followed.
They moved past the weight section, where a group of middle-aged guys paused mid-set.
One of them—Lamar—lowered his dumbbells slowly, eyes bouncing between them.
“Aight nah,” he said. “What the hell is goin’ on?”
Smoke finally stopped, turned to look at the longtime members of his gym, and jerked his chin toward Stack. “This Stack. My brother.”
The floor was suddenly filled with dead silence. Somehow, within a matter of seconds, the harsh pants and clinking weights vanished.
“OH SHIT.”
“Like…fraternal?”
"Nigga, they literally have the same goddamn face, so it’s identical, not fraternal!”
“You ain’t gotta talk shit, Willie. You know the only twins I’ve ever seen is Tia and Tamara!”
The entire section lit up.
Stack blinked before uttering, “Well, that’s one way to announce it.”
Smoke shrugged. “They was gon’ figure it out anyway.”
Lamar walked closer, circling Stack like he was inspecting a doppelgänger.
“Y’all dead serious?" he asked. “Like…twin twin?”
Stack nodded. “Apparently.”
Lamar pointed between them. "Nah, this is crazy. You just been hidin’ this nigga??”
Smoke’s jaw ticked. “I ain’t know about him either.”
That sobered the room quick as hell.
Stack noticed that. The way everyone seemed to respect his brother. Now that he got to know him a little bit better, he understood why.
They didn’t press or make any more snide comments. They just nodded and picked their weights back up.
“Damn,” Lamar sighed deeply before nodding at the younger twin. “Well…welcome, bro.”
Stack nodded back. “Appreciate it.”
Smoke kept walking once the men resumed their strength training.
“Locker rooms back there,” he said. “Office you seen. Smith machines over here.”
Stack followed, hands in his pockets now, more relaxed.
“You built all this yourself?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“No partners?”
“Hell nah.”
Stack nodded slowly as understanding crossed his face. “Same.”
Smoke glanced at him.
That was the first real moment of mutual recognition again. Not just blood but mindset and work ethic.
“You know what’s crazy?” Stack said after a beat.
“What?”
“We did the same thing.”
Smoke raised a brow. “How?”
“Built something from nothing,” Stack explained. “Different industries. Same drive.”
Smoke considered what Stack was saying for a second and then nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I see that.”
They walked back to the lobby, Smoke a stride or two in front of Stack.
Stack smirked as a thought crossed his mind. “You still should’ve gotten a better logo though.”
Smoke stopped mid-step and then turned slowly. “…You got jokes?”
Stack shrugged. “I run branding too.”
Smoke stepped closer. “You saying my shit ugly?”
“I’m saying it could use a little refinement.”
Smoke stared at him, then a slow grin spread across his face. “Yeah, you my brother for real.”
By the time Stack left Sunrise Athletics, the Mississippi sun had started melting gold across the streets. His chest felt lighter. Not even close to being completely healed but lighter in the way a locked room felt once somebody finally cracked a window open.
He drove back to the Airbnb with one hand on the wheel and the other resting against his mouth, replaying everything Smoke had said.
You got me now.
The words wouldn’t leave him alone, and neither would the image of Smoke laughing. It had changed his whole face. He wondered why Smoke didn’t smile often.
Stack pulled into the driveway slower than necessary, staring at the house for a second before killing the engine. The front porch light was already on. You always left a light on for him no matter where you were. Something about that tiny detail always pulled at his heartstrings.
He grabbed the grocery bag before stepping out of the car and climbed the steps two at a time before unlocking the door.
The smell of garlic and butter hit him first. Then something sweet underneath it he couldn’t place.
Ricotta? Mascarpone?
Your voice floated from the kitchen, interrupting his thoughts. “Baby, if you didn’t bring me a sweet tea, don’t even come in here.”
Stack chuckled instantly, and before he could respond, you appeared around the corner wearing one of his hoodies and fuzzy socks, stopping short the second you saw his amused face.
“Oh,” you murmured as your expression softened immediately. “You look…refreshed.”
Stack shut the door behind him quietly. “I think I am.”
That alone told you everything. You crossed the room quickly and wrapped your arms around his waist. Stack folded around you on instinct, burying his face into your neck for one long second like he needed to recalibrate.
“How’d it go?” you asked softly as you cupped the back of his neck and hugged him tighter.
Stack exhaled sharply against your skin. “I got a brother,” he whispered, like he still couldn’t believe he was saying it out loud.
Your chest tightened. “You guys have a good talk?”
“Mhm.”
“And?”
Stack pulled back slowly, looking at you with eyes that still carried traces of earlier tears.
“He’s…” Stack laughed softly to himself. “He’s real as hell.”
You smiled faintly. “That’s your type of person.”
“Nah,” Stack corrected immediately. “That’s my big brother.”
The pride in his voice almost made you emotional.
You guided him toward the couch, sitting beside him while he talked, and for the next twenty minutes, Stack unraveled.
He told you about the gym first. How solid the facility was and how people respected Smoke without him having to demand it. How swiftly Smoke moved through the building like he’d bled for every square foot of it.
“He built all that himself,” Stack said quietly. “No partners. No handouts. Just…him.”
“Just like you, huh?” You noted as you watched the admiration spread across his face.
"You're proud of him already,” you observed gently.
Stack looked down at his hands. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I really am.”
Then he told you about the office they had in Smoke’s office. The lies and timelines. The realization that both parents had made separate choices to erase half of their children’s lives.
You held his hand tighter through that part, and when he mentioned a picture from it, he squeezed your hand tighter and stopped talking.
Your thumb brushed over his knuckles. “What picture frame?”
Stack swallowed hard before announcing, “He has a kid.”
Your breath caught. “What?”
“Little girl named Elisa.” Stack nodded slowly, eyes distant now. He chuckled weakly before continuing. “Pretty kid too. Missing teeth. Smoke said she runs the whole house.”
You smiled despite yourself, but Stack didn’t. His brown eyes filled with more unshed tears.
“That shit broke me, baby,” he admitted quietly as tears finally fell down his cheeks.
Your heart cracked a little at the honesty in his voice.
“I realized…” He paused, jaw tightening. “I realized I’m somebody’s uncle, and I missed her whole life.”
You moved closer immediately, pressing against his side. “Elias…”
“I know it sounds dramatic—”
“It doesn’t.”
Stack looked away quickly, embarrassed by the emotion threatening to crawl back up his throat.
“I just kept thinking…” he sniffled. “What else did we lose?”
You rested your head against his shoulder carefully. “I know it’s a lot to adjust to, baby,” you said softly. “You still have the future. Make every day count.”
Stack closed his eyes. “Smoke pretty much said the same thing.”
You smiled faintly. “See? Big brother already making sense.”
That finally got a laugh out of him.
“There’s more,” he said.
You lifted a brow. “More than surprise siblings?”
“He asked why we came down here.”
“You tell him about the kid Sammie?”
Stack looked at you like he still couldn’t believe the sentence he was about to say.
“Sammie Moore is our cousin.”
You slapped his chest. “Get the fuck out.”
“I’m dead serious!”
You blinked at him in disbelief. “The singer??”
“Yes!”
“The one you’ve been stalking on social media for three weeks?”
“I was scouting talent,” Stack countered immediately.
“You had post notifications on that young man.”
“He can sing!”
You laughed so hard you almost slid off the couch.
Stack laughed with you this time, head falling back against the cushions. The sound filled the room and your heart warmly because for the first time since Mississippi, he didn’t sound defeated. He sounded alive and ready to navigate this new relationship with his twin.
When the laughter settled, you studied him carefully. “You like him.”
Stack’s smile softened instantly because he already knew who you meant.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I really do.”
“Was it awkward?”
“At first.”
“And now?”
Stack thought about the hug and the way Smoke had looked at him like he mattered already.
“…No,” he said honestly. “Not anymore.”
You squeezed his thigh gently. “I’m so happy for you, honey.”
Stack looked at you for a long moment before leaning over and pressing his lips to yours in a slow, grateful kiss.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“I don’t know how you always know what to say.”
You smiled. “Contract lawyer. Expensive skill set.”
He huffed softly, then his expression shifted again—more thoughtful this time. “He wants you to come tomorrow night.”
Your brows lifted. “Me?”
“Mmhmm. We’re meeting Sammie at this place called Club Juke.” Stack paused. “And confronting our Dad there too.”
You blinked once. “What kind of Tyler Perry multiverse is this?”
Stack groaned loudly. “That’s exactly what I said.”
You laughed again, but then your expression softened. “You nervous?”
“A little.”
“About meeting Sammie?”
Stack shook his head. “About confronting Dad.”
That sobered the room immediately.
You reached for his face gently. “Just remember you’re not alone. You got me and Smoke now.”
His eyes searched yours. “Smoke said something like that too.”
“See?” you teased softly. “Your brother and I are already sharing dialogue.”
Stack grinned despite himself, then his phone buzzed with a new message.
Smoke: Annie said y’all should come by for dinner before Club Juke tomorrow. Don’t wear nun fancy. Elisa gon’ probably spill juice on you.
Stack stared at the message for a second, then smiled so wide it almost looked boyish.
“What is it?” you questioned.
He turned the phone toward you, and your heart melted as you read the text from Smoke. Because somehow, less than forty-eight hours after learning each other existed…they were already trying to become family.
—
The next evening, Stack spent entirely too long deciding what to wear. Which was objectively ridiculous because he owned a modeling agency. He styled editorial campaigns for a living. He had personally sat front row at Fashion Week while people twice his age begged for his approval.
“You’ve changed shirts four times,” you called from the bathroom doorway, already dressed and glowing with amusement.
Stack glanced up from fastening his watch.
“Three.”
“Four.”
“Three and a half.”
You snorted.
The Airbnb bedroom smelled faintly like your perfume and his cologne, the warm Mississippi evening drifting through the cracked balcony door. Outside, cicadas buzzed loud enough to sound electrical.
Stack checked himself in the mirror again. Dark jeans, fresh sneakers, and a black fitted tee under a lightweight jacket. An effortless casual look.
“You look fine, honey,” you told him.
“That’s not the issue.”
“Then what’s the issue?”
Stack adjusted the sleeve of his jacket unnecessarily. “I don’t know what the protocol is.”
You blinked. “For what?”
“For…” He gestured vaguely. “Brother—uh, family stuff.”
That almost took you out. You laughed so suddenly Stack frowned at you.
“Don’t laugh, Y/N. I’m serious.”
“No, baby, I know,” you giggled, walking over to smooth your hands down the front of his shirt. “It’s just cute.”
“I don’t want to be cute.”
“Well, unfortunately for you, that’s the only reason why I’m marrying you and trying to give you a kid.”
Stack rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
You fixed the collar of his jacket gently. “There’s no protocol. Just be yourself.”
“That sounds fake.”
“It’s not fake,” you said. “Your brother already likes you.”
The word still visibly affected him.
Brother.
Every time somebody said it, Stack looked like part of him still couldn’t believe he’d earned the title. Before he could answer, his phone buzzed.
A text from Smoke.
Stack opened it immediately.
Smoke: Y’all better not be dressed like y’all going to the Grammys. Sammie performing at a juke joint not the BET Awards.
You burst out laughing after reading over his shoulder.
“Oh my God, he knows you already.”
Stack typed back quickly.
Stack: I naturally have range and elegance. That’s not my fault.
Three dots appeared instantly.
Smoke: You sound irritating as hell.
Stack grinned.
Stack: And yet you texted me first.
This time, the reply took longer.
Smoke: Shut up and hurry up. Annie already made too much food.
Something warm spread across Stack’s chest again. Not in an overwhelming way but in a sense of grounding. Like roots finally growing where there had been nothing but empty space before.
—
Smoke’s house sat in a quiet neighborhood lined with broad trees and deep porches, the kind of street where people still waved from driveways and kids rode bikes without anybody panicking every five minutes.
Warm light glowed from the windows. It was a beautiful home. Pastel blue with eggshell trimmings. A real home.
Stack slowed as he parked along the curb. His stomach flipped relentlessly as his fingers fidgeted with the keys.
“Hey,” you said softly, touching his arm. “You sure you okay?”
Stack stared at the house.
“Yeah,” he exhaled sharply. “I just…” His throat tightened unexpectedly.
This was the first time in his life he’d ever walked into a sibling’s home. The first time he’d be meeting his niece and sister-in-law. A family he didn’t know he already had.
You squeezed his hand. “C’mon, Uncle Stack.”
He looked at you sharply and then groaned. “Don’t start.”
You laughed and climbed out first.
By the time Stack made it to the porch, the front door swung open, and here stood Smoke. He was wearing a black tee, grey sweats, and glasses low on his nose this time, which immediately caught you and Stack off guard because something about it felt weirdly intimate and domestic.
Smoke looked between the two of you, then his eyes zeroed in on Stack’s outfit.
“…Nigga.”
Stack blinked. “What?”
Smoke pointed at him. “Why you dressed like you about to accept an NAACP award?”
You burst into laughter instantly.
Stack looked offended. "Man, this is casual.”
"No, it ain’t,” Smoke deadpanned. “You look way too moisturized and expensive.”
“You say that like it’s a crime.”
Smoke stared at him for another long second. Eventually he stepped aside with a muttered, “Man, come on in here.”
Stack walked in smiling and immediately got hit with the smell of cornbread, seasoned meat, and something sweet baking in the oven.
His chest tightened again because the house sounded lived in. Gracie’s corner was playing somewhere in the distance, with tiny footsteps upstairs. Pots and pans clanging in the kitchen.
A family.
Real, warm and alive.
“Annie!” Smoke called toward the kitchen. “Your new brother-in-law here dressed like he sellin’ luxury watches.”
“Leave him alone!” Annie called back immediately. “At least somebody in this house got style.”
Smoke looked betrayed.
“See?” Stack said smugly.
Smoke sucked his teeth loudly and shut the door behind him.
Suddenly, tiny footsteps thundered down the stairs.
“Daddy?!”
Stack barely had time to turn before a little blur launched down the staircase at dangerous speed.
“Elisa, slow down—”
Too late.
The little girl skidded around the corner, beaded braids bouncing wildly before she stopped dead in front of Stack.
Big brown eyes blinked up at him, and Stack couldn’t help but stare right back.
Because Jesus Christ. She really did have his face. Not completely but enough. More than enough to knock the air clean out his lungs.
Elisa tilted her head slowly and then pointed. “You look like my daddy.”
The room went quiet.
Smoke leaned against the wall, watching carefully.
Stack crouched slowly to her level, heart pounding so hard he could almost hear it.
“…Yeah,” he said, nodding gently . “I know.”
Elisa squinted harder before gasping dramatically. “WAIT.”
Smoke rubbed a hand over his face immediately like he already knew chaos was coming.
"Your daddy's brother?” Elisa asked as she poked Stack’s nose.
Stack blinked. “Uh…”
“She’s been asking questions all day,” Annie announced, appearing from the kitchen, drying her hands with a towel.
Stack nearly forgot how to speak again because Annie was beautiful. Smile warm and eyes soft but sharp at the same time. The kind of woman that immediately explained why Smoke had built his whole life around protecting his peace.
Annie smiled at Stack gently.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Annie.”
Stack stood quickly. “Hi. I’m Elias—uh, Stack.”
“I know." Annie laughed softly. “I’ve heard about you for twenty-four hours straight.”
Smoke groaned. “Baby—”
“You too,” Annie said sweetly as she extended her hand to you. “Y/N, right?”
You nodded and grabbed her hand. “Yes, I’m Elias’s fiancé. Very nice to finally meet you.”
Elisa tugged Stack’s sleeve suddenly. “So you my uncle?”
Stack looked down at her, and hot tears welled up in his eyes again. That grief resurfaced and made his heart ache. His eyes flicked briefly toward Smoke, almost uncertain.
Smoke held his gaze for a second and then nodded once in certainty.
Stack looked back at Elisa slowly.
“…Yes, Elisa,” he whispered. “I’m your uncle Stack.”
Elisa grinned so wide it nearly killed him. “COOL.”
Then, before Stack could even process the emotional damage of being claimed by a four-year-old, she grabbed his hand.
“C’mere,” she ordered.
Stack blinked. “Where we going?"
“To my room.”
Smoke immediately snorted. “Yeah, good luck.”
Annie pointed toward Smoke without even looking at him. “Don’t start.”
"Elisa, don’t show rooms,” Smoke muttered. “She likes to interrogate people.”
“I do not!”
“You absolutely do.”
Elisa ignored both of them and tugged Stack harder. “Uncle Stack!”
The title hit him right in the chest again.
Not Elias or mister.
Uncle.
It was as if she had made the decision in under thirty seconds, and that was that.
Stack let her drag him halfway toward the stairs before glancing back at you helplessly.
You were trying so hard not to laugh and failed miserably.
“Save yourself,” you mouthed.
“Coward,” he mouthed back.
Smoke folded his arms, watching the whole thing with poorly hidden amusement. “Go ahead. She gon’ ask you your favorite color, your blood type, and your credit score.”
Elisa gasped loudly. “Daddy!”
“What?” Smoke defended. “I’m warning him.”
“She only asked for my credit score once,” Annie recalled casually before disappearing back toward the kitchen.
Stack barked out a laugh.
Then Elisa tugged again. “C’mon!”
Stack finally surrendered. “Alright, alright.”
The staircase creaked softly beneath them as Elisa pulled him upstairs with the urgency of somebody unveiling a museum exhibit.
Halfway up, Stack glanced down. Smoke was still standing near the front door. Watching with curiosity and something else he couldn’t define.
Like he was witnessing something he never thought he’d get to see.
Their eyes met briefly, and Stack realized something that almost unraveled him all over again. Smoke wanted this. Not just the uncovered truth but this family folding together naturally.
Smoke gave him one small nod.
Go ahead.
Stack swallowed and followed Elisa upstairs to her room, and it looked exactly how Stack imagined it would.
Neon pink and chaotic. Tiny sneakers kicked beneath a pink beanbag chair. Stuffed animals lined up against the wall like they paid rent. Crayon drawings taped everywhere. One crooked picture frame held a photo of Smoke asleep on the couch with newborn Elisa sprawled across his chest.
Stack smiled before he could stop himself.
“He drools in his sleep,” Elisa informed him seriously.
Stack coughed to hide a laugh. “Good to know.”
“He says he don’t.”
“He lying?”
“Yes.”
Stack nodded solemnly. “Damn—I mean, uh, dang. Starting the relationship off with secrets already.”
Elisa giggled, then she climbed onto her bed and patted the comforter beside her expectantly. Stack hesitated only a second before sitting carefully. The mattress dipped beneath his weight.
Elisa studied him openly for a long moment. No fear or uncertainty in her eyes, just curiosity.
“You really Daddy’s brother?” she asked.
Stack nodded slowly. “Looks like it.”
“How come I never seen you before?”
And there it was, the million-dollar question. Simple from a child. Devastating for everyone else.
Stack’s throat tightened as he searched carefully for an answer a four-year-old could carry.
“Sometimes grown-ups make mistakes,” he explained. “Big ones.”
Elisa considered that deeply before she said, “Daddy says 'sorry' a lot when he make mistakes.”
Stack let out a surprised chuckle that helped ease the ache in his chest. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.” She leaned closer confidentially. “Mommy too.”
“That sounds healthy.”
“What’s healthy?”
“Your house. Your family.”
Elisa beamed proudly like she personally paid the mortgage.
Downstairs, laughter drifted faintly from the kitchen. Warm and inviting. Stack listened to it for a second too long because suddenly he could picture their family dynamic.
Smoke carrying Elisa through the house after bath time. Annie scolding because somebody tracked mud through the kitchen. Movie nights, birthday parties, and Christmas mornings.
Years of memories Stack hadn’t even known existed. Grief brushed against him again quietly this time—not sharp enough to cut, but enough to still sting.
Elisa noticed immediately. She was such an observant kid.
“You okay, Uncle Stack?” she asked softly.
Stack blinked quickly and smiled.
“Yeah, Peanut.”
That nickname slipped out naturally.
Elisa smiled so wide it revealed the little gap in her teeth again. “You talk like Daddy.”
Stack looked down for a second, laughing under his breath. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
A knock sounded softly against the doorframe. Smoke entered and leaned against the door, arms folded across his chest.
For a second, nobody spoke. Smoke’s eyes moved between Stack and Elisa sitting together on the bed. Something unreadable flickered across his face. It wasn’t sadness or anger, something deeper. Wonder, maybe. Like he was staring at a piece of his life he thought was nonexistent.
“Elisa,” Smoke said gently, “let your uncle breathe.”
“I am letting him breathe.”
“You been interrogating that man for ten minutes.”
“She asked for my credit score,” Stack deadpanned.
Smoke pointed immediately. “See?”
Elisa dissolved into giggles.
Smoke shook his head, but Stack caught the smile pulling at his mouth before he hid it. Then Smoke’s expression softened again.
“Dinner ready,” he said.
Elisa hopped off the bed instantly and sprinted past him. Smoke stepped aside just in time.
“Don’t run, Elisa Moore!” Annie yelled from downstairs automatically.
Tiny footsteps somehow sped up even more.
The brothers were left alone in the doorway for a moment.
Smoke looked at Stack carefully. “You good?”
“No,” he admitted as he sighed deeply. “But…I think I will be.”
Smoke nodded like he understood exactly what that meant. Then his gaze drifted briefly toward Elisa’s room. Toward the life they were standing inside.
“You already got her attached,” Smoke muttered.
Stack huffed softly. “Think she attached herself.”
“Yeah,” Smoke agreed. “She do that.”
A comfortable moment of silence passed, then Smoke clapped a heavy hand against Stack’s shoulder.
“C’mon, lil bro,” he said. “Before Annie start yellin’ at both of us.”
This time when Smoke called him "lil bro," Stack smiled without any sadness attached to it at all.
The dining room felt expensive in the kind of way that couldn’t be bought. Not curated but lived in.
The table was already set by the time Stack and Smoke came downstairs—plates stacked neatly, glasses sweating with sweet tea, cornbread still steaming beneath a towel-lined basket. Music played softly somewhere in the background, something old-school and smooth humming through the house while Annie moved around the kitchen with practiced ease.
Stack noticed immediately that Smoke stayed close to her without even realizing it. A hand brushing her lower back as he passed. Annie stealing roasted potatoes off his plate while he pretended not to notice. Years of domestic choreography.
“You gon’ keep standing there staring or sit down?” Annie teased, pulling Stack from his thoughts.
Stack blinked. “Sorry.”
“She does that to people,” Smoke mentioned.
Annie pointed a spoon at him immediately. “Don’t start.”
Smoke held his hands up. “See what I deal with?”
“You love what you deal with,” Annie corrected.
Smoke’s mouth twitched. “Unfortunately.”
“Daddy!” Elisa gasped dramatically from her booster seat. “That’s rude!”
Smoke walked over and kissed the top of her head. “You right, Peanut. My bad.”
Stack watched the interaction quietly, chest aching again—but softer this time. Not so much as grief but a healthy kind of longing. The kind that made him want more of this new life instead of mourning the old one.
By the time everyone sat down, the atmosphere had shifted fully into something easy and comfortable. It was almost as if the house itself had decided Stack belonged there.
“You better eat before Elisa start stealing,” Smoke warned as Stack reached for his fork.
“I do not steal,” Elisa argued.
Annie took a sip of tea calmly. “You stole three of my fries at lunch.”
“That was sharing.”
Smoke looked at Stack. “See what I’m saying?”
Stack chuckled around a mouthful of pot roast. “She definitely yours.”
“Elijah swears she only acts like me,” Annie said.
“She do.”
“Liar.”
“Baby, she just argued semantics over french fries.”
You snorted into your drink.
Elisa pointed at you suddenly. “What your job do?”
The table quieted slightly.
You blinked. “My job?”
Elisa nodded seriously while chewing cornbread. “Daddy said Uncle Stack got a model business. You one of his models? You not that tall.”
Smoke nearly choked on his sweet tea.
Stack covered his face instantly. “Oh my God.”
Annie burst out laughing.
“Elisa!” Smoke coughed. “That is not what I said.”
"Yes, it is,” Elisa argued confidently.
“No, baby, I said she’s a contract lawyer.”
“Oh.” Elisa thought about it. “That sounds boring.”
You smiled at Elisa warmly. “I help people understand really important paperwork before they sign things.”
Elisa blinked. “Like homework?”
“Honestly? Kinda.”
“Ew,” Elisa said immediately.
The entire table laughed.
“But it’s important,” you added dramatically. “Because if people don’t read contracts carefully, they can lose money.”
That caught her attention. “Daddy likes money.”
You nodded. “So does your uncle.”
“How much money do people lose?” She pressed.
Stack leaned back in his chair. “Enough that your daddy would start raising hell.”
Smoke nodded immediately. “Facts.”
“Elijah Moore,” Annie reprimanded.
“What, woman? I ain’t curse.”
Yet somehow that made everyone laugh harder.
Elisa pointed at Stack next now. “So you the model boss?”
Stack sat up straighter. “I am.”
“What that mean?” She questioned as she picked at the vegetables on her plate.
“It means I help talented people become stars.”
Smoke glanced over. “That was smooth.”
“Thank you.”
Smoke rolled his eyes. “You definitely from Chicago.”
“You say that like Mississippi ain’t produced greatness.”
“Name five things.”
Stack pointed around the table instantly. “You, Elisa, Annie’s cornbread, Sammie apparently, and…” He paused dramatically before adding, “This sweet tea.”
Annie laughed so hard she nearly dropped her fork.
Smoke looked offended. “Oh, so you flirtin’ with my wife through beverages?”
“She made the tea!”
“Still.”
“You sound jealous.”
“I am.”
Annie shook her head fondly while Stack grinned into his drink.
Then Elisa asked you a question so simple and direct. Childlike in the most dangerous way.
“So…” she started, swinging her legs beneath the chair. “Are you Uncle Stack’s wife?”
The table quieted for half a second.
You nearly inhaled your sweet tea wrong. Stack blinked once before looking over at you instinctively, and the second his eyes landed on you, his whole face softened.
“Not yet,” he said warmly. “But she will be.”
Heat bloomed instantly in your chest.
Across the table, Annie smiled so wide she had to hide it behind her glass.
Smoke leaned back slowly, eyebrows raised. “Oh, so we being serious tonight.”
Stack pointed his fork at him immediately. “Don’t start.”
Annie laughed. “See? She already planning the reception.”
Smoke shook his head. “This family moves fast as hell.”
The word settled warmly around the table.
Family.
Not heavy this time. Easy. Like it was second nature.
Annie’s expression softened as she looked toward you. "How's wedding planning going, Y/N?”
You exchanged a quick glance with Stack before answering.
“It’s been really good,” you gushed. “Stressful sometimes.”
“And expensive,” Stack added.
Smoke pointed across the table. “There go the honesty.”
“You paid for doves to be released?” Stack asked.
“Nah,” Smoke replied. “We courthouse people.”
Annie looked at him sharply. “We are not courthouse people. You are courthouse people.”
Smoke grinned into his drink.
Annie rolled her eyes before looking back at you warmly. “Don’t let him fool you. He cried during our first dance.”
Smoke almost choked. “BABY.”
“It’s true!”
Stack immediately burst into laughter.
“Oh nah,” he said. “Big bro emotional?”
Smoke pointed his fork aggressively. “Watch yourself.”
“You cried?” you asked your soon-to-be brother-in-law.
“Daddy a crybaby!” Elisa blurted in between giggles.
Smoke looked deeply betrayed now. “Why everybody attacking me in my own house?”
“Because it’s funny,” Annie teased.
Smoke muttered something under his breath about being “surrounded by enemies,” but Stack noticed the way his brother looked around the table afterward.
At Annie.
At Elisa.
At you.
At him.
His brother was content. Like despite all the pain of the last four days…something beautifully inevitable had started growing anyway.
Elisa tilted her head at you again. “Mommy says babies come after weddings sometimes.”
You and Stack went still for exactly one second too long. Just enough for Smoke and Annie to sense the shift. Your hand instinctively found Stack’s beneath the table.
Smoke’s expression softened immediately. Annie glanced between the two of you carefully, warmth replacing curiosity.
Stack handled it beautifully.
“We’re hoping for that someday,” he said gently.
Elisa nodded seriously like that made perfect sense.
“Well,” she declared confidently before taking another bite of cornbread, “I think I want a cousin.”
A softer yet more tender silence hit the table this time. Because none of the adults were prepared for how hard that sentence would land. Especially not Stack after everything they’d lost already.
Dinner stretched longer than any of you intended. Not because the conversation was extraordinary but because nobody wanted it to end.
You were hoping for a child soon. You didn’t care if it was a boy or girl; you just wanted a healthy child.
At some point, plates became empty while nobody noticed. Elisa migrated from her booster seat into Stack’s lap halfway through dessert like she’d known him her whole life instead of less than two hours. Annie disappeared briefly to pack leftovers “because men never feed themselves properly,” while Smoke argued weakly from the sink that he literally owned a grill.
The house settled around everyone naturally, and Stack kept catching himself drifting. He was soaking in every single interaction.
Smoke carrying Elisa upside down over one shoulder while she squealed dramatically. Annie threatening both of them with bedtime. Elisa teaching you the steps to the Veggie Dance. The framed family photos lining the hallway. All the little things. The things he should’ve had the chance to experience years ago.
By the time the night started winding down, Elisa was fully asleep against your shoulder on the couch, tiny fist curled into your blouse.
Annie smiled softly from the doorway. “She likes you.”
You looked down at the sleeping child fondly. “I noticed.”
“Usually she terrorizes people first.”
“She did interrogate me.”
“That just means she trusts you.”
Smoke emerged from the kitchen as he was drying his hands on a dish towel. His eyes immediately landed on Elisa sprawled across you, and something in his face softened instantly.
“She knocked out?” he asked quietly.
“Apollo Creed style,” you whispered.
Smoke snorted softly as he walked over carefully and scooped Elisa into his arms with practiced ease. The little girl barely stirred, immediately tucking her face into his neck.
Stack watched the whole thing silently. His chest started to ache again. Smoke glanced at him over Elisa’s sleepy head and immediately understood.
No words needed to be exchanged because he just understood.
“Imma put her down,” Smoke announced quietly.
Annie nodded. “I’ll be up in a second.”
The house felt quieter after they disappeared upstairs.
Annie started gathering dishes while you followed her automatically toward the kitchen.
“Oh no,” Annie said immediately. “Guests don’t clean.”
“Good thing we family now,” you shot back.
Annie grinned. “Okay, I like you.”
Stack watched you disappear into the kitchen with Annie, your laughter blending together almost instantly.
Then suddenly it was just him. He took advantage of the short window and took some deep breaths. Dinner was great, but he was still overwhelmed with this feeling of impending doom. He was about to meet his father. All his life he was told his father died. He was so angry but mostly terrified. What if his father wasn’t who he imagined? What if his father didn’t like him? Maybe Mom kept him away from Dad for a reason? But that still wasn’t fair to him and Smoke.
Smoke reappeared a minute later, calmer somehow after putting Elisa to bed. Tired in a good way. The older twin leaned against the doorway, arms folded loosely.
“She still sleep?” Stack asked.
“Out cold.”
A quiet beat passed, then Smoke jerked his chin toward the front door. “Walk with me.”
The Mississippi night air wrapped warm around them as they stepped onto the porch.
Crickets buzzed loud in the dark. Somewhere down the street, music drifted faintly through an open window.
Smoke sat down on the top porch step first.
Stack followed. He didn’t realize how close he sat next to his big brother until their shoulders brushed, but Smoke didn’t move, so Stack didn’t either.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward, just heavy.
Smoke rubbed his hands together once and looked over. “You really love her, huh?”
Stack smiled immediately like he always did whenever you were the subject. Like his body answered before his mouth could.
“Hell yes,” he admitted quietly. “More than anything.”
Smoke nodded slowly like he’d expected that answer. “I could tell.”
Stack glanced over. “How?”
“The way you look at her,” Smoke said simply. “Like she keeps you steady.”
That hit embarrassingly close, so Stack chuckled softly under his breath. “She do.”
Smoke leaned back against the railing behind him.
“You was really out here wild before her?”
Stack groaned loudly. “Oh my God. You really know me, huh?”
Smoke snorted because he had a feeling Stack had his fair share of women. “Nah, nigga. Answer the question.”
“I was not wild.”
“You was what then?”
“I was…exploring adulthood.”
Smoke looked unconvinced. “That sound like community service dick.”
Stack nearly choked laughing. “Damn, you ain’t gonna even pretend to cut me some slack?”
“Hell nah.”
Stack scrubbed a hand over his face, grinning despite himself.
“I just…” He exhaled slowly. “I didn’t think relationships lasted. Not real ones anyway.”
Smoke’s expression shifted slightly at that.
Stack stared out into the dark neighborhood.
“Mom loved me,” he said quietly. “But it always felt like she was surviving something she never talked about.”
Smoke stayed silent as he listened.
“So I dated,” Stack continued. “A lot. Nobody serious. Nobody permanent. Then I met Y/N.”
A small smile pulled at his mouth again.
“And your slutting was over?”
“Immediately.”
Smoke huffed softly. “Damn.”
“She’s…” Stack shook his head like words weren’t enough. “She makes my loud-ass life quieter.”
“I didn’t even know life didn’t have to be so goddamn chaotic until she walked in my life, man.”
That landed because Smoke understood exactly what that meant. He could write poetry about all the ways he loved Annie and still run out of pages.
“She knows every version of me,” Stack sighed deeply. “The polished one. The arrogant one. The insecure one. All of it.”
Smoke nodded slowly. “That’s your person.”
“Yeah,” Stack whispered. “That’s my person.”
The porch fell quiet again, and then Stack’s voice got softer.
"We've been trying to have a baby.”
Smoke looked over immediately.
Stack swallowed hard. “For almost a year now.”
The night suddenly felt heavier.
“She’s been taking all these fertility medications,” Stack groaned in frustration. “Shots. Hormones. Doctor appointments. The whole thing.”
Smoke’s face tightened slightly. “And still nothing?”
Stack shook his head once. The grief in that movement almost hurt to witness.
“I think…” Stack paused. “I think sometimes she blames herself.”
Smoke frowned immediately. “That ain’t fair.”
“I know.”
“And you don’t let her talk like that, right?”
“Never.”
Smoke nodded once, approving.
Stack looked down at his hands.
“I just want that life with her,” he expressed. “A family. Kids running through the house. Her yelling at me for teaching them nonsense.”
Smoke smirked faintly. “You definitely would teach them nonsense.”
“Absolutely.”
“But you want it bad.”
Stack’s eyes drifted toward the upstairs window where Elisa slept.
“Yeah,” he said honestly. “I really do.”
Smoke was quiet for a long moment after that. Eventually he broke the silence and said, “It’ll happen.”
Stack glanced over.
Smoke shrugged slightly. “Might not happen how or when you planned. But if it’s meant for y’all? It’ll happen.”
Something about the certainty in his tone settled deep into Stack’s chest.
“Thanks.”
Smoke nodded once, and then his expression darkened slightly.
“Aight,” he muttered. “Now we gotta talk about the hard part.”
Stack’s stomach tightened instantly.
Their father.
Smoke leaned forward, forearms braced against his knees. “You need to prepare yourself before we confront Daddy.”
Stack’s jaw flexed. “That bad?”
Smoke let out a humorless laugh. “Worse.”
The night air suddenly felt colder.
“He ain’t loud all the time,” Smoke warned carefully. “That’s what make it tricky. He knows how to cut people up calm.”
Stack listened closely.
"He's proud,” Smoke continued. “Real mean when he wanna be and he's damn good at making you feel guilty for questioning him.”
That sounded familiar in ways Stack hated.
Smoke glanced over slowly. “If he thinks he's losing control of a conversation, he gon’ attack.”
“Verbally?”
“Any way he can.”
All Stack could do was let out a nervous laugh as he wiped a hand over his face.
Smoke’s jaw tightened.
“I ain’t tellin’ you this to scare you,” he assured. “I’m tellin’ you so you don’t walk in there thinkin’ he all soft just cause he older.”
Stack nodded slowly, and after a beat he asked, “You scared?”
Smoke looked out into the dark for a long moment.
“…Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “I just got a bad feeling.”
The honesty surprised both of them.
Smoke exhaled heavily. “Cause if he could lie about this…” He shook his head once. “What else is he capable of?”
Neither of them had an answer for that.
The porch settled into silence again as the two brothers sat side by side beneath a Mississippi sky. Trying to figure out how to walk back into the wreckage of the people who brought them into this world.
For anyone who cares I’m halfway through the next chapter of The Parent Trap! Hopefully I’ll have it completed and edited by late tonight but if not it’ll be posted no later than Saturday afternoon I PROMISEEEEEE 🫶🏾😝
PREPARE TO BE SICK OF ME!!! I live in Florida and I go to HHN pretty much every year, but I will be going MULTIPLE times this year! I want to be jump scared by Smoke and Stack!!!!! 
I have been reading smut for years now so it doesn’t surprise me when I get a little turned on by reading it, but for your smut specifically my clit literally throbs and I don’t know how I feel about that 
Summary: You are a senior editor trying to ignore the rising tension with your younger, arrogant junior editor until a charged Christmas party and one overdue conversation unravel everything you’ve been too anxious to feel.
Pairing: Tyriq Withers x Black Fem!reader
Warnings: smutty smut, explicit language, modern au, workplace romance, age gap (29F + 24M), power dynamic, sexual tension, discreet flirting, jealousy, office sex, semi-public sex, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, cocky!Tyriq
Word count: 9.9k (I had way too much fun writing this!!)
Part one
The first week of the new year wasn’t all that different; the editorial floor buzzed with the usual chaos.
Phones rang nonstop. Slack notifications chimed like impatient doorbells. Somebody in marketing was already laughing too loud at nine-thirty in the damn morning, and the scent of burnt matcha drifted through the open-concept office.
You sat behind your desk reviewing copy edits with the same calm precision you always carried at work, but internally you were in hell. Because a few days ago, Tyriq Withers bent you over the windows of his luxury condo and ruined professionalism forever.
Now he sat three rows away in a baby blue long-sleeve button-up, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as his slender fingers typed something on his laptop.
Your boyfriend.
The word still made warmth bloom deep in your chest.
You tried not to stare too long, but the problem with sleeping with someone you already wanted desperately was that afterward your body started remembering things at inconvenient times. Especially now. Your eyes drifted to his hands moving across the keyboard, and immediately your stomach tightened.
God.
Those same hands had gripped your thighs so gently while he talked you through your first time. Those same long fingers that curled deep—
“Y/N?”
You blinked quickly, dragged back to reality by Rachel standing beside your desk holding a stack of mockups.
“Sorry,” you said, clearing your throat smoothly. “What was that?”
Rachel frowned slightly. “You okay? You seem distracted today.”
"Distracted" was certainly one word for it.
“Just busy,” you replied, accepting the papers.
From across the office, Tyriq glanced up. Just one look. His green eyes met yours briefly before flicking downward toward the files in your hands, then back up again. Subtle and innocent to everyone else, but you noticed the tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth. He knew all too well why you were zoning out.
You narrowed your eyes at him faintly, and his dimples deepened. Such an arrogant man…but he was your man now. Before either of you could silently flirt yourselves into unemployment, Kyle’s voice carried across the floor.
“Conference room. Five minutes, everybody.”
A chorus of exhausted groans answered him.
You stood, smoothing down your fitted mocha-colored skirt before grabbing your tablet and notes. Around the office, people shuffled toward the large meeting room with all the enthusiasm of prisoners heading toward sentencing.
Tyriq had already disappeared inside.
Of course he had.
You took your time walking over, heels clicking softly against the polished floor, but right as you reached the doorway, one of the art directors stopped beside you.
“Y/N, hold on—” Denise leaned out into the hallway. “Can somebody grab me a coffee? Please? I’m fighting for my life today.”
You laughed softly. “Hazelnut?”
“You know me so well.” Denise grinned and hurried off toward the break room, while you finally stepped into the conference room and immediately sensed his presence.
Tyriq sat near the middle of the long table, one chair beside him conspicuously empty. Saved just for you. Again.
Your pulse fluttered before you could stop it. As you approached, he leaned back slightly in his chair, his eyes dragging over you in a way that felt entirely inappropriate for 9:42 on a Monday morning.
“Hi, pretty girl,” he whispered quietly enough that nobody else could hear even though the room was only occupied by the two of you at the moment.
Heat curled low in your stomach instantly. He had way too much confidence now.
Lord, give me strength, you thought to yourself.
You slid into the chair beside him, carefully keeping your expression neutral even as your knees brushed against his beneath the table.
“Morning, handsome,” you shot back while preparing your notes.
Tyriq went completely still, still not used to you openly reciprocating his flirting.
You kept your attention on your tablet to avoid smiling, but from your peripheral vision, you caught how sharply his jaw clenched.
Oh. That simple compliment must have gotten to him.
“You can’t just say shit like that at work,” he chastised under his breath, voice suddenly rough.
You finally looked at him then, your chestnut-brown eyes all soft and composed. “Why, baby? You distracted?”
His nostrils flared slightly, but before he could answer, more coworkers piled into the room, breaking the moment apart.
Tyriq leaned back in his chair, dragging a hand slowly across his mouth like he was trying to regain control of himself. Meanwhile, your thighs clenched so hard beneath the table that it was almost embarrassing.
Kyle walked in carrying a tablet and an energy drink the size of a can of oil sheen spray.
“Alright,” he sighed, collapsing into the chair at the front. “Bad news.”
A collective groan spread around the room.
“The Henderson feature files got corrupted during export.”
Several people cursed immediately.
Kyle nodded grimly. “I know. Production deadline’s tomorrow morning, so editorial needs to stay on top of revisions while design rebuilds the spreads.”
Your stomach dropped slightly as the room erupted into overlapping complaints.
“Wait, all the files?”
“You serious?”
“Oh my God—”
Kyle rubbed his forehead. “Trust me. I know.”
Beside you, Tyriq sat forward slightly, immediately focused. You tried not to find his work mode attractive and ended up failing instantly.
Kyle’s eyes landed on you. “Y/N, I need you overseeing recovery edits tonight.”
Without hesitation, you nodded. “Of course.”
Tyriq’s lips twitched faintly beside you. He loved how serious you took your work. Loved it almost as much as he loved making you lose composure.
“Appreciate it,” Kyle exhaled sharply before scanning the room again. “I need one more volunteer to stay late with her.”
Immediate silence. Followed by even more silence. One editor avoided eye contact altogether.
Rachel lifted her hands defensively. “My son has football practice.”
“Anniversary dinner,” someone else chimed in quickly.
“Nah,” another coworker laughed. “I love this company, but not enough for an all-nighter.”
You bit back a smile.
Beside you, Tyriq stayed suspiciously quiet for exactly three seconds too long. You could practically feel him trying not to volunteer too fast and expose himself. Then finally he spoke.
“Yeah, I’ll stay.”
Kyle looked relieved instantly. “Thank you.”
Tyriq shrugged casually like he wasn’t internally celebrating. “No problem.”
You kept your face perfectly composed even though your heartbeat immediately sped up. A whole night alone in the office with your boyfriend? Your very tall, fine, talented fingers and tongue-having boyfriend. Yeah, your mind pretty much sank to the gutter.
Kyle pointed between the two of you. “Once everything’s finalized, make sure the floor’s locked up and the alarm gets set before you leave.”
“Got it,” you answered smoothly.
Beside you, Tyriq slowly turned his head toward you. Not enough for anyone else to notice but just enough for you to catch the mischievous look in his eyes. You already knew there was absolutely no chance either of you were making it out of that office behaving yourselves.
The meeting wrapped fifteen minutes later, and the editorial floor slowly returned to its usual frenzy.
You walked back toward your office with your tablet tucked against your chest, already mentally organizing the disaster waiting for you later tonight. Behind you, conversations overlapped, phones resumed ringing, and somebody had apparently burned popcorn in the breakroom because the entire east wing smelled bitter and just plain old nasty.
You had barely settled into your chair before a shadow appeared in your doorway.
“Hey, Y/N?”
You glanced up to find Marcus from the digital features team holding a marked-up proof in one hand and a latte in the other. Tall, decent-looking, overly confident in the way men in media always seemed to be.
“What’s up?” you asked professionally.
He stepped inside your office and handed you the revision pages. “I updated the pull quotes and fixed the pacing issues you mentioned Friday, but I wanted your opinion before I submit the final version.”
You scanned the first page quickly, already spotting improvements. “Much better,” you admitted. “The transitions are cleaner too. This is good, Marcus.”
“See? I do listen to you,” he grinned.
You hummed softly while flipping another page.
From three rows away, Tyriq watched the interaction over the top of his monitor with narrowed eyes. Not obvious enough for anyone else to notice but enough that the muscles in his jaw flexed every single time Marcus smiled too hard at a compliment you gave.
“You always this sweet when giving feedback?” Marcus asked casually, leaning against your doorway.
You finally looked up fully as you registered the flirtatious tone he was taking. “Excuse me?”
“I’m just sayin’,” he shrugged, his smile widening. “If I knew senior editors looked like this, I would’ve transferred departments sooner.”
Across the office, Tyriq’s fingers froze over his keyboard, and Rachel looked up briefly from her desk with barely concealed interest.
Oh brother.
You, however, remained completely unbothered.
“Marcus Greene,” you sighed patiently, setting the papers down. “Your revisions are good. Let’s not ruin that progress.”
He laughed. “Damn, you cold.”
“Professional,” you corrected.
His eyes drifted over your face again. “So there’s absolutely no chance I could convince you to let me take you out sometime?”
Tyriq looked one squint away from standing up. Instead, he remained seated, shoulders tense beneath his sweater while he stared at his screen with murderous concentration.
You leaned back in your chair calmly. “I have a boyfriend.”
The office noise suddenly sounded very far away to Tyriq.
Marcus blinked once. “Ahh. So that explains it.”
“It does,” you quipped.
“So he's my competition?” Marcus joked.
You barely contained an eye roll as you smirked. “Mr. Greene, you can’t compete with my man’s intelligence or the way he takes me down,” you blurted. “Don’t embarrass yourself.”
Marcus threw his hands up dramatically. “Alright, alright. I respect it.”
“I hope so,” you snickered lightly. “Now go submit those revisions before I change my mind.”
He groaned on his way out of your office, finally taking the hint. The second he disappeared around the corner, your eyes lifted instinctively straight toward Tyriq, which was a terrible idea because the expression on that man’s face almost made your stomach flip over. Clearly, his irritation was replaced with carnal want. In a way, he looked almost famished.
You barely pressed your lips together in time to stop yourself from grinning.
Goddamn.
The man looked like he was trying to survive the next eight hours through sheer willpower alone.
A few minutes later, you stood to head toward the printers down the hall. As you passed Tyriq’s desk, you slowed just enough to murmur quietly, “You doing okay, Mr. Withers?”
His eyes lifted slowly from his screen. Almost as if he looked at you too fast, he’d combust. That man was struggling, and you weren’t ashamed to admit how much you were enjoying it.
“You gotta stop talking about your boyfriend like that at work,” he muttered low enough for only you to hear.
You tilted your head innocently. “Like what?”
Tyriq leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze dragging over your face with dangerous intensity. “Like you tryna make me lose my damn mind and find us a supply closet or copy room.”
Your thighs clenched immediately, and your pulse quickened, but instead of retreating, you smiled confidently.
“Maybe if I wasn’t completely gone for him, I’d dial it back,” you replied softly. “But I actually like the way he makes me feel.” Your voice lowered slightly. “Emotionally and physically.”
Tyriq inhaled sharply.
Oh, you were evil for saying that out loud, but you couldn’t find a damn to give.
You adjusted the papers in your arms innocently. “But that’s none of your business, Mr. Withers,” you finished sternly. “Get back to work.” Then you walked away before he could respond. Behind you was pure silence. He didn’t even know what to say.
Rachel glanced over at Tyriq a second later and frowned. “You good?”
Tyriq blinked slowly at his computer screen, like he’d temporarily left his body, and answered honestly, “…No.”
The printer down the hall chose the worst possible moment to jam.
Twice.
By the time you finally finished reprinting the corrected mockups, you were balancing a fresh stack of pages against your hip while muttering under your breath about office equipment being manufactured in the pits of hell.
The elevator dinged softly at the end of the hallway just as you approached.
Perfect timing, you thought just before the doors slid open, and of course there he was. Tyriq stood inside alone, one hand tucked into the pocket of his slacks, the other holding his phone. His sleeves were rolled slightly up his arms now, his tie loosened slightly and sandalwood cologne teasing your nose.
He looked entirely too good for a random Monday afternoon. The second his eyes landed on you, his entire expression shifted. It was as if his body recognized yours before his brain could catch up.
“Well,” he drawled slowly, his gaze dropping to your mouth for half a second. “Look what the elevator done blessed me with.”
You stepped inside smoothly before anyone else from the floor could join you. The doors slid shut, and the elevator was filled with soft jazz music and tension so thick you could cut with a butter knife. Not even ten seconds passed before Tyriq exhaled sharply like he’d finally been allowed to breathe.
“Baby,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face. “You gotta stop playin’ with me like that.”
You pressed the button for the production floor calmly. “I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Withers.”
“That little speech about your boyfriend?” He stepped closer immediately. “In front of that cocky motherfucker Marcus?”
You kept your composure admirably considering the fact that he smelled incredible and was currently boxing you lightly against the elevator wall with pure presence alone.
“He wouldn’t take the hint,” you shrugged softly.
“And you shut his ass down like you was tryna prove a point while also ruining my ability to function.”
A tiny smile tugged at your mouth. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Nah,” he corrected instantly. “You basically told another man how smart I am and how I fuck you stupid.” His voice lowered wickedly. “Then walked away lookin’ like that.”
Your pulse skipped and your face warmed with each passing second. The elevator continued descending quietly while tension thickened between you like cumulonimbus clouds before a thunderstorm.
Tyriq stared at you for a long moment before his eyes drifted lower to your navy blue blazer and how your breasts peeked out of your fitted blouse, then to your pencil skirt hugging your hips the very way he desired.
He swallowed hard before muttering, “You know what’s funny?”
“What?”
“I’ve been tryin’ so hard to behave at work.” He admitted, his sharp jaw flexing. “Meanwhile you out here accidentally talking filthy to me in broad daylight.”
You rolled your eyes playfully. “That was not filthy.”
“Baby,” he scoffed quietly, stepping even closer. “You told me you like how I make you feel physically.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So…you basically told me you like the way I stroke that pussy.”
Your thighs clenched again as the need in his tone grew heavier.
Okay, so maybe he had a fair point.
His eyes caught the tiny shift in your posture immediately, and his expression darkened with satisfaction.
“Yeah,” he huffed knowingly. “Exactly.”
The elevator suddenly felt way too small. Tyriq braced one hand beside your head carefully, not quite touching you but close enough that warmth radiated against your skin.
“You have any idea what I wanted to do after hearing that?”
Your breath caught slightly because you knew this was inappropriate, but you were desperate to hear what he had to say.
“What?” you asked softly.
His eyes locked onto yours. “I wanted to drag you into the nearest closet,” he admitted roughly. “To get on my knees and thank you properly for talking about me like that.”
Goddamn.
Your stomach flipped violently, and you felt the tiniest bit lightheaded. Tyriq watched every small reaction cross your face like he was studying something sacred.
“You smirked when you said it too,” he continued, his voice dropping lower. “All bold and unapologetically sweet.” He shook his head once. “Damn near made me take an early lunch.”
The elevator continued to descend and hummed softly. Neither of you moved. You glanced upward toward the small black security camera tucked into the corner of the ceiling.
“The cameras, baby," you warned.
Tyriq followed your gaze and sighed dramatically. “I hate this damn building.”
You laughed under your breath. “We installed them last quarter, remember?”
“I know,” he grumbled. “That’s the only reason you still standing normally right now.”
Warmth spread through you damn near everywhere. He looked so frustrated and desperate, completely gone for you.
And you loved it a lot more than you should.
A slow smirk curved your lips as your eyes flicked back toward the camera. “They don’t have audio, though.”
Tyriq froze because that newfound information got his attention BAD.
Your smile widened slightly as you adjusted the papers in your arms. “You’ve got two minutes, Mr. Withers,” you murmured sweetly. “Say what’s been on your mind.”
Tyriq blinked at you for a long moment, then he chuckled once, disbelieving and dangerously amused.
“Oh, you bold now,” he remarked, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek.
You tilted your head innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Mhmm.” His eyes dragged slowly down your body again before returning to your face. “That confidence look real good on you, baby.”
Your pulse fluttered hard enough to annoy you.
The elevator continued its slow descent while the tension between you thickened into something almost visible.
Tyriq leaned a little closer, voice dropping lower. “You know how hard it was sittin’ through that meeting with you beside me?”
You kept your expression calm somehow. “You survived.”
“Barely.” His jaw tightened. “Every time you crossed your legs, I forgot what Kyle was even talking about.”
A soft laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
Tyriq’s eyes lit up instantly at the sound. “There go my favorite sound,” he praised. “Been addicted to that shit since the first week I met you.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And you ain’t slick.”
You raised a brow. “Me?”
“Yes, you.” He pointed lightly at you. “You know exactly what you was doing back there.”
“I was supervising my department.”
“You was seducing me in that fitted ass skirt. Business casual, my ass.”
You couldn’t fight back the giggle and the way your breathing picked up.
Tyriq noticed everything now. His gaze darkened immediately.
“See?” he whistled softly. “That right there.”
“What?”
“The way you take in shorter breaths when I say something filthy.”
Heat bloomed through your stomach. “You’re entirely too observant.”
“I have to be,” he shrugged lightly. “My girlfriend fine as hell.”
The word still hit you right in the chest.
Girlfriend.
You tried not to smile too hard at it, but Tyriq caught the tiny reaction anyway.
“There’s that smile again,” he grinned.
“That smile.”
You rolled your eyes even though heat continued to pool low in your belly. “You act like I never smiled before meeting you.”
“Nah,” he corrected quietly. “You smiled before.” His green eyes softened. “But now you smile at me.”
Lord, give me strength, you thought. This man was too dangerous in confined spaces.
The elevator slowed briefly to another floor, but thankfully, nobody entered.
Tyriq exhaled in relief. “Thank God.”
You snorted. “You struggling that bad?”
“Baby.” He dragged a hand down his face dramatically. “You called me handsome this morning.”
“It ain’t a crime to compliment your boyfriend.”
“It should be.”
“Mr. Withers, are you saying your performance at work is suffering because your boss complimented you?”
His eyes nearly rolled back. “Don’t do that, Y/N.”
“Do what?”
“That boss voice.” He stepped closer again carefully, eyes burning into yours. “You know exactly what that does to me now.”
The air felt way too hot, and the worst part was that he still wasn’t even touching you. Just standing there close enough that his warmth wrapped around you while his voice slid under your skin like a cashmere throw.
You swallowed slowly. “You being dramatic again.”
Tyriq blinked once like he couldn’t believe you still showed restraint.
“Dramatic?” he echoed. “Baby, I watched another man flirt with you for ten minutes while knowing what you sound like when you cum on my face.”
You damn near choked on a gasp.
Oh, so he came into this elevator prepared to destroy your composure.
“You handled it well,” you managed to squeak out.
“Nah,” he corrected. “I handled that shit professionally.”
You burst out laughing, a full-blown cackle and the sound visibly affected him. His expression softened completely, eyes warming as he watched you crack up.
“There’s my pretty girl,” he admired.
Your chest warmed and your thighs clenched like they always did at the praise.
Again, the elevator dinged softly while the numbers kept changing above you. Still not there yet. Still drowning in tension.
Tyriq’s gaze dipped to your mouth again before he sighed heavily. “You know what the worst part is?”
“What?”
“I can’t even kiss you right now.” His voice dripped with frustration. “And after hearing you talk about me like that? That’s torture.”
Your stomach flipped. “You’ll survive.”
He looked unconvinced.
“You know what I keep thinking about?” he asked.
You absolutely should not have asked, but curiosity killed professionalism dead five business days ago.
“What?”
His eyes locked onto yours. “How pretty you looked after we finished.”
Your lips parted slightly. “Tyriq—”
“Nah, listen. You looked so satisfied laying on my chest.” A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “Been replaying that all damn weekend.”
The butterflies in your stomach became unbearable. Because THAT was the problem with him. Even when he was being filthy…he somehow still managed to make it sweet too.
You should’ve stopped talking. You knew that, but something about the way Tyriq was looking at you—hungry and completely wrecked over you—made mischief bloom low in your stomach. So instead of behaving like the composed senior editor you once were, you tilted your head slightly and asked.
“You wanna know what I keep thinking about?”
Tyriq’s eyes narrowed immediately. “Tell me.”
You stepped just a little closer, lowering your voice in the sweetest way possible. “The little sound you made when I started rolling my hips.”
His entire body went still because you had his undivided attention now.
Your lashes fluttered innocently as you continued. “That little growl-whimper thing?” Your smile deepened. “Right before you said…” you paused deliberately, enjoying the way his breathing changed, “‘give me that pussy.’”
Tyriq inhaled sharply, like the air had been punched out of him.
“Baby,” he warned through a shaky exhale. "Y/N..."
You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing. Because that man looked seconds away from forgetting every HR policy ever written.
His eyes fluttered closed briefly while he dragged a slow hand down his jaw.
“You remember that?” he questioned hoarsely.
“Mmhmm.”
“That’s what you been thinking about at work?”
“All day." you shrugged lightly. “Among other things.”
Tyriq stared at you with genuine disbelief now.
“See?” he swallowed around the lump in his throat. “This exactly what the fuck I mean. You became a menace overnight.”
You smirked unapologetically. “And whose fault is that?”
“Definitely mine,” he acknowledged. “And now I gotta suffer through the consequences.”
The elevator slowed.
Ding.
Both of you glanced toward the doors as they slid open onto your floor. Just like that, the moment shattered. Professional masks slipped back into place almost instantly. Well—mostly.
Tyriq cleared his throat once and stepped back enough to create believable workplace distance, though the lingering heat in his eyes made it obvious he was still mentally inside that conversation.
You adjusted the stack of papers in your arms, smoothing your expression into something barely composed.
The two of you stepped out together into the bustling hallway and immediately ran into Kyle.
“There you are,” he sighed in relief while holding a folder against his chest. “I just got off the phone with Henderson’s production team.”
You straightened up instinctively. “How bad?”
“Recoverable,” he tried to answer optimistically. “Barely.”
Tyriq snorted quietly beside you.
Kyle pointed between the two of you. “Seriously, thank you both again for staying late tonight. I know it’s a pain in the ass.”
“It’s no problem,” you reassured.
“We’ll get it handled,” Tyriq added smoothly.
Kyle nodded appreciatively. “Good. Because if we miss this print deadline, corporate’s gonna personally escort me into five o’clock traffic.”
You giggled softly. Tyriq glanced sideways at you as soon as he heard the sound, the corner of his mouth lifting despite himself.
Kyle continued talking about revised timelines and production exports, completely oblivious to the fact that thirty seconds ago Tyriq had nearly folded you in half verbally inside the elevator.
Meanwhile, Tyriq stood beside you, looking entirely too calm for a man whose brain was currently replaying the filthy talk you had quoted back to him. You could feel it radiating off him. Especially when your fingers brushed accidentally for half a second while you were adjusting the stack of papers.
Kyle finally sighed. “Alright. I’m gonna go fight with design.”
“Good luck,” you offered sympathetically.
The second he walked away, silence settled briefly between you and Tyriq again.
“So we quoting my dirty talk at work now?” he whispered without looking at you.
You whispered back. “You said it, handsome. Not me.”
Tyriq finally turned his head toward you slowly.
“Tonight,” he promised under his breath, “you gon’ learn to stop being cute in professional settings.” He bumped your shoulder before heading back to his desk.
Your stomach damn near did a roundhouse kick. You glanced at your watch and sighed deeply. You still had eight more hours before the office emptied.
By 11:43pm, the entire office was silent but also loud. The kind where every tiny sound suddenly felt amplified—the low hum of fluorescent lights, the soft clicking of keyboards, the distant whir of the ventilation system pushing cool air through empty departments.
Only two pages remained.
Two.
You sat cross-legged in your office chair reviewing the final spread while Tyriq leaned against the edge of your desk, sleeves pushed up his forearms, reading over the corrections on his tablet.
Outside your glass office walls, the magazine floor was dark now. Everyone left four hours ago. Empty desks sat abandoned beneath dimmed lights while the city glittered beyond the massive windows.
It was finally just the two of you.
You circled one final sentence in red before sighing softly. “Okay, this paragraph flows way better now.”
Tyriq hummed distractedly, but he wasn’t looking at the screen anymore. He was staring at you. Again.
Your hair had gotten bigger throughout the night, curls soft and wild around your face now. Your lip gloss faded hours ago. Your heels sat abandoned beneath your desk because your feet started hurting around ten. Yet somehow you’d never looked prettier to him.
You glanced up eventually and immediately caught him staring. “Tyriq.”
“Hm?”
“You looking at me instead of the revisions.”
“I know.”
Your stomach fluttered.
Lord.
There was something especially dangerous about him when he got all quiet like this. Less teasing and arrogance, just warm eyes and devastating honesty.
You tried to refocus on the edits. “We have two pages left.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you lookin’ at me like that?”
His jaw clenched slightly before he pushed away from the desk.
“Come here for a second.”
You blinked. “For what?”
Tyriq walked around your desk slowly until he stood directly beside you. “I just want a hug.”
Oh. How could you deny him that?
That immediately melted something deep inside your chest. You looked up at him properly then.
All tall and tired. Pretty tawny skin glowing under the office lights. Tie abandoned and sleeves rolled up. Warm eyes softened at you in a way that still caught you off guard.
“You’re needy tonight,” you teased.
“Very,” he admitted without shame.
A smile pulled at your lips as you finally stood. The second your arms wrapped around his neck, Tyriq exhaled deeply in relief. Like he’d been holding himself together all night and finally got rewarded for it.
His arms folded around you instantly, large hands settling against your lower back while he tucked his face into the curve of your neck.
Mmm. The sound he made—that soft little hum against your skin—nearly made your knees buckle.
Your eyes drifted shut as his warmth surrounded you completely.
“Missed this,” he sighed.
You rubbed your hands slowly up his back above the thin fabric of his button-up. “You saw me all day.”
“Not like this.”
Your heart squeezed painfully because that was the problem with Tyriq. He said the most romantic things so naturally you didn’t even think he realized how deeply they landed.
The hug should’ve ended already. Instead, his hold tightened and ours did too. The office remained silent around you while the tension slowly shifted into something more intimate.
Tyriq lifted his head just enough for his nose to brush lightly against your temple.
“You smell good,” he complimented.
You laughed softly against his chest. “We’ve been here twelve hours, baby.”
“And you still smell good.”
“Shameless.”
“Mmhmm.”
Neither of you moved. Not even a little.
Your fingers absentmindedly played with the short hairs at his nape while his thumbs rubbed slow circles into the skin at your lower back beneath your blouse.
This was slowly but surely becoming dangerous behavior.
You felt him inhale slowly before his lips brushed the side of your forehead. Not quite a kiss, but you ached in anticipation anyway.
“Baby,” he uttered against your skin. “You know you make it real damn hard to behave around you?”
You smiled against his chest. “I think you like behaving.”
Tyriq pulled back just enough to look at you properly. His eyes dropped briefly toward your mouth before lifting again.
“That’s the issue,” he admitted softly. “I don’t think I do anymore.”
Heat rushed through you immediately, and you felt your panties dampen.
Goddamnit.
You were supposed to be finishing edits. Instead, you were standing in your office, wrapped around your ridiculously handsome boyfriend, while he looked at you as if not kissing you was taking every ounce of restraint he had left.
Your hands slid up and down his chest as you tilted your head up slightly. “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think you’re tired.”
Tyriq narrowed his eyes knowingly. “That what we calling this?”
You giggled softly, and there it was once again. That laugh that visibly weakened him every single time he heard it.
He groaned dramatically before dropping his forehead against yours. “You keep laughing like that and we never finishing these last two pages.”
“You the one hugging me hostage.”
“Cause I missed you.”
Your expression softened as you admitted. “I missed you, too.”
His hands squeezed your waist once, and then with visible reluctance he exhaled sharply and stepped back half an inch.
“We really gotta finish, huh?”
You nodded slowly, still holding onto him a little. “Unfortunately.”
Tyriq glanced toward the unfinished layouts on your desk before looking back at you. “Corporate tryna ruin my love life.”
By 2:07 a.m., your office looked like a battlefield. Empty coffee cups, marked-up proofs, pink sticky notes everywhere, and your abandoned blazer draped across the back of your chair.
Somehow the two of you had pulled it off.
You stood near your desk with your phone pressed to your ear while Tyriq sat beside the final layouts, one leg bouncing restlessly beneath the table as he watched you pace.
“Yes,” you sighed in relief, exhaustion finally loosening from your shoulders as the Henderson client confirmed he received your fax. “Perfect. Thank you so much.”
Your entire face softened at the continued praise you received over the phone. “Seriously, please tell your team I appreciate them staying up with us.”
Tyriq smiled quietly to himself at the sound of your voice.
God. He loved listening and watching you work.
You ended the call a few seconds later and blinked at your dimming screen in disbelief before letting out a long breath.
“We’re done,” you announced.
Tyriq sat up immediately. “For real?”
“For real.”
He looked just as relieved as you felt.
You laughed softly and crossed the room toward him, lifting your hand automatically. Tyriq grinned instantly and slapped a loud high-five against your palm.
“Teamwork,” he shouted dramatically.
“Shut up,” you snorted, still smiling.
He caught your hand before you could pull away completely, thumb brushing lightly against your wrist.
“You did your thing tonight, though,” he admitted warmly. “Whole department would’ve collapsed without you.”
Your chest warmed at the recognition.
“You helped a lot,” you replied honestly. “You’re ridiculously smart, Tyriq.” Your smile deepened slightly. “And creative. Thank you for staying with me all night.”
Something in his expression softened immediately. There goes that look again. The one that always made you feel like the prettiest woman alive.
“Always,” he promised, green eyes shining with admiration.
You pulled your hand back slowly before things got too intense again and turned toward your desk to gather the remaining folders. Then you stretched, which apparently was a big mistake.
Your arms lifted over your head as you arched your back slightly, exhaustion pulling a quiet little sigh from your throat while your blouse tightened across your chest and your skirt hugged your hips even more.
You froze halfway through the stretch when you heard a frustrated groan slip past his lips.
“…Tyriq?”
He didn’t respond, so you slowly turned your head only to find him looking downright wrecked. He sat leaned back in the chair, gawking at you like his final thread of self-control had just snapped clean in half. His jaw was clenched tight as his hands gripped the armrests hard enough for his knuckles to pale.
Your stomach flipped in anticipation.
“What?” you laughed nervously.
Tyriq blinked once like he was trying to rejoin reality.
“Baby,” he exhaled roughly. “You cannot stretch like that at two in the morning after I’ve been behaving all damn night.”
Heat rushed through you immediately. “I was just stretching.”
“Uh-huh.” He dragged a hand down his face slowly. “That’s the problem.”
You suddenly remembered how empty and private your office was. You tried to regain composure by shaking your head and stacking the remaining folders neatly together. “Well,” you cleared your throat softly, “at least we’re finally done.”
Tyriq hummed distractedly, but he was still eyeing you. Still looking entirely too hungry.
You grabbed your heels from beneath the desk and slipped them back on as your stomach growled.
“I could definitely go for some pizza right now.” You glanced over at him innocently. “You hungry?”
Tyriq let out a slow, dangerous laugh.
“Yeah,” he muttered while standing up gradually. “But not for no goddamn pizza.”
Oh.
OH.
Your pulse immediately started misbehaving. “Ty—”
“Nah.” He cut you off smoothly while stalking toward you with unhurried confidence. “Come here.” His eyes dragged slowly over your face. “And feed me.”
The second those words left his mouth, your stomach flipped violently, and the heat between your legs intensified.
“Tyriq,” you gasped, already backing into the edge of your desk, “you are ridiculous.”
“And you stalling,” he countered immediately.
Before you could think of a rebuttal, his large hands slid around your waist, and he lifted you effortlessly. A surprised gasp escaped you as he sat you right on top of your desk.
Papers crinkled, ballpoint pens rolled, and a stapler hit the floor dramatically somewhere beside you. Tyriq barely glanced at the mess. His attention stayed completely locked on you.
“Baby,” he sighed deeply, pushing the remaining folders aside carefully so you had more room, “do you know how long I’ve been trying not to touch you tonight?”
Your pulse pounded harder as he stepped between your knees. Close enough to feel how hard he was through his slacks.
The office lights cast a warm glow across his skin while the city glittered behind him through the massive windows. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his green eyes darkened with an insatiable hunger.
You swallowed slowly as his hands settled on your thighs.
“Tyriq…” your voice softened slightly as you suggested. “Maybe I should shower first.”
That made him pause. Not because he agreed but because he looked genuinely offended by the suggestion.
“Baby,” he tsked, like you’d said something outrageous, “we’ve been editing magazine pages for fifteen hours, not digging ditches.”
You laughed softly. “Still—”
“No.” He shook his head immediately, stepping even closer. “Absolutely not.”
Your stomach tightened at the firmness in his tone.
Tyriq leaned down slowly until his forehead rested against yours.
“I like how you smell after a long day,” he admitted. “Been smelling your perfume mixed with your shampoo and your skin all damn night.” His grip tightened against your thighs. “It’s driving me crazy.”
You felt yourself get wetter.
“You’re insane,” you whispered.
“For you?” He kissed the corner of your mouth softly. “Very.”
Your hands slid automatically around his neck, fingers rubbing circles into the back of his head, and Tyriq let out a low groan that almost made your eyes roll back.
“There you go with them goddamn hands," he muttered against your lips. “You know touching me like that makes me stupid.”
You smiled softly. “You already were acting a little stupid in that elevator.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Why?” you taunted. “You ain’t like hearing me quote you?”
“Oh, I liked it too much.” His hands slid higher against your thighs slowly. “That’s the issue.”
Your breath hitched as he pulled you in by the waist and ground himself against you. It was the kind of storm that had been building all damn day.
“You know what really messed me up?”
“What?”
The way you kept calling me 'baby' today.
Your heart fluttered. “It just slipped out.”
“Mmhmm.” He smiled knowingly against your mouth. “And every single time it happened, I wanted to drag you into the copier room and lock the door.”
You laughed softly before his lips brushed yours in a full kiss this time. Just enough to make you want more. Tyriq pulled back slightly afterward, eyes scanning your face carefully.
“Please, can I taste you?”
The question hit you harder than anything filthy could have. Because he sounded sincere, almost desperate. It was like this wasn’t just about sex anymore. Your breath caught slightly as your fingers played with the short hairs at the back of his neck.
“I’m not stopping you, baby,” you whispered.
That was all he needed.
Tyriq exhaled sharply against your mouth before kissing you again, deeper this time. His hands slid up your waist slowly, warm palms spreading across your sides like he needed to feel every inch of you. The kiss turned messy fast. You both were hungry for each other. The days of wanting and hours of restraint all finally slipped loose. Your lips parted against his with a soft moan that immediately made his grip tighten.
“Fuck,” he groaned into your mouth. “I missed hearing that noise.”
Tyriq kissed you once more before his mouth traveled lower—across your jaw, beneath your ear, and down the length of your neck where your pulse danced wildly beneath his lips.
His hands moved to the buttons of your blouse carefully, like he was unwrapping something precious.
You watched him through heavy lashes while he worked each button open one by one, kissing your skin in between until your breathing turned uneven.
“Been thinking about this too,” he admitted while opening another button. “Seeing what you wear under these little office outfits.”
You bit back a moan. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Mmhmm.”
The blouse loosened gradually beneath his hands until he finally pushed it open enough to expose the soft curve of your chest beneath your bra.
Tyriq went quiet as his eyes dragged slowly over you before he shook his head once like he genuinely still couldn’t believe you were real.
“You so damn pretty,” he praised.
Your stomach fluttered hard. By this point, you knew you had ruined your panties.
He slid the blouse slowly off your shoulders, fingertips grazing your soft brown skin just enough to make you shiver. The fabric bunched around your elbows while his mouth returned to your neck again, kissing lower and lower.
Meanwhile, your skirt remained perfectly intact. That was until Tyriq’s hands slid down your thighs next, and the second his fingers hooked beneath the hem, you let out the tiniest whimper. Deliberately, he pushed the pencil skirt upward inch by inch until it gathered around your hips.
“Yeah,” he muttered under his breath once your thighs spread naturally for him. “This exactly what I needed.”
Your pulse hammered wildly as he looked at you sitting on top of your desk—blouse hanging open, skirt pushed up, heels still on and brown eyes already shining softly for him.
Tyriq swallowed hard.
“Baby,” he exhaled sharply, pulling you closer to him as he ground himself into you, “you have no idea what you do to me.”
The office lights glowed softly above you. Computer screens dimmed around the room as the city shimmered black and gold behind the glass windows.
Somehow the quietness made everything feel even more intimate.
His eyes dropped lower to your panties.
“That pussy dripping for me, ain’t it?” he questioned as his fingertips brushed teasingly along the edge of your panties.
Your thighs jerked against the desk. “Tyriq…”
A low groan left him at the way you said his name. That alone almost did him in. He slowly sank downward to his knees, hands sliding along your thighs as he went.
The sight nearly took your breath away. That tall, arrogant man was kneeling in front of your desk in the middle of your office, looking up at you like he could spend the rest of his life there. The sight was too dangerous.
Tyriq kissed the inside of your thigh tenderly, eyes never leaving your face for long.
“You know what’s crazy?” he breathed against your skin.
Your hand gripped the desk while the other gripped his shoulder. “What’s that, baby?”
“I really was trying to behave today.”
You hummed softly, breath hitching as his fingers trailed up to your panties.
“I’m serious, Y/N,” he continued, voice roughening slightly, “I stayed focused for damn near fifteen hours.”
“Mmhmm.”
“And then you stretched.”
“That’s not my fault.” you insisted in between giggles that soon broke into a full-blown moan as he rubbed your clit through your soaked panties.
“It absolutely is.”
His hands slid beneath the fabric slowly before he paused, green eyes lifted to yours, quietly begging for permission.
You nodded once, and that was all he needed.
Instead of removing your panties completely, Tyriq pushed them aside carefully, exhaling sharply the second he finally saw how wet you were for him.
“Fuck,” he swore under his breath.
The sound alone sent heat flooding throughout the rest of your body.
His forehead rested briefly against your thigh like he was collecting himself before he looked up at you again.
“You know I’m obsessed with you, right?”
Your chest tightened instantly. Because he always said things like that so casually. Like they were obvious facts.
You swallowed hard. “Tyriq…”
“Nah, I’m serious.” His thumb stroked slowly along your thigh. “You got me gone, baby.”
The way he looked at you while saying it nearly melted you on the spot. His free hand gripped your thigh and pulled you all the way to the edge so your heels could rest against his back.
He finally leaned forward, and his nose brushed your clit as he trailed his tongue down your glistening slit.
The first touch almost made your head fall back immediately. Your fingers tightened against the desk while a needy whimper escaped you before you could stop it.
Tyriq let out a satisfied grunt against you instantly, like he’d been craving the taste and sound of your pleasure all day.
“There it is,” he rumbled softly. “Missed hearin’ you like this.”
The office suddenly felt way too warm. Every little sound seemed louder now—your breathing, the wet squelch of his tongue flicking against your clit, the faint squeak of the desk whenever you shifted.
Tyriq looked entirely too satisfied every time another shaky breath left your mouth. He kept glancing up at you, too, constantly. Watching and studying, addicted to your every reaction.
Your blouse hung open around your shoulders now, curls messy around your face while you tried and failed to stay composed under the way he was eating you for his pleasure.
His tongue swirled around your clit in tight circles, focusing all his attention on one little spot that made you let out the sexiest noises. His tongue moved back and forth over your hardened nub in such a way that it shot tingles of pleasure up your spine.
You used your other hand to free your left breast from your bra, cupping it gently in your palm while pinching your nipple between your finger and thumb.
“That feels so good, Tyriq. Please don’t stop.”
“You already know I’m not stopping ‘til you cum.” Came his muffled reply. He closed his mouth around your clit, sucking fast and unrelenting as his tongue pressed in insistent strokes. Your eyes rolled back as you felt an orgasm approaching.
“Look at you,” he hummed around your clit, almost in disbelief. “Sittin’ on your desk feeding me this delicious pussy after bossin’ everybody around all day.”
The vibrations made you dizzy, and you moaned so loudly as your thighs began to shake. “Oh fuckfuckfuck Tyriq—”
“Mmhmm?” His eyes lifted innocently.
You narrowed your eyes breathlessly. “I’m gonna cum if you keep eating me like this.”
A grin spread slowly across his face. “That’s the point, baby,” he admitted shamelessly. “Your cum belongs to me.”
He flattened his tongue at your entrance and dragged it back up, swirling at the base of your clit. “Taste so good.”
He pushed two fingers into you slowly, curling them upward at the perfect angle while his other hand tugged your panties to the side even tighter.
“Fuuuuck!” you moaned even louder.
He sucked your clit harder, long fingers curling deeper. The pleasure was building so sharply and fast that you choked on every moan and whimper.
“I’m gonna fuckin’ cum,” you gasped out, body tingling all over and toes curling inside your heels.
“Give it to me,” he groaned against you, the vibration surging through every nerve as his skilled tongue applied even more pressure against your clit and his fingers thrust faster. You came with a sharp cry, mouth falling wide open as you jerked against the desk. His grip on your panties and thigh tightened as he held you in place, his lips still tugging at your clit. You chanted his name in between screams of pleasure as you saw constellations.
“Ty-Tyriq, please!”you begged as you tried to close your legs, but he held them open as he continued eating your pussy like it was his last meal.
Tyriq didn’t stop until your whole body went slack in his arms. Once it did, he rose and immediately wiped your hot tears with the pads of his thumbs.
He kissed your lips twice. “You taste so good, baby,” he praised. “So fuckin’ pretty when you cum for me.”
You unzipped and pushed down his slacks as he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. As soon as his chest was free, you trailed warm kisses all over his pecs and even licked his nipples. He gasped in pleasure before lifting your chin and crashing his lips back into yours, his tongue finding yours almost immediately. You moaned softly as you tasted yourself on his tongue and pulled him closer. Tyriq’s hands slid firmly along your back before one settled against the bunched-up skirt around your waist, pulling you flush against him while the other cradled your jaw carefully like he still couldn’t decide whether he wanted to worship you or lose his mind over you.
Probably both.
You whimpered softly into his mouth as his tongue brushed yours again, rougher this time, deeper, and the sound he made in response nearly sent you over the edge again right there on the desk. The desk shifted faintly beneath you when he ground himself between your legs, and your breath hitched immediately at the feeling of his bulge pressing against your sensitive clit.
Tyriq broke the kiss only long enough to drag his mouth down your neck again, breathing you in slowly while he freed his rock-hard length from his briefs and tapped his tip against your clit.
“Please, I need you inside me,” you whimpered desperately. “And don’t be gentle. I want to feel you tomorrow as I walk through this building.”
He groaned deeply, “Anything you want, Y/N.” He lined his erection up with your entrance while his other hand gripped your waist so tight you were almost certain there’d be thumbprints there in the morning. “Look at me.”
As soon as you tilted your head up and locked eyes with him, he pushed inside. The feeling was no longer foreign but still a tight fit at first. You remembered to relax as much as you can so he can ease inside better. He pushed deeper, muttering all kinds of obscenities in between moans until he finally sank all the way inside you.
Your lips parted in a breathless moan as both hands shot up to his shoulders to brace yourself. “Ohh fuuuckk Tyriq…”
He groaned into your neck as he began to thrust hard and deep just like you asked. “So wet—tight as fuck—squeezin’ the fuck outta me…ALL MINE.” He was already losing it, but then again, so were you and you just got started. “Tell me,” he demanded, breaths growing sharper. “Tell me how it feels.”
“Tyriq, baby, you feel so fuckin’ good,” you moaned softly as you glanced down to watch your walls stretch around his girthy dick as he fucked you harder and deeper.
“You feel so fuckin’ good, baby,” he shot back in between grunts and groans.
Your bodies moved together into that unique rhythm only the two of you seemed to be able to orchestrate as sweat began to slick your chests. Broken breaths sync with your rolling hips.
“Goddamn,” he groaned, trying with all his might not to bust embarrassingly quickly. “You feel too good, Y/N. Too. Fuckin’. Good.”
“Shit—I’ll never get used to how good this feels. I’m so glad it was you. I only want you, Tyriq.”
“Mmm. Look at you.” He leaned in closer, lips brushing your ear as he panted. “So fuckin’ pretty when you taking this dick.”
It wasn't just the words; it was the way he delivered them. Smooth but intense, soaked in adoration and filth all at the same damn time. His thrusts took you apart while his words put you back together.
“Fuuck,” he gasped sharply as he shifted the angle of his hips slightly before setting a rougher pace. “You love giving me this pussy, don’t you?”
You nodded. “Yes! I l-love the way you fuck me!”
“What was that? I ain’t hear you.” His hand slid up your body, squeezing your breast while the other was still trapped inside your bra.
“I love the way you fuck me!”
“You the boss at work, but when it comes to this tight-ass pussy, I’m the boss, ain’t that right?” He lifted his leg and placed his foot on the desk before yanking you into him, making you take every inch as he fucked you nice and rough.
Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.
You couldn’t even respond. The screams of pleasure and the squelching sounds of your pussy getting wetter and wetter should have been answer enough, but apparently those weren’t good enough for him.
“Answer me, Y/N. Am I the boss of this pussy?”
“Yessss!” you cried out, squeezing your legs around him and digging your nails into his shoulders as he fucked the breath right out of you. “Ty—shitshitshit—I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered a warning, toes curling so hard inside your heels they slid off, clattering to the ground.
“Mmhmm,” he moaned loudly, restraint slipping as he felt your walls tighten around him. “Cum all over this dick, pretty girl.”
Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.
You came so hard that black dots temporarily speckled your vision. Your mouth fell open in a loud scream that swiftly became muffled as you bit into his pec. His dick twitched inside you at the jolt of pleasurable pain, but he didn’t dare stop. As he continued to pound you through your orgasm, the tension coiled tighter and the euphoric hum sparkled under your skin. The wet squelches and hissed curses filled the room along with the squeaks of the desk.
“Oh my fuckin’—shitshitshit— I-I need—” you let out the neediest whimper as you looked up at him, brown eyes shining and jaw slack. “Tyriq, pleaseee! Cum for me.”
“Okay, baby—fuckfuckfuck—I’m gonna cum inside this perfect pussy.”
Your thighs shook wildly as the pleasure became almost too much. Still, you held on for dear life as he chased his own orgasm.
Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.
He let out a groan so loud it seemed to bounce off the office walls as his long legs buckled, and thrusts faltered when he spilled inside of you, cumming hard. Your chest rose and fell fast, thighs jerking every time Tyriq twitched inside you.
The office was completely silent by the time the two of you finally came back down to earth. It was silent except for your soft, crescendoing laughter.
Tyriq stood between your legs while you tried—and failed—to catch your breath, both of you smiling so hard it was almost embarrassing.
“Why are you grinning like that? ”you laughed breathlessly.
“Because,” he shrugged shamelessly, brushing your sweaty curls back from your face, “my girlfriend got that super grip.”
You rolled your eyes even though warmth bloomed all through your chest. “You so damn ridiculous.”
“And you just let me ruin you on your desk.” He glanced around dramatically at the scattered papers and crooked keyboard. “This is nasty workplace behavior from a senior editor.”
That made you burst into another fit of laughter, your forehead dropping against his shoulder while his arms wrapped around your waist automatically.
“Oh my God,” you giggled. “Kyle would actually kill us for this.”
Tyriq laughed too, warm and deep against your skin while he held you close. Somehow, this part felt more intimate than everything that happened before it. The tender way he kept kissing your forehead between giggles like he couldn’t even bother to help himself.
You stayed wrapped around each other for another ninety seconds before Tyriq finally sighed dramatically.
“Aight,” he muttered reluctantly. “We should probably clean up before your office start looking like a crime scene.”
“Mmm.”
Neither of you moved.
Tyriq looked down at you knowingly. “Baby.”
“I know, I know,” you acknowledge, smiling weakly. “I just don’t wanna let you go yet.”
His whole expression softened instantly. “Damn, Y/N,” he sighed. “You say sweet shit like that and expect me to keep it together?”
You snorted softly while he kissed your cheek again.
Eventually, the two of you forced yourselves apart long enough to gather your clothes and tidy up the office.
Tyriq buttoned your blouse back up for you slowly, fingers brushing your breasts every few seconds just because he could.
“You know,” he noted while fixing your collar underneath your curls, “I used to be scared of you.”
You gasped in shock. "No, you were not.”
“Baby, the first day I met you, you corrected my grammar without blinking.”
“It was sloppy.”
“It hurt my feelings and turned me on.”
“You survived though.”
“Barely.”
You giggled again while smoothing down your skirt and stepping into your heels.
Meanwhile, Tyriq gathered the stapler and scattered papers from the floor, but he kept getting distracted by staring at you.
At one point you bent over to grab a folder underneath the desk and immediately heard him grumble, “I know you fuckin’ lyin’.”
You looked back at him and raised an innocent eyebrow. “What?”
Tyriq pointed a long finger accusingly. “You know damn well.”
Your laugh echoed through the empty office again because he was shameless. That man was down horrendous.
Eventually the last folder got stacked, the computers shut down, and the final office lights dimmed around the editorial floor.
Tyriq grabbed both your bags before you could protest.
“You don’t gotta carry everything,” you commented.
“I know.” He slid an arm around your waist casually as you walked together through the dark office to the employee elevator that led to the parking garage. “I want to.”
“So, you just don’t give a damn about the cameras no more, huh?”
“Oh, I never did. I want the whole world to know you mine and I’m yours. Especially Marcus. He had me fucked up today.”
“Aight now,” you rolled your eyes as you stopped at the security pad on the hidden column to set the alarm. “Don’t start, Tyriq. I already shut his ass down.”
“I know,” he smirked. “The way his cocky smile dropped when you told him he couldn’t compare had me enraptured for hours.”
The elevator ride down felt entirely different now. There was no longer any unbearable restraint or pretending. Just soft smiles and lingering touches while Tyriq stood behind you with one arm around your waist, absentmindedly kissing the side of your head every few seconds.
“You tired?” he asked quietly.
“A little bit," you nodded honestly. “And hungry.”
“Good.” His lips brushed your temple. “Imma feed you, then you gon’ sleep real good tonight.”
You looked back at him with a tiny smile. “At your place?”
Tyriq blinked once, as if the answer should’ve been obvious. “Baby,” he scoffed softly, almost offended, “where else would you be?”
Your stomach fluttered instantly. You both had nice homes, but being in his space brought you a level of comfort you didn’t know was possible until recently.
The elevator doors opened into the parking garage a second later, but before you could step out, Tyriq caught your wrist gently.
You turned back toward him and immediately got pulled into a slow, warm kiss. You lost track of how long the two of you stood there, smiling into each other’s mouths as you swayed.
By the time he finally pulled away, both of you looked equally gone.
“You know what?” he whispered against your lips.
“What?”
“You definitely not beating the ‘completely gone for your boyfriend’ allegations now.”
You burst out laughing all over again while he chuckled at you like he planned on spending a very long time making that statement true. He was definitely in the same boat. Probably even more gone than you were.
Summary: Modern AU — Elijah and Elias were separated as toddlers following their parents' traumatic divorce and conditioned to believe they were the only child. Decades later, they've established successful lives on opposite ends of the country, without ever knowing the truth. When Stack travels south for work, a bizarre encounter at a local grocery store disrupts all they thought they knew. As buried lies emerge and family secrets come to light, the twins are forced to confront the past that was stolen from them.
Pairings: Elias “Stack” Moore x Black Fem!reader and Elijah “Smoke” Moore x Annie
Word count: 4.3k
Warnings: 18+, explicit language, use of the n-word, family dynamics, uncovered secrets, angst, hurt/comfort, family trauma, parental lies, emotional distress, sibling separation
(ch. 1), (ch. 2), (ch. 3)
Stack sat in the rental car across the street from Sunrise Athletics and told himself—very calmly, very professionally—not to be dramatic.
He really tried to listen to himself, but his knee bounced anyway. He stopped it with the heel of his palm, like the motion itself had offended him.
Through the windshield, the gym’s front windows glinted with late afternoon light. This place had presence, unlike the polished, sterile facilities he’d seen in glossy magazines or luxury high-rises. Silver and blue lettering. The building boasted a clean facade, devoid of any unnecessary attention-grabbing elements. Inside, silhouettes moved with purpose: people on treadmills, people stretching, and someone walking past the front desk with a gallon jug like hydration was a religious routine. It was the kind of building you only open if you can keep the lights on.
Stack felt compelled to buy a membership even though he didn’t live here.
“My brother owns a gym,” he whispered, as if saying it softly would keep his heart from punching through his ribs.
He’d been awake since dawn, though he hadn’t needed to be. He’d stared at the ceiling in the Airbnb, watching the fan rotate in slow circles while his mind played the same moment on loop: the aisle at Chow’s Market, the voice, the beard, the name—Elijah—and the way his body had moved before his brain had even given permission.
"Come here," Smoke had said.
And Stack had gone. That still haunted him the tiniest bit—how instinct could overshadow pride in a matter of seconds. His feet had made a decision that his mind was still considering.
He rested his forearms on the steering wheel and tried to breathe like he was just walking into a normal monthly meeting.
He’d ventured into plenty of rooms with men who wanted to eat him alive. Men who looked at him saw youth, arrogance, and a Black man who wasn’t supposed to have this much power this early. He’d dealt with that. He knew how to smile, shake hands, and take control with nothing but eye contact, timing and a pinch of charisma.
This time was different. He was way out of his element.
Across the street, that gym wasn’t just a building. It was evidence that somewhere else—somewhere he was purposely kept away from—someone had built a life with the same hands he had. It was just as much of an empire as the modeling agency he built back in Chicago.
Stack’s phone buzzed, and the screen flashed with your name.
You: Remember you don’t have to perform today, honey. Just show up.
His throat tightened as he typed back.
Stack: I’m good.
He stared at the message and corrected himself before you could call him out on his little white lie.
Stack: Alright, I’m a lil nervous.
But I’m still going in.
You: Good. Just breathe and remember—he’s probably just as nervous. You’re not walking into a stranger’s space. You’re walking into family.
Family.
The word still felt foreign in his mouth, like biting down on a molar that was recently filled.
He gawked at the name of the building again and let himself really see it.
Sunrise.
The name was catchy and deliberate. Like somebody had been walking through the dark long enough to know firsthand that there was light at the end of the tunnel.
Stack leaned back in the seat and exhaled slowly through his nose.
This is what he built while I was in Chicago, assuming I didn’t have anyone else.
It wasn’t exactly envy Stack was feeling, but more pride, which was too complicated and heavy to ponder for too long.
His agency was clean lines, contracts, and polished headshots. Meetings that started on time. Elevator rides with good-feeling music. Black talent was packaged and protected and pushed into rooms that were hellbent on keeping them out.
Smoke’s world was slightly different. More sweat and discipline. Bodies learning their own power. People were coming to him because they wanted to feel strong again.
Two different lanes, created by the same blood.
Stack adjusted his watch out of habit, then huffed at himself. He looked good—he always did—but he wasn’t there to sell anything. He was there to find out what exactly he’d been robbed of.
He turned the engine off and sat there for another second, one hand fiddling with the keys and the other resting on his thigh, grounding himself. He inhaled deeply through his nose one last time before he opened the door.
The Mississippi air hit him warm and thick, like the sky had weight. He crossed the street with measured steps, shoulders squared. Not because he wanted to intimidate anyone, but because his body needed structure.
At the front of the gym, the glass door reflected him for a moment—sharp haircut, clean-shaven jaw, outfit that screamed Chicago without meaning to. A man built out of ambition and control.
He reached for the handle, his hand pausing.
This is the moment, he thought.
Not meeting Smoke yesterday. Not seeing his own face. This. Because yesterday had been accident and shock. Today was nothing but choice and determination.
Stack pulled the door open, and a bell chimed softly above him. Cool air, energetic music and rubber mats rolled over him in a wave. The smell was disinfectant layered over sweat and metal. A soundscape of life: treadmills humming, weights clinking, and someone grunting near the rack of kettlebells.
At the front desk, a light skinned woman with the silkiest press looked up with a polite smile. “Hey, bossman.” Then her expression shifted slightly as she took him in—sharp, scrutinizing. “Didn’t you have a beard ten minutes ago—oh, you the brother!”
Stack opened his mouth, but before he could get a word in, a familiar voice cut through the gym.
“Two more reps. You got it, Lamar. C'mon, finish strong!”
Stack’s stomach dropped and his pulse thumped harder. He turned toward the new yet familiar voice, and there his brother was.
Smoke stood near the free weights, towel draped over his shoulder, forearms flexed as he adjusted a bar like the metal had offended him. He was in typical gym gear—a black tee and shorts, legs grounded like he had a right to occupy the earth. There was a light sheen of sweat caught on his skin. His beard was trimmed, and his eyes were sharp.
He looked up, and the whole gym went quiet in Stack’s head. Not because the room actually fell silent—a college student fought for her life on the stairmaster, and a middle-aged man counted reps louder than necessary—but because Stack’s mind turned the volume down on everything except the man staring at him.
Smoke didn’t smile. Stack figured his twin didn’t find amusement in many things too often. He just looked at Stack like he was trying to memorize him. Stack swallowed, throat suddenly dry.
For a second, neither of them moved. This wasn’t the grocery store aisle. This was Smoke’s element, and Stack realized something that surprised him. Smoke looked… composed in a way Stack hadn’t seen yesterday. Like being here, in his own space, gave him footing.
Smoke wiped his hands on the towel and then started walking. People shifted out of his way automatically. Clearly he owned the room without trying.
Stack didn’t step forward, and he didn’t retreat. His feet remained planted—heart pounding, face neutral, pride climbing to the backseat where it belonged.
Smoke stopped a few feet away. Up close, the similarities were borderline violent. They shared the same cheekbones, nose, and eyes. Different life experience behind those brown irises.
Smoke’s gaze flicked over Stack—his clothes, his posture, the clean shave. Like he was reading him the way you read a man who’s been trained to win rooms.
Then Smoke nodded once. “You came.”
Stack’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. “You told me to.”
Smoke huffed, the closest thing to amusement. “Yeah. I did.”
Another beat passed before Stack forced himself to say something.
“I’m Elias,” Stack said quietly, because introducing himself felt ridiculous but necessary. “But…people call me Stack.”
Smoke’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Yeah. I heard.”
Stack nodded. “And you’re Elijah. Smoke.”
Smoke’s jaw worked. “That’s what they call me.”
Stack glanced around the gym, then back at him. “This place is…impressive.”
Smoke’s eyes flicked away for half a second, like compliments made him itch.
“It’s work,” the older twin muttered.
“Still,” Stack pointed out, voice more sincere now. “It’s yours.”
Smoke looked back at him, and something in his expression softened. Recognition, perhaps.
“Follow me to my office.” Smoke instructed abruptly.
Stack blinked. “What?”
Smoke jerked his chin toward the back hallway. “My office. I mean—you ready to talk? Or you need a minute?”
Stack’s chest tightened at the question because it wasn’t what he expected. Smoke wasn’t posturing or testing him. Smoke was simply…giving him an option.
Stack inhaled slowly and said, “I’m ready.”
Smoke studied him again, like he was searching for the lie in his voice.
When he didn’t find it he nodded. “Come on, then.”
Stack followed right behind him. As they walked through the gym, heads turned subtly in curiosity. People noticed how much Stack did and didn’t look like Smoke. They noticed the way the older brother moved with purpose next to him. They noticed the energy.
In the back corridor, Smoke pushed open a door and motioned for Stack to step inside first.
It wasn’t a luxury office. It was more on the practical side—desk, chair, a couple of framed photos of gym openings on the wall, a whiteboard with training schedules. The smell of coffee lingered faintly, mixed with disinfectant.
Smoke shut the door, and the click sounded like a boundary getting ready to form.
The twins stood there for a second, the air too charged to sit immediately.
Smoke leaned back against his desk, muscled arms crossing. Stack remained standing, hands hanging at his sides like a man trying not to show how badly he wanted something he’d never had.
Smoke exhaled and said. “You got questions.”
Stack’s laugh came out quiet and disbelief-tinged. “I got a lifetime of questions.”
“Same.”
They stood in silence for a few seconds, then Smoke’s gaze sharpened.
“First thing,” Smoke began, voice low. “You really from Chicago?”
Stack nodded. “Yeah.”
Smoke’s jaw clenched. “All your life?”
“Yes,” Stack answered, then hesitated. “Since I was three. That’s what Mom told me.”
Smoke’s eyes flashed, and Stack saw anger, controlled and burning, like Smoke had been carrying it since boyhood without knowing what to call it.
Stack cleared his throat. “I want you to know something,” he said carefully. “I promise I’m not…here to take anything from you or disrupt your life.”
Smoke stared at him like Stack had suddenly grown two more noses.
“Man,” Smoke muttered, voice rougher now, “you ain’t disrupt nothin’. Our parents did this shit to us.”
That tugged on Stack’s heartstrings. He nodded once, eyes stinging.
Smoke uncrossed his arms slowly, then did something Stack didn’t really expect. He stepped closer as if he couldn’t help it.
Smoke’s eyes searched Stack’s face with something almost protective—like his body had already decided this is mine to look after.
“You look just like me,” Smoke observed, the incredulity heavy in his tone.
Stack’s mouth tightened, emotions catching in his throat. “You’re my twin. My big brother.”
Smoke hesitated, then lifted a hand and almost reverently touched Stack’s shoulder, as if he was verifying his little brother was real.
Stack didn’t flinch because his chest warmed in a way that terrified him. He’d spent his whole life being the man other people leaned on, and suddenly, standing in front of Smoke, he realized what it felt like to have someone else’s steadiness offered to him.
Smoke’s hand fell back to his side when he cleared his throat, as if to shake off the moment.
“Sit,” Smoke instructed gruffly.
Stack sat down, and Smoke remained standing for another second, then finally dropped into the chair across from him, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped tight like he was holding himself together.
“Okay,” Smoke exhaled sharply as he leaned back slightly in his chair, jaw set. “Tell me what she—Mama—told you.”
Stack swallowed around the lump in his throat and nodded slowly. He stared at his hands for a moment first, long fingers clasped together like he was bracing himself for impact.
“Mom’s name is Eve,” he began quietly. “Eve Moore. We lived in Chicago. She always said the pregnancy was hard on her. That I almost didn’t make it.”
Smoke’s head lifted. “That’s what Daddy said too.”
“She told me I was born around five in the morning,” Stack recalled. “Said I was stubborn even then. Didn’t want to come out.”
Smoke let out a humorless huff. “You was.”
Stack blinked. “What?”
Smoke’s eyes flicked up. “I was born at four forty-five.”
Silence fell between them. Stack stared at him. Smoke stared right back.
Fifteen minutes.
Fifteen goddamn minutes had split their lives in half in more ways than one.
“Mom said…” Stack hesitated. “She said Dad died when I was little. Some kind of accident. Never gave details. Just said it was tragic.”
Smoke’s jaw tightened. “He told me Mama died,” Smoke remembered. “Said it almost broke him, and it was just me after that.”
They both sat there, absorbing it. Two different lies sharing the same level of cruelty.
Stack shook his head slowly. “She never even let me ask questions, Smoke. Any time I brought it up, she’d say, ‘Why you digging up pain?’ Like I was wrong for being curious.”
Smoke’s voice dropped. “He did the same, and sometimes he’d beat me for askin’.”
Stack let out a breath that sounded like it hurt.
“So…they coordinated,” he accepted. “Or at least…they both decided we didn’t deserve the truth.”
Smoke’s fists clenched. “They decided we didn’t deserve each other.”
That sentence landed like a brick. Stack pressed his lips together, eyes burning with unshed tears. He looked away first. His gaze drifted across the office—over the whiteboard, the framed gym photos, and the stacks of paperwork—until it snagged on something sitting on Smoke’s desk.
A picture frame. He hadn’t noticed it before. He leaned forward slightly without thinking. Inside the frame was Smoke looking more relaxed and happy than he thought possible. He was sitting on a couch, arm slung around a beautiful woman with warm eyes and a soft smile. In his lap sat a little girl with beaded braids and missing teeth, laughing so hard her eyes were closed. They were glowing like a real family.
Stack’s chest tightened.
“Is that…” His voice cracked unexpectedly. He had to clear his throat twice. “Is that your family?”
Smoke followed his gaze.
“Oh,” he hummed softly. “Yeah.”
He reached over and picked up the frame without ceremony, but there was reverence in the way he held it.
“That’s Annie,” he said. “My wife. And that’s our daughter Elisa.”
Stack forgot how to blink.
“Elisa,” he repeated.
Smoke nodded, not catching on to the devastated look on his brother's face. “Four years old. Runs the whole damn house.”
A corner of his mouth lifted like he was reliving a memory. “Bosses me and her Mama around every chance she get.”
Stack chuckled weakly, then a rush of emotions hit him hard.
“You, uh…you have a kid,” Stack whispered.
Smoke frowned slightly. “Yeah.”
Stack’s eyes remained glued to the photo.
“I got a niece,” he shook his head in disbelief.
Smoke froze as his brother’s words finally hit him. They weren’t dramatic, but they undoubtedly cracked something open in his mind.
“I got a whole niece,” Stack repeated, voice trembling and vision blurring. “And she don’t even know me.”
His hands came up to his face, pressing against his eyes like he could physically keep himself from spiraling.
“I missed her first steps. First words. First day of school. I missed you becoming a dad. I missed you becoming a husband.” His shoulders started shaking. “I didn’t even know you existed,” he choked. “And you built this whole life without me.”
Smoke stood up and crossed the room in three long strides.
“Hey,” he coaxed. “Look at me, Stack.”
Stack just couldn’t. Tears slipped free, hot and furious and humiliating.
“I spent my whole life thinking it was just me,” Stack whispered. “Thinking I had nobody ahead of me. Nobody watching my back.”
He laughed brokenly. “And whole time…you were right here.”
Smoke crouched in front of him, meeting him where he was.
“I was lost too,” Smoke admitted. “Don’t do that to yourself.”
Stack shook his head. “But you got a family. You got something solid.”
“You got Y/N and you got me now,” Smoke replied immediately.
The words surprised them both. They hung there in the air loud and truthful as ever.
Stack finally looked up, eyes red, lashes wet and pride stripped bare.
“You really mean that?” he asked.
“I mean it,” he said. “That’s my daughter. That’s your blood. You her uncle whether you ready or not.”
Stack let out a shaky laugh through tears. “I don’t even know how to be that.”
Smoke’s hand came down on his shoulder, firm. “We’ll figure it out,” he promised. “Together.”
Stack inhaled sharply, and before pride or fear got the best of him, he stood and pulled Smoke into a hug.
It wasn’t smooth at all. Their shoulders knocked sharply. Stack’s arm caught awkwardly around Smoke’s back, and his forehead brushed Smoke’s collarbone for half a second. It was messy and unplanned but real. Stack held on too tight. If he loosened his grip even the tiniest bit, he feared that his brother and this moment might disappear forever.
For a split second, Smoke froze. Instinct and walls flaring up first as always. Then he felt the tremor in Stack’s chest and the uneven puffs of air against his shoulder. The quiet, broken sound Stack hadn’t even realized he was making was what finally made something deep inside Smoke shatter.
He wrapped his arms around his brother hard. Carefulness was thrown away and replaced with protectiveness. Like he was anchoring himself to the only person in the world who truly understood this level of betrayal.
Stack sagged into him. All that control, all that polish, all that Chicago swagger melted away like hot wax. His hands fisted into the back of Smoke’s shirt.
They both cried, but Stack’s tears were mournful and vociferous, whereas Smoke’s tears were more resentful and reticent.
Smoke didn’t let go for a while. He only loosened his grip when Stack’s breathing finally evened out—when the shaking in his shoulders slowed, when the storm passed enough for him to stand upright again.
Stack wiped his face quickly with the heel of his hand, embarrassed now that the wave of emotions had passed.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “I don’t, uh—I’m not usually—”
Stack huffed softly. “You always talk like you older.”
Smoke snorted. “I am older, nigga. By fifteen minutes.”
“Man, that don’t count,” Stack countered.
“It do,” Smoke quipped.
That earned a genuine smile from his twin.
Smoke stepped back toward the desk and leaned against it, folding his arms loosely while he gathered his thoughts.
“So,” he said. “Let me ask you something.”
Stack straightened a little. “What’s up?”
“So what you and your girl doing all the way in Mississippi?” Smoke asked. “Y’all live in Chicago, right? This ain’t exactly a vacation spot.”
Stack nodded slowly. “Yeah. Nah, we’re here for work.”
Smoke lifted a brow. “Figures.”
Stack sat back in his chair, rubbing his hands together thoughtfully.
“I run a modeling agency,” he began. “Y/N is a contract lawyer. We specialize in Black talent. High fashion, commercial, campaigns, runway—everything. I don’t just sign pretty faces. I sign people with longevity.”
Smoke studied him with even more interest now.
“Chicago’s saturated,” Stack continued. “New York too. L.A. been overcrowded, but the South? There’s raw talent everywhere. People just don’t know how to access it.”
Smoke nodded proudly. “Facts.”
“So I’ve been traveling,” Stack explained. “Scouting. Networking. Looking for the next big thing.”
He hesitated for a moment. “Actually…there’s one person in particular.”
Smoke’s posture shifted slightly. “Who?”
Stack met his eyes. “Sammie Moore. You heard of him?”
The room filled with a dead silence before Smoke laughed. Not to be cruel or mock his brother, but he was just in a constant state of disbelief.
“Man,” he uttered, shaking his head. “You serious?”
Stack raised a curious eyebrow. “What?”
Smoke pushed off the desk, pacing once before stopping in front of Stack again.
“That’s our cousin,” Smoke stated.
Stack froze. “…What?”
“Sammie Moore,” Smoke repeated. “That’s my uncle’s son. Our daddy’s big brother.”
Stack’s mouth fell open. “Stop fucking with me."
"I’m dead serious.”
Stack stared at him.
“That big ass Pentecostal church you passed on the way here? That’s our uncle’s. He the pastor.”
Stack stared at him some more.
“Hold on,” Stack pondered. “So…I come down here looking for a random rising star…”
“…And find family,” Smoke finished. “…again.”
They blinked at each other and then both laughed harder than ever. The kind of laugh that came from emotional overload—when your brain didn’t know whether to cry or scream, so it chose chaos.
“You gotta be fuckin' kidding me,” Stack wheezed, rubbing his face. “This is insane.”
Smoke chuckled. “Welcome to your new life.”
Stack shook his head. “So not only do I got a twin brother…I got a cousin I was trying to recruit.”
“Yep.”
“Who lives near you?”
“Yep.”
“Who you’ve known my whole life.”
“Yep.”
Stack leaned back dramatically. “I’m living in a goddamn Tyler Perry script.”
Smoke laughed louder at that because Annie despised that silver wig-wearing man. Smoke put on one of the plays as background noise a few years ago, and not even ten minutes later his wife was going on a rant about the rancid way he writes Black women.
For a moment, things felt light. They felt almost normal.
Smoke’s expression sobered again as he studied Stack carefully before bringing the matter at hand back up.
“Aight,” he cleared his throat. “One more thing.”
Stack straightened. “Yeah?”
“What you thinkin’ about saying to our parents?”
Stack’s smile faded, and the air shifted.
“I’ve been thinking about that since yesterday,” Stack admitted. “Nonstop.”
“Me too.”
Stack rubbed his hands together, gaze distant. “I don’t know if I wanna walk up to Mom and scream,” he said. “Or ask her why I wasn’t worth the truth.”
Smoke clenched his jaw. “I wanna know why Daddy let me grow up thinking my mama was dead,” he muttered. “Why he stole my chance to know her and you.”
They sat with that for a second. Two grown men physically but deep down two boys who’d been split in two by lies.
Smoke exhaled. “You think we should do this together or separate?”
Stack looked up. “Confront them?”
“Mmhmm."
He thought long and hard. “Together,” Stack decided.
Smoke’s brows lifted slightly. “Why come?”
“Because they divided us once,” Stack replied. “I’m not letting them do it again.”
Something fierce lit in Smoke’s eyes.
“Damn,” he sighed. “You startin’ to sound like me.”
Stack smirked. “Nigga, I am you. Just fifteen minutes younger—you know CP Time or whatever.”
Smoke snorted, but he still nodded his head in agreement. “Together.”
The younger twin reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
“Give me your real number.”
Smoke grinned. “Imma block yo ass if you send too many memes.”
“I’ll limit it to two a day,” Stack said. “But I’m not losing touch with you ever again if I can help it.”
Smoke called out the digits and Stack recited it once more before saving the contact as Big Brother.
Then Smoke handed his phone over.
“Mine,” he said. “Personal. Not the business one.”
Stack took it carefully and typed his number in before handing it back. Smoke checked the contact name and chuckled.
Lil (only by 15 mins) Brother
They looked at each other with genuine smiles on their faces. Their shoulders less tense now that they have a plan.
“Tomorrow night,” Smoke proposed. “We start setting shit straight. We’ll go see Daddy together. Him and Sammie gon’ be playing at Club Juke.”
Stack nodded. “Tomorrow.”
Smoke extended his hand, and Stack gripped it, shaking firmly.
“You got something important to do, or do you want a tour of the place?”
“Nah, spending more time with you is important, man. Show me everything.”
Outside, the sun dipped lower in the Mississippi sky, and for the first time in nearly three decades, Elijah and Elias Moore were facing the future side by side instead of hundreds of miles apart.
Summary: You are a senior editor trying to ignore the rising tension with your younger, arrogant junior editor until a charged Christmas party and one overdue conversation unravel everything you’ve been too anxious to feel.
Pairing: Tyriq Withers x Black Fem!reader
Warnings: smutty smut, explicit language, modern au, workplace romance, age gap (29F + 24M), power dynamic, sexual tension, discreet flirting, jealousy, office sex, semi-public sex, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, cocky!Tyriq
Word count: 9.9k (I had way too much fun writing this!!)
Part one
The first week of the new year wasn’t all that different; the editorial floor buzzed with the usual chaos.
Phones rang nonstop. Slack notifications chimed like impatient doorbells. Somebody in marketing was already laughing too loud at nine-thirty in the damn morning, and the scent of burnt matcha drifted through the open-concept office.
You sat behind your desk reviewing copy edits with the same calm precision you always carried at work, but internally you were in hell. Because a few days ago, Tyriq Withers bent you over the windows of his luxury condo and ruined professionalism forever.
Now he sat three rows away in a baby blue long-sleeve button-up, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as his slender fingers typed something on his laptop.
Your boyfriend.
The word still made warmth bloom deep in your chest.
You tried not to stare too long, but the problem with sleeping with someone you already wanted desperately was that afterward your body started remembering things at inconvenient times. Especially now. Your eyes drifted to his hands moving across the keyboard, and immediately your stomach tightened.
God.
Those same hands had gripped your thighs so gently while he talked you through your first time. Those same long fingers that curled deep—
“Y/N?”
You blinked quickly, dragged back to reality by Rachel standing beside your desk holding a stack of mockups.
“Sorry,” you said, clearing your throat smoothly. “What was that?”
Rachel frowned slightly. “You okay? You seem distracted today.”
"Distracted" was certainly one word for it.
“Just busy,” you replied, accepting the papers.
From across the office, Tyriq glanced up. Just one look. His green eyes met yours briefly before flicking downward toward the files in your hands, then back up again. Subtle and innocent to everyone else, but you noticed the tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth. He knew all too well why you were zoning out.
You narrowed your eyes at him faintly, and his dimples deepened. Such an arrogant man…but he was your man now. Before either of you could silently flirt yourselves into unemployment, Kyle’s voice carried across the floor.
“Conference room. Five minutes, everybody.”
A chorus of exhausted groans answered him.
You stood, smoothing down your fitted mocha-colored skirt before grabbing your tablet and notes. Around the office, people shuffled toward the large meeting room with all the enthusiasm of prisoners heading toward sentencing.
Tyriq had already disappeared inside.
Of course he had.
You took your time walking over, heels clicking softly against the polished floor, but right as you reached the doorway, one of the art directors stopped beside you.
“Y/N, hold on—” Denise leaned out into the hallway. “Can somebody grab me a coffee? Please? I’m fighting for my life today.”
You laughed softly. “Hazelnut?”
“You know me so well.” Denise grinned and hurried off toward the break room, while you finally stepped into the conference room and immediately sensed his presence.
Tyriq sat near the middle of the long table, one chair beside him conspicuously empty. Saved just for you. Again.
Your pulse fluttered before you could stop it. As you approached, he leaned back slightly in his chair, his eyes dragging over you in a way that felt entirely inappropriate for 9:42 on a Monday morning.
“Hi, pretty girl,” he whispered quietly enough that nobody else could hear even though the room was only occupied by the two of you at the moment.
Heat curled low in your stomach instantly. He had way too much confidence now.
Lord, give me strength, you thought to yourself.
You slid into the chair beside him, carefully keeping your expression neutral even as your knees brushed against his beneath the table.
“Morning, handsome,” you shot back while preparing your notes.
Tyriq went completely still, still not used to you openly reciprocating his flirting.
You kept your attention on your tablet to avoid smiling, but from your peripheral vision, you caught how sharply his jaw clenched.
Oh. That simple compliment must have gotten to him.
“You can’t just say shit like that at work,” he chastised under his breath, voice suddenly rough.
You finally looked at him then, your chestnut-brown eyes all soft and composed. “Why, baby? You distracted?”
His nostrils flared slightly, but before he could answer, more coworkers piled into the room, breaking the moment apart.
Tyriq leaned back in his chair, dragging a hand slowly across his mouth like he was trying to regain control of himself. Meanwhile, your thighs clenched so hard beneath the table that it was almost embarrassing.
Kyle walked in carrying a tablet and an energy drink the size of a can of oil sheen spray.
“Alright,” he sighed, collapsing into the chair at the front. “Bad news.”
A collective groan spread around the room.
“The Henderson feature files got corrupted during export.”
Several people cursed immediately.
Kyle nodded grimly. “I know. Production deadline’s tomorrow morning, so editorial needs to stay on top of revisions while design rebuilds the spreads.”
Your stomach dropped slightly as the room erupted into overlapping complaints.
“Wait, all the files?”
“You serious?”
“Oh my God—”
Kyle rubbed his forehead. “Trust me. I know.”
Beside you, Tyriq sat forward slightly, immediately focused. You tried not to find his work mode attractive and ended up failing instantly.
Kyle’s eyes landed on you. “Y/N, I need you overseeing recovery edits tonight.”
Without hesitation, you nodded. “Of course.”
Tyriq’s lips twitched faintly beside you. He loved how serious you took your work. Loved it almost as much as he loved making you lose composure.
“Appreciate it,” Kyle exhaled sharply before scanning the room again. “I need one more volunteer to stay late with her.”
Immediate silence. Followed by even more silence. One editor avoided eye contact altogether.
Rachel lifted her hands defensively. “My son has football practice.”
“Anniversary dinner,” someone else chimed in quickly.
“Nah,” another coworker laughed. “I love this company, but not enough for an all-nighter.”
You bit back a smile.
Beside you, Tyriq stayed suspiciously quiet for exactly three seconds too long. You could practically feel him trying not to volunteer too fast and expose himself. Then finally he spoke.
“Yeah, I’ll stay.”
Kyle looked relieved instantly. “Thank you.”
Tyriq shrugged casually like he wasn’t internally celebrating. “No problem.”
You kept your face perfectly composed even though your heartbeat immediately sped up. A whole night alone in the office with your boyfriend? Your very tall, fine, talented fingers and tongue-having boyfriend. Yeah, your mind pretty much sank to the gutter.
Kyle pointed between the two of you. “Once everything’s finalized, make sure the floor’s locked up and the alarm gets set before you leave.”
“Got it,” you answered smoothly.
Beside you, Tyriq slowly turned his head toward you. Not enough for anyone else to notice but just enough for you to catch the mischievous look in his eyes. You already knew there was absolutely no chance either of you were making it out of that office behaving yourselves.
The meeting wrapped fifteen minutes later, and the editorial floor slowly returned to its usual frenzy.
You walked back toward your office with your tablet tucked against your chest, already mentally organizing the disaster waiting for you later tonight. Behind you, conversations overlapped, phones resumed ringing, and somebody had apparently burned popcorn in the breakroom because the entire east wing smelled bitter and just plain old nasty.
You had barely settled into your chair before a shadow appeared in your doorway.
“Hey, Y/N?”
You glanced up to find Marcus from the digital features team holding a marked-up proof in one hand and a latte in the other. Tall, decent-looking, overly confident in the way men in media always seemed to be.
“What’s up?” you asked professionally.
He stepped inside your office and handed you the revision pages. “I updated the pull quotes and fixed the pacing issues you mentioned Friday, but I wanted your opinion before I submit the final version.”
You scanned the first page quickly, already spotting improvements. “Much better,” you admitted. “The transitions are cleaner too. This is good, Marcus.”
“See? I do listen to you,” he grinned.
You hummed softly while flipping another page.
From three rows away, Tyriq watched the interaction over the top of his monitor with narrowed eyes. Not obvious enough for anyone else to notice but enough that the muscles in his jaw flexed every single time Marcus smiled too hard at a compliment you gave.
“You always this sweet when giving feedback?” Marcus asked casually, leaning against your doorway.
You finally looked up fully as you registered the flirtatious tone he was taking. “Excuse me?”
“I’m just sayin’,” he shrugged, his smile widening. “If I knew senior editors looked like this, I would’ve transferred departments sooner.”
Across the office, Tyriq’s fingers froze over his keyboard, and Rachel looked up briefly from her desk with barely concealed interest.
Oh brother.
You, however, remained completely unbothered.
“Marcus Greene,” you sighed patiently, setting the papers down. “Your revisions are good. Let’s not ruin that progress.”
He laughed. “Damn, you cold.”
“Professional,” you corrected.
His eyes drifted over your face again. “So there’s absolutely no chance I could convince you to let me take you out sometime?”
Tyriq looked one squint away from standing up. Instead, he remained seated, shoulders tense beneath his sweater while he stared at his screen with murderous concentration.
You leaned back in your chair calmly. “I have a boyfriend.”
The office noise suddenly sounded very far away to Tyriq.
Marcus blinked once. “Ahh. So that explains it.”
“It does,” you quipped.
“So he's my competition?” Marcus joked.
You barely contained an eye roll as you smirked. “Mr. Greene, you can’t compete with my man’s intelligence or the way he takes me down,” you blurted. “Don’t embarrass yourself.”
Marcus threw his hands up dramatically. “Alright, alright. I respect it.”
“I hope so,” you snickered lightly. “Now go submit those revisions before I change my mind.”
He groaned on his way out of your office, finally taking the hint. The second he disappeared around the corner, your eyes lifted instinctively straight toward Tyriq, which was a terrible idea because the expression on that man’s face almost made your stomach flip over. Clearly, his irritation was replaced with carnal want. In a way, he looked almost famished.
You barely pressed your lips together in time to stop yourself from grinning.
Goddamn.
The man looked like he was trying to survive the next eight hours through sheer willpower alone.
A few minutes later, you stood to head toward the printers down the hall. As you passed Tyriq’s desk, you slowed just enough to murmur quietly, “You doing okay, Mr. Withers?”
His eyes lifted slowly from his screen. Almost as if he looked at you too fast, he’d combust. That man was struggling, and you weren’t ashamed to admit how much you were enjoying it.
“You gotta stop talking about your boyfriend like that at work,” he muttered low enough for only you to hear.
You tilted your head innocently. “Like what?”
Tyriq leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze dragging over your face with dangerous intensity. “Like you tryna make me lose my damn mind and find us a supply closet or copy room.”
Your thighs clenched immediately, and your pulse quickened, but instead of retreating, you smiled confidently.
“Maybe if I wasn’t completely gone for him, I’d dial it back,” you replied softly. “But I actually like the way he makes me feel.” Your voice lowered slightly. “Emotionally and physically.”
Tyriq inhaled sharply.
Oh, you were evil for saying that out loud, but you couldn’t find a damn to give.
You adjusted the papers in your arms innocently. “But that’s none of your business, Mr. Withers,” you finished sternly. “Get back to work.” Then you walked away before he could respond. Behind you was pure silence. He didn’t even know what to say.
Rachel glanced over at Tyriq a second later and frowned. “You good?”
Tyriq blinked slowly at his computer screen, like he’d temporarily left his body, and answered honestly, “…No.”
The printer down the hall chose the worst possible moment to jam.
Twice.
By the time you finally finished reprinting the corrected mockups, you were balancing a fresh stack of pages against your hip while muttering under your breath about office equipment being manufactured in the pits of hell.
The elevator dinged softly at the end of the hallway just as you approached.
Perfect timing, you thought just before the doors slid open, and of course there he was. Tyriq stood inside alone, one hand tucked into the pocket of his slacks, the other holding his phone. His sleeves were rolled slightly up his arms now, his tie loosened slightly and sandalwood cologne teasing your nose.
He looked entirely too good for a random Monday afternoon. The second his eyes landed on you, his entire expression shifted. It was as if his body recognized yours before his brain could catch up.
“Well,” he drawled slowly, his gaze dropping to your mouth for half a second. “Look what the elevator done blessed me with.”
You stepped inside smoothly before anyone else from the floor could join you. The doors slid shut, and the elevator was filled with soft jazz music and tension so thick you could cut with a butter knife. Not even ten seconds passed before Tyriq exhaled sharply like he’d finally been allowed to breathe.
“Baby,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face. “You gotta stop playin’ with me like that.”
You pressed the button for the production floor calmly. “I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Withers.”
“That little speech about your boyfriend?” He stepped closer immediately. “In front of that cocky motherfucker Marcus?”
You kept your composure admirably considering the fact that he smelled incredible and was currently boxing you lightly against the elevator wall with pure presence alone.
“He wouldn’t take the hint,” you shrugged softly.
“And you shut his ass down like you was tryna prove a point while also ruining my ability to function.”
A tiny smile tugged at your mouth. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Nah,” he corrected instantly. “You basically told another man how smart I am and how I fuck you stupid.” His voice lowered wickedly. “Then walked away lookin’ like that.”
Your pulse skipped and your face warmed with each passing second. The elevator continued descending quietly while tension thickened between you like cumulonimbus clouds before a thunderstorm.
Tyriq stared at you for a long moment before his eyes drifted lower to your navy blue blazer and how your breasts peeked out of your fitted blouse, then to your pencil skirt hugging your hips the very way he desired.
He swallowed hard before muttering, “You know what’s funny?”
“What?”
“I’ve been tryin’ so hard to behave at work.” He admitted, his sharp jaw flexing. “Meanwhile you out here accidentally talking filthy to me in broad daylight.”
You rolled your eyes playfully. “That was not filthy.”
“Baby,” he scoffed quietly, stepping even closer. “You told me you like how I make you feel physically.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So…you basically told me you like the way I stroke that pussy.”
Your thighs clenched again as the need in his tone grew heavier.
Okay, so maybe he had a fair point.
His eyes caught the tiny shift in your posture immediately, and his expression darkened with satisfaction.
“Yeah,” he huffed knowingly. “Exactly.”
The elevator suddenly felt way too small. Tyriq braced one hand beside your head carefully, not quite touching you but close enough that warmth radiated against your skin.
“You have any idea what I wanted to do after hearing that?”
Your breath caught slightly because you knew this was inappropriate, but you were desperate to hear what he had to say.
“What?” you asked softly.
His eyes locked onto yours. “I wanted to drag you into the nearest closet,” he admitted roughly. “To get on my knees and thank you properly for talking about me like that.”
Goddamn.
Your stomach flipped violently, and you felt the tiniest bit lightheaded. Tyriq watched every small reaction cross your face like he was studying something sacred.
“You smirked when you said it too,” he continued, his voice dropping lower. “All bold and unapologetically sweet.” He shook his head once. “Damn near made me take an early lunch.”
The elevator continued to descend and hummed softly. Neither of you moved. You glanced upward toward the small black security camera tucked into the corner of the ceiling.
“The cameras, baby," you warned.
Tyriq followed your gaze and sighed dramatically. “I hate this damn building.”
You laughed under your breath. “We installed them last quarter, remember?”
“I know,” he grumbled. “That’s the only reason you still standing normally right now.”
Warmth spread through you damn near everywhere. He looked so frustrated and desperate, completely gone for you.
And you loved it a lot more than you should.
A slow smirk curved your lips as your eyes flicked back toward the camera. “They don’t have audio, though.”
Tyriq froze because that newfound information got his attention BAD.
Your smile widened slightly as you adjusted the papers in your arms. “You’ve got two minutes, Mr. Withers,” you murmured sweetly. “Say what’s been on your mind.”
Tyriq blinked at you for a long moment, then he chuckled once, disbelieving and dangerously amused.
“Oh, you bold now,” he remarked, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek.
You tilted your head innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Mhmm.” His eyes dragged slowly down your body again before returning to your face. “That confidence look real good on you, baby.”
Your pulse fluttered hard enough to annoy you.
The elevator continued its slow descent while the tension between you thickened into something almost visible.
Tyriq leaned a little closer, voice dropping lower. “You know how hard it was sittin’ through that meeting with you beside me?”
You kept your expression calm somehow. “You survived.”
“Barely.” His jaw tightened. “Every time you crossed your legs, I forgot what Kyle was even talking about.”
A soft laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
Tyriq’s eyes lit up instantly at the sound. “There go my favorite sound,” he praised. “Been addicted to that shit since the first week I met you.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And you ain’t slick.”
You raised a brow. “Me?”
“Yes, you.” He pointed lightly at you. “You know exactly what you was doing back there.”
“I was supervising my department.”
“You was seducing me in that fitted ass skirt. Business casual, my ass.”
You couldn’t fight back the giggle and the way your breathing picked up.
Tyriq noticed everything now. His gaze darkened immediately.
“See?” he whistled softly. “That right there.”
“What?”
“The way you take in shorter breaths when I say something filthy.”
Heat bloomed through your stomach. “You’re entirely too observant.”
“I have to be,” he shrugged lightly. “My girlfriend fine as hell.”
The word still hit you right in the chest.
Girlfriend.
You tried not to smile too hard at it, but Tyriq caught the tiny reaction anyway.
“There’s that smile again,” he grinned.
“That smile.”
You rolled your eyes even though heat continued to pool low in your belly. “You act like I never smiled before meeting you.”
“Nah,” he corrected quietly. “You smiled before.” His green eyes softened. “But now you smile at me.”
Lord, give me strength, you thought. This man was too dangerous in confined spaces.
The elevator slowed briefly to another floor, but thankfully, nobody entered.
Tyriq exhaled in relief. “Thank God.”
You snorted. “You struggling that bad?”
“Baby.” He dragged a hand down his face dramatically. “You called me handsome this morning.”
“It ain’t a crime to compliment your boyfriend.”
“It should be.”
“Mr. Withers, are you saying your performance at work is suffering because your boss complimented you?”
His eyes nearly rolled back. “Don’t do that, Y/N.”
“Do what?”
“That boss voice.” He stepped closer again carefully, eyes burning into yours. “You know exactly what that does to me now.”
The air felt way too hot, and the worst part was that he still wasn’t even touching you. Just standing there close enough that his warmth wrapped around you while his voice slid under your skin like a cashmere throw.
You swallowed slowly. “You being dramatic again.”
Tyriq blinked once like he couldn’t believe you still showed restraint.
“Dramatic?” he echoed. “Baby, I watched another man flirt with you for ten minutes while knowing what you sound like when you cum on my face.”
You damn near choked on a gasp.
Oh, so he came into this elevator prepared to destroy your composure.
“You handled it well,” you managed to squeak out.
“Nah,” he corrected. “I handled that shit professionally.”
You burst out laughing, a full-blown cackle and the sound visibly affected him. His expression softened completely, eyes warming as he watched you crack up.
“There’s my pretty girl,” he admired.
Your chest warmed and your thighs clenched like they always did at the praise.
Again, the elevator dinged softly while the numbers kept changing above you. Still not there yet. Still drowning in tension.
Tyriq’s gaze dipped to your mouth again before he sighed heavily. “You know what the worst part is?”
“What?”
“I can’t even kiss you right now.” His voice dripped with frustration. “And after hearing you talk about me like that? That’s torture.”
Your stomach flipped. “You’ll survive.”
He looked unconvinced.
“You know what I keep thinking about?” he asked.
You absolutely should not have asked, but curiosity killed professionalism dead five business days ago.
“What?”
His eyes locked onto yours. “How pretty you looked after we finished.”
Your lips parted slightly. “Tyriq—”
“Nah, listen. You looked so satisfied laying on my chest.” A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “Been replaying that all damn weekend.”
The butterflies in your stomach became unbearable. Because THAT was the problem with him. Even when he was being filthy…he somehow still managed to make it sweet too.
You should’ve stopped talking. You knew that, but something about the way Tyriq was looking at you—hungry and completely wrecked over you—made mischief bloom low in your stomach. So instead of behaving like the composed senior editor you once were, you tilted your head slightly and asked.
“You wanna know what I keep thinking about?”
Tyriq’s eyes narrowed immediately. “Tell me.”
You stepped just a little closer, lowering your voice in the sweetest way possible. “The little sound you made when I started rolling my hips.”
His entire body went still because you had his undivided attention now.
Your lashes fluttered innocently as you continued. “That little growl-whimper thing?” Your smile deepened. “Right before you said…” you paused deliberately, enjoying the way his breathing changed, “‘give me that pussy.’”
Tyriq inhaled sharply, like the air had been punched out of him.
“Baby,” he warned through a shaky exhale. "Y/N..."
You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing. Because that man looked seconds away from forgetting every HR policy ever written.
His eyes fluttered closed briefly while he dragged a slow hand down his jaw.
“You remember that?” he questioned hoarsely.
“Mmhmm.”
“That’s what you been thinking about at work?”
“All day." you shrugged lightly. “Among other things.”
Tyriq stared at you with genuine disbelief now.
“See?” he swallowed around the lump in his throat. “This exactly what the fuck I mean. You became a menace overnight.”
You smirked unapologetically. “And whose fault is that?”
“Definitely mine,” he acknowledged. “And now I gotta suffer through the consequences.”
The elevator slowed.
Ding.
Both of you glanced toward the doors as they slid open onto your floor. Just like that, the moment shattered. Professional masks slipped back into place almost instantly. Well—mostly.
Tyriq cleared his throat once and stepped back enough to create believable workplace distance, though the lingering heat in his eyes made it obvious he was still mentally inside that conversation.
You adjusted the stack of papers in your arms, smoothing your expression into something barely composed.
The two of you stepped out together into the bustling hallway and immediately ran into Kyle.
“There you are,” he sighed in relief while holding a folder against his chest. “I just got off the phone with Henderson’s production team.”
You straightened up instinctively. “How bad?”
“Recoverable,” he tried to answer optimistically. “Barely.”
Tyriq snorted quietly beside you.
Kyle pointed between the two of you. “Seriously, thank you both again for staying late tonight. I know it’s a pain in the ass.”
“It’s no problem,” you reassured.
“We’ll get it handled,” Tyriq added smoothly.
Kyle nodded appreciatively. “Good. Because if we miss this print deadline, corporate’s gonna personally escort me into five o’clock traffic.”
You giggled softly. Tyriq glanced sideways at you as soon as he heard the sound, the corner of his mouth lifting despite himself.
Kyle continued talking about revised timelines and production exports, completely oblivious to the fact that thirty seconds ago Tyriq had nearly folded you in half verbally inside the elevator.
Meanwhile, Tyriq stood beside you, looking entirely too calm for a man whose brain was currently replaying the filthy talk you had quoted back to him. You could feel it radiating off him. Especially when your fingers brushed accidentally for half a second while you were adjusting the stack of papers.
Kyle finally sighed. “Alright. I’m gonna go fight with design.”
“Good luck,” you offered sympathetically.
The second he walked away, silence settled briefly between you and Tyriq again.
“So we quoting my dirty talk at work now?” he whispered without looking at you.
You whispered back. “You said it, handsome. Not me.”
Tyriq finally turned his head toward you slowly.
“Tonight,” he promised under his breath, “you gon’ learn to stop being cute in professional settings.” He bumped your shoulder before heading back to his desk.
Your stomach damn near did a roundhouse kick. You glanced at your watch and sighed deeply. You still had eight more hours before the office emptied.
By 11:43pm, the entire office was silent but also loud. The kind where every tiny sound suddenly felt amplified—the low hum of fluorescent lights, the soft clicking of keyboards, the distant whir of the ventilation system pushing cool air through empty departments.
Only two pages remained.
Two.
You sat cross-legged in your office chair reviewing the final spread while Tyriq leaned against the edge of your desk, sleeves pushed up his forearms, reading over the corrections on his tablet.
Outside your glass office walls, the magazine floor was dark now. Everyone left four hours ago. Empty desks sat abandoned beneath dimmed lights while the city glittered beyond the massive windows.
It was finally just the two of you.
You circled one final sentence in red before sighing softly. “Okay, this paragraph flows way better now.”
Tyriq hummed distractedly, but he wasn’t looking at the screen anymore. He was staring at you. Again.
Your hair had gotten bigger throughout the night, curls soft and wild around your face now. Your lip gloss faded hours ago. Your heels sat abandoned beneath your desk because your feet started hurting around ten. Yet somehow you’d never looked prettier to him.
You glanced up eventually and immediately caught him staring. “Tyriq.”
“Hm?”
“You looking at me instead of the revisions.”
“I know.”
Your stomach fluttered.
Lord.
There was something especially dangerous about him when he got all quiet like this. Less teasing and arrogance, just warm eyes and devastating honesty.
You tried to refocus on the edits. “We have two pages left.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you lookin’ at me like that?”
His jaw clenched slightly before he pushed away from the desk.
“Come here for a second.”
You blinked. “For what?”
Tyriq walked around your desk slowly until he stood directly beside you. “I just want a hug.”
Oh. How could you deny him that?
That immediately melted something deep inside your chest. You looked up at him properly then.
All tall and tired. Pretty tawny skin glowing under the office lights. Tie abandoned and sleeves rolled up. Warm eyes softened at you in a way that still caught you off guard.
“You’re needy tonight,” you teased.
“Very,” he admitted without shame.
A smile pulled at your lips as you finally stood. The second your arms wrapped around his neck, Tyriq exhaled deeply in relief. Like he’d been holding himself together all night and finally got rewarded for it.
His arms folded around you instantly, large hands settling against your lower back while he tucked his face into the curve of your neck.
Mmm. The sound he made—that soft little hum against your skin—nearly made your knees buckle.
Your eyes drifted shut as his warmth surrounded you completely.
“Missed this,” he sighed.
You rubbed your hands slowly up his back above the thin fabric of his button-up. “You saw me all day.”
“Not like this.”
Your heart squeezed painfully because that was the problem with Tyriq. He said the most romantic things so naturally you didn’t even think he realized how deeply they landed.
The hug should’ve ended already. Instead, his hold tightened and ours did too. The office remained silent around you while the tension slowly shifted into something more intimate.
Tyriq lifted his head just enough for his nose to brush lightly against your temple.
“You smell good,” he complimented.
You laughed softly against his chest. “We’ve been here twelve hours, baby.”
“And you still smell good.”
“Shameless.”
“Mmhmm.”
Neither of you moved. Not even a little.
Your fingers absentmindedly played with the short hairs at his nape while his thumbs rubbed slow circles into the skin at your lower back beneath your blouse.
This was slowly but surely becoming dangerous behavior.
You felt him inhale slowly before his lips brushed the side of your forehead. Not quite a kiss, but you ached in anticipation anyway.
“Baby,” he uttered against your skin. “You know you make it real damn hard to behave around you?”
You smiled against his chest. “I think you like behaving.”
Tyriq pulled back just enough to look at you properly. His eyes dropped briefly toward your mouth before lifting again.
“That’s the issue,” he admitted softly. “I don’t think I do anymore.”
Heat rushed through you immediately, and you felt your panties dampen.
Goddamnit.
You were supposed to be finishing edits. Instead, you were standing in your office, wrapped around your ridiculously handsome boyfriend, while he looked at you as if not kissing you was taking every ounce of restraint he had left.
Your hands slid up and down his chest as you tilted your head up slightly. “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think you’re tired.”
Tyriq narrowed his eyes knowingly. “That what we calling this?”
You giggled softly, and there it was once again. That laugh that visibly weakened him every single time he heard it.
He groaned dramatically before dropping his forehead against yours. “You keep laughing like that and we never finishing these last two pages.”
“You the one hugging me hostage.”
“Cause I missed you.”
Your expression softened as you admitted. “I missed you, too.”
His hands squeezed your waist once, and then with visible reluctance he exhaled sharply and stepped back half an inch.
“We really gotta finish, huh?”
You nodded slowly, still holding onto him a little. “Unfortunately.”
Tyriq glanced toward the unfinished layouts on your desk before looking back at you. “Corporate tryna ruin my love life.”
By 2:07 a.m., your office looked like a battlefield. Empty coffee cups, marked-up proofs, pink sticky notes everywhere, and your abandoned blazer draped across the back of your chair.
Somehow the two of you had pulled it off.
You stood near your desk with your phone pressed to your ear while Tyriq sat beside the final layouts, one leg bouncing restlessly beneath the table as he watched you pace.
“Yes,” you sighed in relief, exhaustion finally loosening from your shoulders as the Henderson client confirmed he received your fax. “Perfect. Thank you so much.”
Your entire face softened at the continued praise you received over the phone. “Seriously, please tell your team I appreciate them staying up with us.”
Tyriq smiled quietly to himself at the sound of your voice.
God. He loved listening and watching you work.
You ended the call a few seconds later and blinked at your dimming screen in disbelief before letting out a long breath.
“We’re done,” you announced.
Tyriq sat up immediately. “For real?”
“For real.”
He looked just as relieved as you felt.
You laughed softly and crossed the room toward him, lifting your hand automatically. Tyriq grinned instantly and slapped a loud high-five against your palm.
“Teamwork,” he shouted dramatically.
“Shut up,” you snorted, still smiling.
He caught your hand before you could pull away completely, thumb brushing lightly against your wrist.
“You did your thing tonight, though,” he admitted warmly. “Whole department would’ve collapsed without you.”
Your chest warmed at the recognition.
“You helped a lot,” you replied honestly. “You’re ridiculously smart, Tyriq.” Your smile deepened slightly. “And creative. Thank you for staying with me all night.”
Something in his expression softened immediately. There goes that look again. The one that always made you feel like the prettiest woman alive.
“Always,” he promised, green eyes shining with admiration.
You pulled your hand back slowly before things got too intense again and turned toward your desk to gather the remaining folders. Then you stretched, which apparently was a big mistake.
Your arms lifted over your head as you arched your back slightly, exhaustion pulling a quiet little sigh from your throat while your blouse tightened across your chest and your skirt hugged your hips even more.
You froze halfway through the stretch when you heard a frustrated groan slip past his lips.
“…Tyriq?”
He didn’t respond, so you slowly turned your head only to find him looking downright wrecked. He sat leaned back in the chair, gawking at you like his final thread of self-control had just snapped clean in half. His jaw was clenched tight as his hands gripped the armrests hard enough for his knuckles to pale.
Your stomach flipped in anticipation.
“What?” you laughed nervously.
Tyriq blinked once like he was trying to rejoin reality.
“Baby,” he exhaled roughly. “You cannot stretch like that at two in the morning after I’ve been behaving all damn night.”
Heat rushed through you immediately. “I was just stretching.”
“Uh-huh.” He dragged a hand down his face slowly. “That’s the problem.”
You suddenly remembered how empty and private your office was. You tried to regain composure by shaking your head and stacking the remaining folders neatly together. “Well,” you cleared your throat softly, “at least we’re finally done.”
Tyriq hummed distractedly, but he was still eyeing you. Still looking entirely too hungry.
You grabbed your heels from beneath the desk and slipped them back on as your stomach growled.
“I could definitely go for some pizza right now.” You glanced over at him innocently. “You hungry?”
Tyriq let out a slow, dangerous laugh.
“Yeah,” he muttered while standing up gradually. “But not for no goddamn pizza.”
Oh.
OH.
Your pulse immediately started misbehaving. “Ty—”
“Nah.” He cut you off smoothly while stalking toward you with unhurried confidence. “Come here.” His eyes dragged slowly over your face. “And feed me.”
The second those words left his mouth, your stomach flipped violently, and the heat between your legs intensified.
“Tyriq,” you gasped, already backing into the edge of your desk, “you are ridiculous.”
“And you stalling,” he countered immediately.
Before you could think of a rebuttal, his large hands slid around your waist, and he lifted you effortlessly. A surprised gasp escaped you as he sat you right on top of your desk.
Papers crinkled, ballpoint pens rolled, and a stapler hit the floor dramatically somewhere beside you. Tyriq barely glanced at the mess. His attention stayed completely locked on you.
“Baby,” he sighed deeply, pushing the remaining folders aside carefully so you had more room, “do you know how long I’ve been trying not to touch you tonight?”
Your pulse pounded harder as he stepped between your knees. Close enough to feel how hard he was through his slacks.
The office lights cast a warm glow across his skin while the city glittered behind him through the massive windows. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his green eyes darkened with an insatiable hunger.
You swallowed slowly as his hands settled on your thighs.
“Tyriq…” your voice softened slightly as you suggested. “Maybe I should shower first.”
That made him pause. Not because he agreed but because he looked genuinely offended by the suggestion.
“Baby,” he tsked, like you’d said something outrageous, “we’ve been editing magazine pages for fifteen hours, not digging ditches.”
You laughed softly. “Still—”
“No.” He shook his head immediately, stepping even closer. “Absolutely not.”
Your stomach tightened at the firmness in his tone.
Tyriq leaned down slowly until his forehead rested against yours.
“I like how you smell after a long day,” he admitted. “Been smelling your perfume mixed with your shampoo and your skin all damn night.” His grip tightened against your thighs. “It’s driving me crazy.”
You felt yourself get wetter.
“You’re insane,” you whispered.
“For you?” He kissed the corner of your mouth softly. “Very.”
Your hands slid automatically around his neck, fingers rubbing circles into the back of his head, and Tyriq let out a low groan that almost made your eyes roll back.
“There you go with them goddamn hands," he muttered against your lips. “You know touching me like that makes me stupid.”
You smiled softly. “You already were acting a little stupid in that elevator.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Why?” you taunted. “You ain’t like hearing me quote you?”
“Oh, I liked it too much.” His hands slid higher against your thighs slowly. “That’s the issue.”
Your breath hitched as he pulled you in by the waist and ground himself against you. It was the kind of storm that had been building all damn day.
“You know what really messed me up?”
“What?”
The way you kept calling me 'baby' today.
Your heart fluttered. “It just slipped out.”
“Mmhmm.” He smiled knowingly against your mouth. “And every single time it happened, I wanted to drag you into the copier room and lock the door.”
You laughed softly before his lips brushed yours in a full kiss this time. Just enough to make you want more. Tyriq pulled back slightly afterward, eyes scanning your face carefully.
“Please, can I taste you?”
The question hit you harder than anything filthy could have. Because he sounded sincere, almost desperate. It was like this wasn’t just about sex anymore. Your breath caught slightly as your fingers played with the short hairs at the back of his neck.
“I’m not stopping you, baby,” you whispered.
That was all he needed.
Tyriq exhaled sharply against your mouth before kissing you again, deeper this time. His hands slid up your waist slowly, warm palms spreading across your sides like he needed to feel every inch of you. The kiss turned messy fast. You both were hungry for each other. The days of wanting and hours of restraint all finally slipped loose. Your lips parted against his with a soft moan that immediately made his grip tighten.
“Fuck,” he groaned into your mouth. “I missed hearing that noise.”
Tyriq kissed you once more before his mouth traveled lower—across your jaw, beneath your ear, and down the length of your neck where your pulse danced wildly beneath his lips.
His hands moved to the buttons of your blouse carefully, like he was unwrapping something precious.
You watched him through heavy lashes while he worked each button open one by one, kissing your skin in between until your breathing turned uneven.
“Been thinking about this too,” he admitted while opening another button. “Seeing what you wear under these little office outfits.”
You bit back a moan. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Mmhmm.”
The blouse loosened gradually beneath his hands until he finally pushed it open enough to expose the soft curve of your chest beneath your bra.
Tyriq went quiet as his eyes dragged slowly over you before he shook his head once like he genuinely still couldn’t believe you were real.
“You so damn pretty,” he praised.
Your stomach fluttered hard. By this point, you knew you had ruined your panties.
He slid the blouse slowly off your shoulders, fingertips grazing your soft brown skin just enough to make you shiver. The fabric bunched around your elbows while his mouth returned to your neck again, kissing lower and lower.
Meanwhile, your skirt remained perfectly intact. That was until Tyriq’s hands slid down your thighs next, and the second his fingers hooked beneath the hem, you let out the tiniest whimper. Deliberately, he pushed the pencil skirt upward inch by inch until it gathered around your hips.
“Yeah,” he muttered under his breath once your thighs spread naturally for him. “This exactly what I needed.”
Your pulse hammered wildly as he looked at you sitting on top of your desk—blouse hanging open, skirt pushed up, heels still on and brown eyes already shining softly for him.
Tyriq swallowed hard.
“Baby,” he exhaled sharply, pulling you closer to him as he ground himself into you, “you have no idea what you do to me.”
The office lights glowed softly above you. Computer screens dimmed around the room as the city shimmered black and gold behind the glass windows.
Somehow the quietness made everything feel even more intimate.
His eyes dropped lower to your panties.
“That pussy dripping for me, ain’t it?” he questioned as his fingertips brushed teasingly along the edge of your panties.
Your thighs jerked against the desk. “Tyriq…”
A low groan left him at the way you said his name. That alone almost did him in. He slowly sank downward to his knees, hands sliding along your thighs as he went.
The sight nearly took your breath away. That tall, arrogant man was kneeling in front of your desk in the middle of your office, looking up at you like he could spend the rest of his life there. The sight was too dangerous.
Tyriq kissed the inside of your thigh tenderly, eyes never leaving your face for long.
“You know what’s crazy?” he breathed against your skin.
Your hand gripped the desk while the other gripped his shoulder. “What’s that, baby?”
“I really was trying to behave today.”
You hummed softly, breath hitching as his fingers trailed up to your panties.
“I’m serious, Y/N,” he continued, voice roughening slightly, “I stayed focused for damn near fifteen hours.”
“Mmhmm.”
“And then you stretched.”
“That’s not my fault.” you insisted in between giggles that soon broke into a full-blown moan as he rubbed your clit through your soaked panties.
“It absolutely is.”
His hands slid beneath the fabric slowly before he paused, green eyes lifted to yours, quietly begging for permission.
You nodded once, and that was all he needed.
Instead of removing your panties completely, Tyriq pushed them aside carefully, exhaling sharply the second he finally saw how wet you were for him.
“Fuck,” he swore under his breath.
The sound alone sent heat flooding throughout the rest of your body.
His forehead rested briefly against your thigh like he was collecting himself before he looked up at you again.
“You know I’m obsessed with you, right?”
Your chest tightened instantly. Because he always said things like that so casually. Like they were obvious facts.
You swallowed hard. “Tyriq…”
“Nah, I’m serious.” His thumb stroked slowly along your thigh. “You got me gone, baby.”
The way he looked at you while saying it nearly melted you on the spot. His free hand gripped your thigh and pulled you all the way to the edge so your heels could rest against his back.
He finally leaned forward, and his nose brushed your clit as he trailed his tongue down your glistening slit.
The first touch almost made your head fall back immediately. Your fingers tightened against the desk while a needy whimper escaped you before you could stop it.
Tyriq let out a satisfied grunt against you instantly, like he’d been craving the taste and sound of your pleasure all day.
“There it is,” he rumbled softly. “Missed hearin’ you like this.”
The office suddenly felt way too warm. Every little sound seemed louder now—your breathing, the wet squelch of his tongue flicking against your clit, the faint squeak of the desk whenever you shifted.
Tyriq looked entirely too satisfied every time another shaky breath left your mouth. He kept glancing up at you, too, constantly. Watching and studying, addicted to your every reaction.
Your blouse hung open around your shoulders now, curls messy around your face while you tried and failed to stay composed under the way he was eating you for his pleasure.
His tongue swirled around your clit in tight circles, focusing all his attention on one little spot that made you let out the sexiest noises. His tongue moved back and forth over your hardened nub in such a way that it shot tingles of pleasure up your spine.
You used your other hand to free your left breast from your bra, cupping it gently in your palm while pinching your nipple between your finger and thumb.
“That feels so good, Tyriq. Please don’t stop.”
“You already know I’m not stopping ‘til you cum.” Came his muffled reply. He closed his mouth around your clit, sucking fast and unrelenting as his tongue pressed in insistent strokes. Your eyes rolled back as you felt an orgasm approaching.
“Look at you,” he hummed around your clit, almost in disbelief. “Sittin’ on your desk feeding me this delicious pussy after bossin’ everybody around all day.”
The vibrations made you dizzy, and you moaned so loudly as your thighs began to shake. “Oh fuckfuckfuck Tyriq—”
“Mmhmm?” His eyes lifted innocently.
You narrowed your eyes breathlessly. “I’m gonna cum if you keep eating me like this.”
A grin spread slowly across his face. “That’s the point, baby,” he admitted shamelessly. “Your cum belongs to me.”
He flattened his tongue at your entrance and dragged it back up, swirling at the base of your clit. “Taste so good.”
He pushed two fingers into you slowly, curling them upward at the perfect angle while his other hand tugged your panties to the side even tighter.
“Fuuuuck!” you moaned even louder.
He sucked your clit harder, long fingers curling deeper. The pleasure was building so sharply and fast that you choked on every moan and whimper.
“I’m gonna fuckin’ cum,” you gasped out, body tingling all over and toes curling inside your heels.
“Give it to me,” he groaned against you, the vibration surging through every nerve as his skilled tongue applied even more pressure against your clit and his fingers thrust faster. You came with a sharp cry, mouth falling wide open as you jerked against the desk. His grip on your panties and thigh tightened as he held you in place, his lips still tugging at your clit. You chanted his name in between screams of pleasure as you saw constellations.
“Ty-Tyriq, please!”you begged as you tried to close your legs, but he held them open as he continued eating your pussy like it was his last meal.
Tyriq didn’t stop until your whole body went slack in his arms. Once it did, he rose and immediately wiped your hot tears with the pads of his thumbs.
He kissed your lips twice. “You taste so good, baby,” he praised. “So fuckin’ pretty when you cum for me.”
You unzipped and pushed down his slacks as he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. As soon as his chest was free, you trailed warm kisses all over his pecs and even licked his nipples. He gasped in pleasure before lifting your chin and crashing his lips back into yours, his tongue finding yours almost immediately. You moaned softly as you tasted yourself on his tongue and pulled him closer. Tyriq’s hands slid firmly along your back before one settled against the bunched-up skirt around your waist, pulling you flush against him while the other cradled your jaw carefully like he still couldn’t decide whether he wanted to worship you or lose his mind over you.
Probably both.
You whimpered softly into his mouth as his tongue brushed yours again, rougher this time, deeper, and the sound he made in response nearly sent you over the edge again right there on the desk. The desk shifted faintly beneath you when he ground himself between your legs, and your breath hitched immediately at the feeling of his bulge pressing against your sensitive clit.
Tyriq broke the kiss only long enough to drag his mouth down your neck again, breathing you in slowly while he freed his rock-hard length from his briefs and tapped his tip against your clit.
“Please, I need you inside me,” you whimpered desperately. “And don’t be gentle. I want to feel you tomorrow as I walk through this building.”
He groaned deeply, “Anything you want, Y/N.” He lined his erection up with your entrance while his other hand gripped your waist so tight you were almost certain there’d be thumbprints there in the morning. “Look at me.”
As soon as you tilted your head up and locked eyes with him, he pushed inside. The feeling was no longer foreign but still a tight fit at first. You remembered to relax as much as you can so he can ease inside better. He pushed deeper, muttering all kinds of obscenities in between moans until he finally sank all the way inside you.
Your lips parted in a breathless moan as both hands shot up to his shoulders to brace yourself. “Ohh fuuuckk Tyriq…”
He groaned into your neck as he began to thrust hard and deep just like you asked. “So wet—tight as fuck—squeezin’ the fuck outta me…ALL MINE.” He was already losing it, but then again, so were you and you just got started. “Tell me,” he demanded, breaths growing sharper. “Tell me how it feels.”
“Tyriq, baby, you feel so fuckin’ good,” you moaned softly as you glanced down to watch your walls stretch around his girthy dick as he fucked you harder and deeper.
“You feel so fuckin’ good, baby,” he shot back in between grunts and groans.
Your bodies moved together into that unique rhythm only the two of you seemed to be able to orchestrate as sweat began to slick your chests. Broken breaths sync with your rolling hips.
“Goddamn,” he groaned, trying with all his might not to bust embarrassingly quickly. “You feel too good, Y/N. Too. Fuckin’. Good.”
“Shit—I’ll never get used to how good this feels. I’m so glad it was you. I only want you, Tyriq.”
“Mmm. Look at you.” He leaned in closer, lips brushing your ear as he panted. “So fuckin’ pretty when you taking this dick.”
It wasn't just the words; it was the way he delivered them. Smooth but intense, soaked in adoration and filth all at the same damn time. His thrusts took you apart while his words put you back together.
“Fuuck,” he gasped sharply as he shifted the angle of his hips slightly before setting a rougher pace. “You love giving me this pussy, don’t you?”
You nodded. “Yes! I l-love the way you fuck me!”
“What was that? I ain’t hear you.” His hand slid up your body, squeezing your breast while the other was still trapped inside your bra.
“I love the way you fuck me!”
“You the boss at work, but when it comes to this tight-ass pussy, I’m the boss, ain’t that right?” He lifted his leg and placed his foot on the desk before yanking you into him, making you take every inch as he fucked you nice and rough.
Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.
You couldn’t even respond. The screams of pleasure and the squelching sounds of your pussy getting wetter and wetter should have been answer enough, but apparently those weren’t good enough for him.
“Answer me, Y/N. Am I the boss of this pussy?”
“Yessss!” you cried out, squeezing your legs around him and digging your nails into his shoulders as he fucked the breath right out of you. “Ty—shitshitshit—I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered a warning, toes curling so hard inside your heels they slid off, clattering to the ground.
“Mmhmm,” he moaned loudly, restraint slipping as he felt your walls tighten around him. “Cum all over this dick, pretty girl.”
Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.
You came so hard that black dots temporarily speckled your vision. Your mouth fell open in a loud scream that swiftly became muffled as you bit into his pec. His dick twitched inside you at the jolt of pleasurable pain, but he didn’t dare stop. As he continued to pound you through your orgasm, the tension coiled tighter and the euphoric hum sparkled under your skin. The wet squelches and hissed curses filled the room along with the squeaks of the desk.
“Oh my fuckin’—shitshitshit— I-I need—” you let out the neediest whimper as you looked up at him, brown eyes shining and jaw slack. “Tyriq, pleaseee! Cum for me.”
“Okay, baby—fuckfuckfuck—I’m gonna cum inside this perfect pussy.”
Your thighs shook wildly as the pleasure became almost too much. Still, you held on for dear life as he chased his own orgasm.
Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.
He let out a groan so loud it seemed to bounce off the office walls as his long legs buckled, and thrusts faltered when he spilled inside of you, cumming hard. Your chest rose and fell fast, thighs jerking every time Tyriq twitched inside you.
The office was completely silent by the time the two of you finally came back down to earth. It was silent except for your soft, crescendoing laughter.
Tyriq stood between your legs while you tried—and failed—to catch your breath, both of you smiling so hard it was almost embarrassing.
“Why are you grinning like that? ”you laughed breathlessly.
“Because,” he shrugged shamelessly, brushing your sweaty curls back from your face, “my girlfriend got that super grip.”
You rolled your eyes even though warmth bloomed all through your chest. “You so damn ridiculous.”
“And you just let me ruin you on your desk.” He glanced around dramatically at the scattered papers and crooked keyboard. “This is nasty workplace behavior from a senior editor.”
That made you burst into another fit of laughter, your forehead dropping against his shoulder while his arms wrapped around your waist automatically.
“Oh my God,” you giggled. “Kyle would actually kill us for this.”
Tyriq laughed too, warm and deep against your skin while he held you close. Somehow, this part felt more intimate than everything that happened before it. The tender way he kept kissing your forehead between giggles like he couldn’t even bother to help himself.
You stayed wrapped around each other for another ninety seconds before Tyriq finally sighed dramatically.
“Aight,” he muttered reluctantly. “We should probably clean up before your office start looking like a crime scene.”
“Mmm.”
Neither of you moved.
Tyriq looked down at you knowingly. “Baby.”
“I know, I know,” you acknowledge, smiling weakly. “I just don’t wanna let you go yet.”
His whole expression softened instantly. “Damn, Y/N,” he sighed. “You say sweet shit like that and expect me to keep it together?”
You snorted softly while he kissed your cheek again.
Eventually, the two of you forced yourselves apart long enough to gather your clothes and tidy up the office.
Tyriq buttoned your blouse back up for you slowly, fingers brushing your breasts every few seconds just because he could.
“You know,” he noted while fixing your collar underneath your curls, “I used to be scared of you.”
You gasped in shock. "No, you were not.”
“Baby, the first day I met you, you corrected my grammar without blinking.”
“It was sloppy.”
“It hurt my feelings and turned me on.”
“You survived though.”
“Barely.”
You giggled again while smoothing down your skirt and stepping into your heels.
Meanwhile, Tyriq gathered the stapler and scattered papers from the floor, but he kept getting distracted by staring at you.
At one point you bent over to grab a folder underneath the desk and immediately heard him grumble, “I know you fuckin’ lyin’.”
You looked back at him and raised an innocent eyebrow. “What?”
Tyriq pointed a long finger accusingly. “You know damn well.”
Your laugh echoed through the empty office again because he was shameless. That man was down horrendous.
Eventually the last folder got stacked, the computers shut down, and the final office lights dimmed around the editorial floor.
Tyriq grabbed both your bags before you could protest.
“You don’t gotta carry everything,” you commented.
“I know.” He slid an arm around your waist casually as you walked together through the dark office to the employee elevator that led to the parking garage. “I want to.”
“So, you just don’t give a damn about the cameras no more, huh?”
“Oh, I never did. I want the whole world to know you mine and I’m yours. Especially Marcus. He had me fucked up today.”
“Aight now,” you rolled your eyes as you stopped at the security pad on the hidden column to set the alarm. “Don’t start, Tyriq. I already shut his ass down.”
“I know,” he smirked. “The way his cocky smile dropped when you told him he couldn’t compare had me enraptured for hours.”
The elevator ride down felt entirely different now. There was no longer any unbearable restraint or pretending. Just soft smiles and lingering touches while Tyriq stood behind you with one arm around your waist, absentmindedly kissing the side of your head every few seconds.
“You tired?” he asked quietly.
“A little bit," you nodded honestly. “And hungry.”
“Good.” His lips brushed your temple. “Imma feed you, then you gon’ sleep real good tonight.”
You looked back at him with a tiny smile. “At your place?”
Tyriq blinked once, as if the answer should’ve been obvious. “Baby,” he scoffed softly, almost offended, “where else would you be?”
Your stomach fluttered instantly. You both had nice homes, but being in his space brought you a level of comfort you didn’t know was possible until recently.
The elevator doors opened into the parking garage a second later, but before you could step out, Tyriq caught your wrist gently.
You turned back toward him and immediately got pulled into a slow, warm kiss. You lost track of how long the two of you stood there, smiling into each other’s mouths as you swayed.
By the time he finally pulled away, both of you looked equally gone.
“You know what?” he whispered against your lips.
“What?”
“You definitely not beating the ‘completely gone for your boyfriend’ allegations now.”
You burst out laughing all over again while he chuckled at you like he planned on spending a very long time making that statement true. He was definitely in the same boat. Probably even more gone than you were.
Summary: You are a senior editor trying to ignore the rising tension with your younger, arrogant junior editor until a charged Christmas party and one overdue conversation unravel everything you’ve been too anxious to feel.
Pairing: Tyriq Withers x Black Fem!reader
Warnings: smutty smut, explicit language, modern au, workplace romance, age gap (29F + 24M), power dynamic, sexual tension, discreet flirting, jealousy, office sex, semi-public sex, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, cocky!Tyriq
Word count: 9.9k (I had way too much fun writing this!!)
Part one
The first week of the new year wasn’t all that different; the editorial floor buzzed with the usual chaos.
Phones rang nonstop. Slack notifications chimed like impatient doorbells. Somebody in marketing was already laughing too loud at nine-thirty in the damn morning, and the scent of burnt matcha drifted through the open-concept office.
You sat behind your desk reviewing copy edits with the same calm precision you always carried at work, but internally you were in hell. Because a few days ago, Tyriq Withers bent you over the windows of his luxury condo and ruined professionalism forever.
Now he sat three rows away in a baby blue long-sleeve button-up, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as his slender fingers typed something on his laptop.
Your boyfriend.
The word still made warmth bloom deep in your chest.
You tried not to stare too long, but the problem with sleeping with someone you already wanted desperately was that afterward your body started remembering things at inconvenient times. Especially now. Your eyes drifted to his hands moving across the keyboard, and immediately your stomach tightened.
God.
Those same hands had gripped your thighs so gently while he talked you through your first time. Those same long fingers that curled deep—
“Y/N?”
You blinked quickly, dragged back to reality by Rachel standing beside your desk holding a stack of mockups.
“Sorry,” you said, clearing your throat smoothly. “What was that?”
Rachel frowned slightly. “You okay? You seem distracted today.”
"Distracted" was certainly one word for it.
“Just busy,” you replied, accepting the papers.
From across the office, Tyriq glanced up. Just one look. His green eyes met yours briefly before flicking downward toward the files in your hands, then back up again. Subtle and innocent to everyone else, but you noticed the tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth. He knew all too well why you were zoning out.
You narrowed your eyes at him faintly, and his dimples deepened. Such an arrogant man…but he was your man now. Before either of you could silently flirt yourselves into unemployment, Kyle’s voice carried across the floor.
“Conference room. Five minutes, everybody.”
A chorus of exhausted groans answered him.
You stood, smoothing down your fitted mocha-colored skirt before grabbing your tablet and notes. Around the office, people shuffled toward the large meeting room with all the enthusiasm of prisoners heading toward sentencing.
Tyriq had already disappeared inside.
Of course he had.
You took your time walking over, heels clicking softly against the polished floor, but right as you reached the doorway, one of the art directors stopped beside you.
“Y/N, hold on—” Denise leaned out into the hallway. “Can somebody grab me a coffee? Please? I’m fighting for my life today.”
You laughed softly. “Hazelnut?”
“You know me so well.” Denise grinned and hurried off toward the break room, while you finally stepped into the conference room and immediately sensed his presence.
Tyriq sat near the middle of the long table, one chair beside him conspicuously empty. Saved just for you. Again.
Your pulse fluttered before you could stop it. As you approached, he leaned back slightly in his chair, his eyes dragging over you in a way that felt entirely inappropriate for 9:42 on a Monday morning.
“Hi, pretty girl,” he whispered quietly enough that nobody else could hear even though the room was only occupied by the two of you at the moment.
Heat curled low in your stomach instantly. He had way too much confidence now.
Lord, give me strength, you thought to yourself.
You slid into the chair beside him, carefully keeping your expression neutral even as your knees brushed against his beneath the table.
“Morning, handsome,” you shot back while preparing your notes.
Tyriq went completely still, still not used to you openly reciprocating his flirting.
You kept your attention on your tablet to avoid smiling, but from your peripheral vision, you caught how sharply his jaw clenched.
Oh. That simple compliment must have gotten to him.
“You can’t just say shit like that at work,” he chastised under his breath, voice suddenly rough.
You finally looked at him then, your chestnut-brown eyes all soft and composed. “Why, baby? You distracted?”
His nostrils flared slightly, but before he could answer, more coworkers piled into the room, breaking the moment apart.
Tyriq leaned back in his chair, dragging a hand slowly across his mouth like he was trying to regain control of himself. Meanwhile, your thighs clenched so hard beneath the table that it was almost embarrassing.
Kyle walked in carrying a tablet and an energy drink the size of a can of oil sheen spray.
“Alright,” he sighed, collapsing into the chair at the front. “Bad news.”
A collective groan spread around the room.
“The Henderson feature files got corrupted during export.”
Several people cursed immediately.
Kyle nodded grimly. “I know. Production deadline’s tomorrow morning, so editorial needs to stay on top of revisions while design rebuilds the spreads.”
Your stomach dropped slightly as the room erupted into overlapping complaints.
“Wait, all the files?”
“You serious?”
“Oh my God—”
Kyle rubbed his forehead. “Trust me. I know.”
Beside you, Tyriq sat forward slightly, immediately focused. You tried not to find his work mode attractive and ended up failing instantly.
Kyle’s eyes landed on you. “Y/N, I need you overseeing recovery edits tonight.”
Without hesitation, you nodded. “Of course.”
Tyriq’s lips twitched faintly beside you. He loved how serious you took your work. Loved it almost as much as he loved making you lose composure.
“Appreciate it,” Kyle exhaled sharply before scanning the room again. “I need one more volunteer to stay late with her.”
Immediate silence. Followed by even more silence. One editor avoided eye contact altogether.
Rachel lifted her hands defensively. “My son has football practice.”
“Anniversary dinner,” someone else chimed in quickly.
“Nah,” another coworker laughed. “I love this company, but not enough for an all-nighter.”
You bit back a smile.
Beside you, Tyriq stayed suspiciously quiet for exactly three seconds too long. You could practically feel him trying not to volunteer too fast and expose himself. Then finally he spoke.
“Yeah, I’ll stay.”
Kyle looked relieved instantly. “Thank you.”
Tyriq shrugged casually like he wasn’t internally celebrating. “No problem.”
You kept your face perfectly composed even though your heartbeat immediately sped up. A whole night alone in the office with your boyfriend? Your very tall, fine, talented fingers and tongue-having boyfriend. Yeah, your mind pretty much sank to the gutter.
Kyle pointed between the two of you. “Once everything’s finalized, make sure the floor’s locked up and the alarm gets set before you leave.”
“Got it,” you answered smoothly.
Beside you, Tyriq slowly turned his head toward you. Not enough for anyone else to notice but just enough for you to catch the mischievous look in his eyes. You already knew there was absolutely no chance either of you were making it out of that office behaving yourselves.
The meeting wrapped fifteen minutes later, and the editorial floor slowly returned to its usual frenzy.
You walked back toward your office with your tablet tucked against your chest, already mentally organizing the disaster waiting for you later tonight. Behind you, conversations overlapped, phones resumed ringing, and somebody had apparently burned popcorn in the breakroom because the entire east wing smelled bitter and just plain old nasty.
You had barely settled into your chair before a shadow appeared in your doorway.
“Hey, Y/N?”
You glanced up to find Marcus from the digital features team holding a marked-up proof in one hand and a latte in the other. Tall, decent-looking, overly confident in the way men in media always seemed to be.
“What’s up?” you asked professionally.
He stepped inside your office and handed you the revision pages. “I updated the pull quotes and fixed the pacing issues you mentioned Friday, but I wanted your opinion before I submit the final version.”
You scanned the first page quickly, already spotting improvements. “Much better,” you admitted. “The transitions are cleaner too. This is good, Marcus.”
“See? I do listen to you,” he grinned.
You hummed softly while flipping another page.
From three rows away, Tyriq watched the interaction over the top of his monitor with narrowed eyes. Not obvious enough for anyone else to notice but enough that the muscles in his jaw flexed every single time Marcus smiled too hard at a compliment you gave.
“You always this sweet when giving feedback?” Marcus asked casually, leaning against your doorway.
You finally looked up fully as you registered the flirtatious tone he was taking. “Excuse me?”
“I’m just sayin’,” he shrugged, his smile widening. “If I knew senior editors looked like this, I would’ve transferred departments sooner.”
Across the office, Tyriq’s fingers froze over his keyboard, and Rachel looked up briefly from her desk with barely concealed interest.
Oh brother.
You, however, remained completely unbothered.
“Marcus Greene,” you sighed patiently, setting the papers down. “Your revisions are good. Let’s not ruin that progress.”
He laughed. “Damn, you cold.”
“Professional,” you corrected.
His eyes drifted over your face again. “So there’s absolutely no chance I could convince you to let me take you out sometime?”
Tyriq looked one squint away from standing up. Instead, he remained seated, shoulders tense beneath his sweater while he stared at his screen with murderous concentration.
You leaned back in your chair calmly. “I have a boyfriend.”
The office noise suddenly sounded very far away to Tyriq.
Marcus blinked once. “Ahh. So that explains it.”
“It does,” you quipped.
“So he's my competition?” Marcus joked.
You barely contained an eye roll as you smirked. “Mr. Greene, you can’t compete with my man’s intelligence or the way he takes me down,” you blurted. “Don’t embarrass yourself.”
Marcus threw his hands up dramatically. “Alright, alright. I respect it.”
“I hope so,” you snickered lightly. “Now go submit those revisions before I change my mind.”
He groaned on his way out of your office, finally taking the hint. The second he disappeared around the corner, your eyes lifted instinctively straight toward Tyriq, which was a terrible idea because the expression on that man’s face almost made your stomach flip over. Clearly, his irritation was replaced with carnal want. In a way, he looked almost famished.
You barely pressed your lips together in time to stop yourself from grinning.
Goddamn.
The man looked like he was trying to survive the next eight hours through sheer willpower alone.
A few minutes later, you stood to head toward the printers down the hall. As you passed Tyriq’s desk, you slowed just enough to murmur quietly, “You doing okay, Mr. Withers?”
His eyes lifted slowly from his screen. Almost as if he looked at you too fast, he’d combust. That man was struggling, and you weren’t ashamed to admit how much you were enjoying it.
“You gotta stop talking about your boyfriend like that at work,” he muttered low enough for only you to hear.
You tilted your head innocently. “Like what?”
Tyriq leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze dragging over your face with dangerous intensity. “Like you tryna make me lose my damn mind and find us a supply closet or copy room.”
Your thighs clenched immediately, and your pulse quickened, but instead of retreating, you smiled confidently.
“Maybe if I wasn’t completely gone for him, I’d dial it back,” you replied softly. “But I actually like the way he makes me feel.” Your voice lowered slightly. “Emotionally and physically.”
Tyriq inhaled sharply.
Oh, you were evil for saying that out loud, but you couldn’t find a damn to give.
You adjusted the papers in your arms innocently. “But that’s none of your business, Mr. Withers,” you finished sternly. “Get back to work.” Then you walked away before he could respond. Behind you was pure silence. He didn’t even know what to say.
Rachel glanced over at Tyriq a second later and frowned. “You good?”
Tyriq blinked slowly at his computer screen, like he’d temporarily left his body, and answered honestly, “…No.”
The printer down the hall chose the worst possible moment to jam.
Twice.
By the time you finally finished reprinting the corrected mockups, you were balancing a fresh stack of pages against your hip while muttering under your breath about office equipment being manufactured in the pits of hell.
The elevator dinged softly at the end of the hallway just as you approached.
Perfect timing, you thought just before the doors slid open, and of course there he was. Tyriq stood inside alone, one hand tucked into the pocket of his slacks, the other holding his phone. His sleeves were rolled slightly up his arms now, his tie loosened slightly and sandalwood cologne teasing your nose.
He looked entirely too good for a random Monday afternoon. The second his eyes landed on you, his entire expression shifted. It was as if his body recognized yours before his brain could catch up.
“Well,” he drawled slowly, his gaze dropping to your mouth for half a second. “Look what the elevator done blessed me with.”
You stepped inside smoothly before anyone else from the floor could join you. The doors slid shut, and the elevator was filled with soft jazz music and tension so thick you could cut with a butter knife. Not even ten seconds passed before Tyriq exhaled sharply like he’d finally been allowed to breathe.
“Baby,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face. “You gotta stop playin’ with me like that.”
You pressed the button for the production floor calmly. “I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Withers.”
“That little speech about your boyfriend?” He stepped closer immediately. “In front of that cocky motherfucker Marcus?”
You kept your composure admirably considering the fact that he smelled incredible and was currently boxing you lightly against the elevator wall with pure presence alone.
“He wouldn’t take the hint,” you shrugged softly.
“And you shut his ass down like you was tryna prove a point while also ruining my ability to function.”
A tiny smile tugged at your mouth. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Nah,” he corrected instantly. “You basically told another man how smart I am and how I fuck you stupid.” His voice lowered wickedly. “Then walked away lookin’ like that.”
Your pulse skipped and your face warmed with each passing second. The elevator continued descending quietly while tension thickened between you like cumulonimbus clouds before a thunderstorm.
Tyriq stared at you for a long moment before his eyes drifted lower to your navy blue blazer and how your breasts peeked out of your fitted blouse, then to your pencil skirt hugging your hips the very way he desired.
He swallowed hard before muttering, “You know what’s funny?”
“What?”
“I’ve been tryin’ so hard to behave at work.” He admitted, his sharp jaw flexing. “Meanwhile you out here accidentally talking filthy to me in broad daylight.”
You rolled your eyes playfully. “That was not filthy.”
“Baby,” he scoffed quietly, stepping even closer. “You told me you like how I make you feel physically.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So…you basically told me you like the way I stroke that pussy.”
Your thighs clenched again as the need in his tone grew heavier.
Okay, so maybe he had a fair point.
His eyes caught the tiny shift in your posture immediately, and his expression darkened with satisfaction.
“Yeah,” he huffed knowingly. “Exactly.”
The elevator suddenly felt way too small. Tyriq braced one hand beside your head carefully, not quite touching you but close enough that warmth radiated against your skin.
“You have any idea what I wanted to do after hearing that?”
Your breath caught slightly because you knew this was inappropriate, but you were desperate to hear what he had to say.
“What?” you asked softly.
His eyes locked onto yours. “I wanted to drag you into the nearest closet,” he admitted roughly. “To get on my knees and thank you properly for talking about me like that.”
Goddamn.
Your stomach flipped violently, and you felt the tiniest bit lightheaded. Tyriq watched every small reaction cross your face like he was studying something sacred.
“You smirked when you said it too,” he continued, his voice dropping lower. “All bold and unapologetically sweet.” He shook his head once. “Damn near made me take an early lunch.”
The elevator continued to descend and hummed softly. Neither of you moved. You glanced upward toward the small black security camera tucked into the corner of the ceiling.
“The cameras, baby," you warned.
Tyriq followed your gaze and sighed dramatically. “I hate this damn building.”
You laughed under your breath. “We installed them last quarter, remember?”
“I know,” he grumbled. “That’s the only reason you still standing normally right now.”
Warmth spread through you damn near everywhere. He looked so frustrated and desperate, completely gone for you.
And you loved it a lot more than you should.
A slow smirk curved your lips as your eyes flicked back toward the camera. “They don’t have audio, though.”
Tyriq froze because that newfound information got his attention BAD.
Your smile widened slightly as you adjusted the papers in your arms. “You’ve got two minutes, Mr. Withers,” you murmured sweetly. “Say what’s been on your mind.”
Tyriq blinked at you for a long moment, then he chuckled once, disbelieving and dangerously amused.
“Oh, you bold now,” he remarked, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek.
You tilted your head innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Mhmm.” His eyes dragged slowly down your body again before returning to your face. “That confidence look real good on you, baby.”
Your pulse fluttered hard enough to annoy you.
The elevator continued its slow descent while the tension between you thickened into something almost visible.
Tyriq leaned a little closer, voice dropping lower. “You know how hard it was sittin’ through that meeting with you beside me?”
You kept your expression calm somehow. “You survived.”
“Barely.” His jaw tightened. “Every time you crossed your legs, I forgot what Kyle was even talking about.”
A soft laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
Tyriq’s eyes lit up instantly at the sound. “There go my favorite sound,” he praised. “Been addicted to that shit since the first week I met you.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And you ain’t slick.”
You raised a brow. “Me?”
“Yes, you.” He pointed lightly at you. “You know exactly what you was doing back there.”
“I was supervising my department.”
“You was seducing me in that fitted ass skirt. Business casual, my ass.”
You couldn’t fight back the giggle and the way your breathing picked up.
Tyriq noticed everything now. His gaze darkened immediately.
“See?” he whistled softly. “That right there.”
“What?”
“The way you take in shorter breaths when I say something filthy.”
Heat bloomed through your stomach. “You’re entirely too observant.”
“I have to be,” he shrugged lightly. “My girlfriend fine as hell.”
The word still hit you right in the chest.
Girlfriend.
You tried not to smile too hard at it, but Tyriq caught the tiny reaction anyway.
“There’s that smile again,” he grinned.
“That smile.”
You rolled your eyes even though heat continued to pool low in your belly. “You act like I never smiled before meeting you.”
“Nah,” he corrected quietly. “You smiled before.” His green eyes softened. “But now you smile at me.”
Lord, give me strength, you thought. This man was too dangerous in confined spaces.
The elevator slowed briefly to another floor, but thankfully, nobody entered.
Tyriq exhaled in relief. “Thank God.”
You snorted. “You struggling that bad?”
“Baby.” He dragged a hand down his face dramatically. “You called me handsome this morning.”
“It ain’t a crime to compliment your boyfriend.”
“It should be.”
“Mr. Withers, are you saying your performance at work is suffering because your boss complimented you?”
His eyes nearly rolled back. “Don’t do that, Y/N.”
“Do what?”
“That boss voice.” He stepped closer again carefully, eyes burning into yours. “You know exactly what that does to me now.”
The air felt way too hot, and the worst part was that he still wasn’t even touching you. Just standing there close enough that his warmth wrapped around you while his voice slid under your skin like a cashmere throw.
You swallowed slowly. “You being dramatic again.”
Tyriq blinked once like he couldn’t believe you still showed restraint.
“Dramatic?” he echoed. “Baby, I watched another man flirt with you for ten minutes while knowing what you sound like when you cum on my face.”
You damn near choked on a gasp.
Oh, so he came into this elevator prepared to destroy your composure.
“You handled it well,” you managed to squeak out.
“Nah,” he corrected. “I handled that shit professionally.”
You burst out laughing, a full-blown cackle and the sound visibly affected him. His expression softened completely, eyes warming as he watched you crack up.
“There’s my pretty girl,” he admired.
Your chest warmed and your thighs clenched like they always did at the praise.
Again, the elevator dinged softly while the numbers kept changing above you. Still not there yet. Still drowning in tension.
Tyriq’s gaze dipped to your mouth again before he sighed heavily. “You know what the worst part is?”
“What?”
“I can’t even kiss you right now.” His voice dripped with frustration. “And after hearing you talk about me like that? That’s torture.”
Your stomach flipped. “You’ll survive.”
He looked unconvinced.
“You know what I keep thinking about?” he asked.
You absolutely should not have asked, but curiosity killed professionalism dead five business days ago.
“What?”
His eyes locked onto yours. “How pretty you looked after we finished.”
Your lips parted slightly. “Tyriq—”
“Nah, listen. You looked so satisfied laying on my chest.” A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “Been replaying that all damn weekend.”
The butterflies in your stomach became unbearable. Because THAT was the problem with him. Even when he was being filthy…he somehow still managed to make it sweet too.
You should’ve stopped talking. You knew that, but something about the way Tyriq was looking at you—hungry and completely wrecked over you—made mischief bloom low in your stomach. So instead of behaving like the composed senior editor you once were, you tilted your head slightly and asked.
“You wanna know what I keep thinking about?”
Tyriq’s eyes narrowed immediately. “Tell me.”
You stepped just a little closer, lowering your voice in the sweetest way possible. “The little sound you made when I started rolling my hips.”
His entire body went still because you had his undivided attention now.
Your lashes fluttered innocently as you continued. “That little growl-whimper thing?” Your smile deepened. “Right before you said…” you paused deliberately, enjoying the way his breathing changed, “‘give me that pussy.’”
Tyriq inhaled sharply, like the air had been punched out of him.
“Baby,” he warned through a shaky exhale. "Y/N..."
You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing. Because that man looked seconds away from forgetting every HR policy ever written.
His eyes fluttered closed briefly while he dragged a slow hand down his jaw.
“You remember that?” he questioned hoarsely.
“Mmhmm.”
“That’s what you been thinking about at work?”
“All day." you shrugged lightly. “Among other things.”
Tyriq stared at you with genuine disbelief now.
“See?” he swallowed around the lump in his throat. “This exactly what the fuck I mean. You became a menace overnight.”
You smirked unapologetically. “And whose fault is that?”
“Definitely mine,” he acknowledged. “And now I gotta suffer through the consequences.”
The elevator slowed.
Ding.
Both of you glanced toward the doors as they slid open onto your floor. Just like that, the moment shattered. Professional masks slipped back into place almost instantly. Well—mostly.
Tyriq cleared his throat once and stepped back enough to create believable workplace distance, though the lingering heat in his eyes made it obvious he was still mentally inside that conversation.
You adjusted the stack of papers in your arms, smoothing your expression into something barely composed.
The two of you stepped out together into the bustling hallway and immediately ran into Kyle.
“There you are,” he sighed in relief while holding a folder against his chest. “I just got off the phone with Henderson’s production team.”
You straightened up instinctively. “How bad?”
“Recoverable,” he tried to answer optimistically. “Barely.”
Tyriq snorted quietly beside you.
Kyle pointed between the two of you. “Seriously, thank you both again for staying late tonight. I know it’s a pain in the ass.”
“It’s no problem,” you reassured.
“We’ll get it handled,” Tyriq added smoothly.
Kyle nodded appreciatively. “Good. Because if we miss this print deadline, corporate’s gonna personally escort me into five o’clock traffic.”
You giggled softly. Tyriq glanced sideways at you as soon as he heard the sound, the corner of his mouth lifting despite himself.
Kyle continued talking about revised timelines and production exports, completely oblivious to the fact that thirty seconds ago Tyriq had nearly folded you in half verbally inside the elevator.
Meanwhile, Tyriq stood beside you, looking entirely too calm for a man whose brain was currently replaying the filthy talk you had quoted back to him. You could feel it radiating off him. Especially when your fingers brushed accidentally for half a second while you were adjusting the stack of papers.
Kyle finally sighed. “Alright. I’m gonna go fight with design.”
“Good luck,” you offered sympathetically.
The second he walked away, silence settled briefly between you and Tyriq again.
“So we quoting my dirty talk at work now?” he whispered without looking at you.
You whispered back. “You said it, handsome. Not me.”
Tyriq finally turned his head toward you slowly.
“Tonight,” he promised under his breath, “you gon’ learn to stop being cute in professional settings.” He bumped your shoulder before heading back to his desk.
Your stomach damn near did a roundhouse kick. You glanced at your watch and sighed deeply. You still had eight more hours before the office emptied.
By 11:43pm, the entire office was silent but also loud. The kind where every tiny sound suddenly felt amplified—the low hum of fluorescent lights, the soft clicking of keyboards, the distant whir of the ventilation system pushing cool air through empty departments.
Only two pages remained.
Two.
You sat cross-legged in your office chair reviewing the final spread while Tyriq leaned against the edge of your desk, sleeves pushed up his forearms, reading over the corrections on his tablet.
Outside your glass office walls, the magazine floor was dark now. Everyone left four hours ago. Empty desks sat abandoned beneath dimmed lights while the city glittered beyond the massive windows.
It was finally just the two of you.
You circled one final sentence in red before sighing softly. “Okay, this paragraph flows way better now.”
Tyriq hummed distractedly, but he wasn’t looking at the screen anymore. He was staring at you. Again.
Your hair had gotten bigger throughout the night, curls soft and wild around your face now. Your lip gloss faded hours ago. Your heels sat abandoned beneath your desk because your feet started hurting around ten. Yet somehow you’d never looked prettier to him.
You glanced up eventually and immediately caught him staring. “Tyriq.”
“Hm?”
“You looking at me instead of the revisions.”
“I know.”
Your stomach fluttered.
Lord.
There was something especially dangerous about him when he got all quiet like this. Less teasing and arrogance, just warm eyes and devastating honesty.
You tried to refocus on the edits. “We have two pages left.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you lookin’ at me like that?”
His jaw clenched slightly before he pushed away from the desk.
“Come here for a second.”
You blinked. “For what?”
Tyriq walked around your desk slowly until he stood directly beside you. “I just want a hug.”
Oh. How could you deny him that?
That immediately melted something deep inside your chest. You looked up at him properly then.
All tall and tired. Pretty tawny skin glowing under the office lights. Tie abandoned and sleeves rolled up. Warm eyes softened at you in a way that still caught you off guard.
“You’re needy tonight,” you teased.
“Very,” he admitted without shame.
A smile pulled at your lips as you finally stood. The second your arms wrapped around his neck, Tyriq exhaled deeply in relief. Like he’d been holding himself together all night and finally got rewarded for it.
His arms folded around you instantly, large hands settling against your lower back while he tucked his face into the curve of your neck.
Mmm. The sound he made—that soft little hum against your skin—nearly made your knees buckle.
Your eyes drifted shut as his warmth surrounded you completely.
“Missed this,” he sighed.
You rubbed your hands slowly up his back above the thin fabric of his button-up. “You saw me all day.”
“Not like this.”
Your heart squeezed painfully because that was the problem with Tyriq. He said the most romantic things so naturally you didn’t even think he realized how deeply they landed.
The hug should’ve ended already. Instead, his hold tightened and ours did too. The office remained silent around you while the tension slowly shifted into something more intimate.
Tyriq lifted his head just enough for his nose to brush lightly against your temple.
“You smell good,” he complimented.
You laughed softly against his chest. “We’ve been here twelve hours, baby.”
“And you still smell good.”
“Shameless.”
“Mmhmm.”
Neither of you moved. Not even a little.
Your fingers absentmindedly played with the short hairs at his nape while his thumbs rubbed slow circles into the skin at your lower back beneath your blouse.
This was slowly but surely becoming dangerous behavior.
You felt him inhale slowly before his lips brushed the side of your forehead. Not quite a kiss, but you ached in anticipation anyway.
“Baby,” he uttered against your skin. “You know you make it real damn hard to behave around you?”
You smiled against his chest. “I think you like behaving.”
Tyriq pulled back just enough to look at you properly. His eyes dropped briefly toward your mouth before lifting again.
“That’s the issue,” he admitted softly. “I don’t think I do anymore.”
Heat rushed through you immediately, and you felt your panties dampen.
Goddamnit.
You were supposed to be finishing edits. Instead, you were standing in your office, wrapped around your ridiculously handsome boyfriend, while he looked at you as if not kissing you was taking every ounce of restraint he had left.
Your hands slid up and down his chest as you tilted your head up slightly. “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think you’re tired.”
Tyriq narrowed his eyes knowingly. “That what we calling this?”
You giggled softly, and there it was once again. That laugh that visibly weakened him every single time he heard it.
He groaned dramatically before dropping his forehead against yours. “You keep laughing like that and we never finishing these last two pages.”
“You the one hugging me hostage.”
“Cause I missed you.”
Your expression softened as you admitted. “I missed you, too.”
His hands squeezed your waist once, and then with visible reluctance he exhaled sharply and stepped back half an inch.
“We really gotta finish, huh?”
You nodded slowly, still holding onto him a little. “Unfortunately.”
Tyriq glanced toward the unfinished layouts on your desk before looking back at you. “Corporate tryna ruin my love life.”
By 2:07 a.m., your office looked like a battlefield. Empty coffee cups, marked-up proofs, pink sticky notes everywhere, and your abandoned blazer draped across the back of your chair.
Somehow the two of you had pulled it off.
You stood near your desk with your phone pressed to your ear while Tyriq sat beside the final layouts, one leg bouncing restlessly beneath the table as he watched you pace.
“Yes,” you sighed in relief, exhaustion finally loosening from your shoulders as the Henderson client confirmed he received your fax. “Perfect. Thank you so much.”
Your entire face softened at the continued praise you received over the phone. “Seriously, please tell your team I appreciate them staying up with us.”
Tyriq smiled quietly to himself at the sound of your voice.
God. He loved listening and watching you work.
You ended the call a few seconds later and blinked at your dimming screen in disbelief before letting out a long breath.
“We’re done,” you announced.
Tyriq sat up immediately. “For real?”
“For real.”
He looked just as relieved as you felt.
You laughed softly and crossed the room toward him, lifting your hand automatically. Tyriq grinned instantly and slapped a loud high-five against your palm.
“Teamwork,” he shouted dramatically.
“Shut up,” you snorted, still smiling.
He caught your hand before you could pull away completely, thumb brushing lightly against your wrist.
“You did your thing tonight, though,” he admitted warmly. “Whole department would’ve collapsed without you.”
Your chest warmed at the recognition.
“You helped a lot,” you replied honestly. “You’re ridiculously smart, Tyriq.” Your smile deepened slightly. “And creative. Thank you for staying with me all night.”
Something in his expression softened immediately. There goes that look again. The one that always made you feel like the prettiest woman alive.
“Always,” he promised, green eyes shining with admiration.
You pulled your hand back slowly before things got too intense again and turned toward your desk to gather the remaining folders. Then you stretched, which apparently was a big mistake.
Your arms lifted over your head as you arched your back slightly, exhaustion pulling a quiet little sigh from your throat while your blouse tightened across your chest and your skirt hugged your hips even more.
You froze halfway through the stretch when you heard a frustrated groan slip past his lips.
“…Tyriq?”
He didn’t respond, so you slowly turned your head only to find him looking downright wrecked. He sat leaned back in the chair, gawking at you like his final thread of self-control had just snapped clean in half. His jaw was clenched tight as his hands gripped the armrests hard enough for his knuckles to pale.
Your stomach flipped in anticipation.
“What?” you laughed nervously.
Tyriq blinked once like he was trying to rejoin reality.
“Baby,” he exhaled roughly. “You cannot stretch like that at two in the morning after I’ve been behaving all damn night.”
Heat rushed through you immediately. “I was just stretching.”
“Uh-huh.” He dragged a hand down his face slowly. “That’s the problem.”
You suddenly remembered how empty and private your office was. You tried to regain composure by shaking your head and stacking the remaining folders neatly together. “Well,” you cleared your throat softly, “at least we’re finally done.”
Tyriq hummed distractedly, but he was still eyeing you. Still looking entirely too hungry.
You grabbed your heels from beneath the desk and slipped them back on as your stomach growled.
“I could definitely go for some pizza right now.” You glanced over at him innocently. “You hungry?”
Tyriq let out a slow, dangerous laugh.
“Yeah,” he muttered while standing up gradually. “But not for no goddamn pizza.”
Oh.
OH.
Your pulse immediately started misbehaving. “Ty—”
“Nah.” He cut you off smoothly while stalking toward you with unhurried confidence. “Come here.” His eyes dragged slowly over your face. “And feed me.”
The second those words left his mouth, your stomach flipped violently, and the heat between your legs intensified.
“Tyriq,” you gasped, already backing into the edge of your desk, “you are ridiculous.”
“And you stalling,” he countered immediately.
Before you could think of a rebuttal, his large hands slid around your waist, and he lifted you effortlessly. A surprised gasp escaped you as he sat you right on top of your desk.
Papers crinkled, ballpoint pens rolled, and a stapler hit the floor dramatically somewhere beside you. Tyriq barely glanced at the mess. His attention stayed completely locked on you.
“Baby,” he sighed deeply, pushing the remaining folders aside carefully so you had more room, “do you know how long I’ve been trying not to touch you tonight?”
Your pulse pounded harder as he stepped between your knees. Close enough to feel how hard he was through his slacks.
The office lights cast a warm glow across his skin while the city glittered behind him through the massive windows. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his green eyes darkened with an insatiable hunger.
You swallowed slowly as his hands settled on your thighs.
“Tyriq…” your voice softened slightly as you suggested. “Maybe I should shower first.”
That made him pause. Not because he agreed but because he looked genuinely offended by the suggestion.
“Baby,” he tsked, like you’d said something outrageous, “we’ve been editing magazine pages for fifteen hours, not digging ditches.”
You laughed softly. “Still—”
“No.” He shook his head immediately, stepping even closer. “Absolutely not.”
Your stomach tightened at the firmness in his tone.
Tyriq leaned down slowly until his forehead rested against yours.
“I like how you smell after a long day,” he admitted. “Been smelling your perfume mixed with your shampoo and your skin all damn night.” His grip tightened against your thighs. “It’s driving me crazy.”
You felt yourself get wetter.
“You’re insane,” you whispered.
“For you?” He kissed the corner of your mouth softly. “Very.”
Your hands slid automatically around his neck, fingers rubbing circles into the back of his head, and Tyriq let out a low groan that almost made your eyes roll back.
“There you go with them goddamn hands," he muttered against your lips. “You know touching me like that makes me stupid.”
You smiled softly. “You already were acting a little stupid in that elevator.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Why?” you taunted. “You ain’t like hearing me quote you?”
“Oh, I liked it too much.” His hands slid higher against your thighs slowly. “That’s the issue.”
Your breath hitched as he pulled you in by the waist and ground himself against you. It was the kind of storm that had been building all damn day.
“You know what really messed me up?”
“What?”
The way you kept calling me 'baby' today.
Your heart fluttered. “It just slipped out.”
“Mmhmm.” He smiled knowingly against your mouth. “And every single time it happened, I wanted to drag you into the copier room and lock the door.”
You laughed softly before his lips brushed yours in a full kiss this time. Just enough to make you want more. Tyriq pulled back slightly afterward, eyes scanning your face carefully.
“Please, can I taste you?”
The question hit you harder than anything filthy could have. Because he sounded sincere, almost desperate. It was like this wasn’t just about sex anymore. Your breath caught slightly as your fingers played with the short hairs at the back of his neck.
“I’m not stopping you, baby,” you whispered.
That was all he needed.
Tyriq exhaled sharply against your mouth before kissing you again, deeper this time. His hands slid up your waist slowly, warm palms spreading across your sides like he needed to feel every inch of you. The kiss turned messy fast. You both were hungry for each other. The days of wanting and hours of restraint all finally slipped loose. Your lips parted against his with a soft moan that immediately made his grip tighten.
“Fuck,” he groaned into your mouth. “I missed hearing that noise.”
Tyriq kissed you once more before his mouth traveled lower—across your jaw, beneath your ear, and down the length of your neck where your pulse danced wildly beneath his lips.
His hands moved to the buttons of your blouse carefully, like he was unwrapping something precious.
You watched him through heavy lashes while he worked each button open one by one, kissing your skin in between until your breathing turned uneven.
“Been thinking about this too,” he admitted while opening another button. “Seeing what you wear under these little office outfits.”
You bit back a moan. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Mmhmm.”
The blouse loosened gradually beneath his hands until he finally pushed it open enough to expose the soft curve of your chest beneath your bra.
Tyriq went quiet as his eyes dragged slowly over you before he shook his head once like he genuinely still couldn’t believe you were real.
“You so damn pretty,” he praised.
Your stomach fluttered hard. By this point, you knew you had ruined your panties.
He slid the blouse slowly off your shoulders, fingertips grazing your soft brown skin just enough to make you shiver. The fabric bunched around your elbows while his mouth returned to your neck again, kissing lower and lower.
Meanwhile, your skirt remained perfectly intact. That was until Tyriq’s hands slid down your thighs next, and the second his fingers hooked beneath the hem, you let out the tiniest whimper. Deliberately, he pushed the pencil skirt upward inch by inch until it gathered around your hips.
“Yeah,” he muttered under his breath once your thighs spread naturally for him. “This exactly what I needed.”
Your pulse hammered wildly as he looked at you sitting on top of your desk—blouse hanging open, skirt pushed up, heels still on and brown eyes already shining softly for him.
Tyriq swallowed hard.
“Baby,” he exhaled sharply, pulling you closer to him as he ground himself into you, “you have no idea what you do to me.”
The office lights glowed softly above you. Computer screens dimmed around the room as the city shimmered black and gold behind the glass windows.
Somehow the quietness made everything feel even more intimate.
His eyes dropped lower to your panties.
“That pussy dripping for me, ain’t it?” he questioned as his fingertips brushed teasingly along the edge of your panties.
Your thighs jerked against the desk. “Tyriq…”
A low groan left him at the way you said his name. That alone almost did him in. He slowly sank downward to his knees, hands sliding along your thighs as he went.
The sight nearly took your breath away. That tall, arrogant man was kneeling in front of your desk in the middle of your office, looking up at you like he could spend the rest of his life there. The sight was too dangerous.
Tyriq kissed the inside of your thigh tenderly, eyes never leaving your face for long.
“You know what’s crazy?” he breathed against your skin.
Your hand gripped the desk while the other gripped his shoulder. “What’s that, baby?”
“I really was trying to behave today.”
You hummed softly, breath hitching as his fingers trailed up to your panties.
“I’m serious, Y/N,” he continued, voice roughening slightly, “I stayed focused for damn near fifteen hours.”
“Mmhmm.”
“And then you stretched.”
“That’s not my fault.” you insisted in between giggles that soon broke into a full-blown moan as he rubbed your clit through your soaked panties.
“It absolutely is.”
His hands slid beneath the fabric slowly before he paused, green eyes lifted to yours, quietly begging for permission.
You nodded once, and that was all he needed.
Instead of removing your panties completely, Tyriq pushed them aside carefully, exhaling sharply the second he finally saw how wet you were for him.
“Fuck,” he swore under his breath.
The sound alone sent heat flooding throughout the rest of your body.
His forehead rested briefly against your thigh like he was collecting himself before he looked up at you again.
“You know I’m obsessed with you, right?”
Your chest tightened instantly. Because he always said things like that so casually. Like they were obvious facts.
You swallowed hard. “Tyriq…”
“Nah, I’m serious.” His thumb stroked slowly along your thigh. “You got me gone, baby.”
The way he looked at you while saying it nearly melted you on the spot. His free hand gripped your thigh and pulled you all the way to the edge so your heels could rest against his back.
He finally leaned forward, and his nose brushed your clit as he trailed his tongue down your glistening slit.
The first touch almost made your head fall back immediately. Your fingers tightened against the desk while a needy whimper escaped you before you could stop it.
Tyriq let out a satisfied grunt against you instantly, like he’d been craving the taste and sound of your pleasure all day.
“There it is,” he rumbled softly. “Missed hearin’ you like this.”
The office suddenly felt way too warm. Every little sound seemed louder now—your breathing, the wet squelch of his tongue flicking against your clit, the faint squeak of the desk whenever you shifted.
Tyriq looked entirely too satisfied every time another shaky breath left your mouth. He kept glancing up at you, too, constantly. Watching and studying, addicted to your every reaction.
Your blouse hung open around your shoulders now, curls messy around your face while you tried and failed to stay composed under the way he was eating you for his pleasure.
His tongue swirled around your clit in tight circles, focusing all his attention on one little spot that made you let out the sexiest noises. His tongue moved back and forth over your hardened nub in such a way that it shot tingles of pleasure up your spine.
You used your other hand to free your left breast from your bra, cupping it gently in your palm while pinching your nipple between your finger and thumb.
“That feels so good, Tyriq. Please don’t stop.”
“You already know I’m not stopping ‘til you cum.” Came his muffled reply. He closed his mouth around your clit, sucking fast and unrelenting as his tongue pressed in insistent strokes. Your eyes rolled back as you felt an orgasm approaching.
“Look at you,” he hummed around your clit, almost in disbelief. “Sittin’ on your desk feeding me this delicious pussy after bossin’ everybody around all day.”
The vibrations made you dizzy, and you moaned so loudly as your thighs began to shake. “Oh fuckfuckfuck Tyriq—”
“Mmhmm?” His eyes lifted innocently.
You narrowed your eyes breathlessly. “I’m gonna cum if you keep eating me like this.”
A grin spread slowly across his face. “That’s the point, baby,” he admitted shamelessly. “Your cum belongs to me.”
He flattened his tongue at your entrance and dragged it back up, swirling at the base of your clit. “Taste so good.”
He pushed two fingers into you slowly, curling them upward at the perfect angle while his other hand tugged your panties to the side even tighter.
“Fuuuuck!” you moaned even louder.
He sucked your clit harder, long fingers curling deeper. The pleasure was building so sharply and fast that you choked on every moan and whimper.
“I’m gonna fuckin’ cum,” you gasped out, body tingling all over and toes curling inside your heels.
“Give it to me,” he groaned against you, the vibration surging through every nerve as his skilled tongue applied even more pressure against your clit and his fingers thrust faster. You came with a sharp cry, mouth falling wide open as you jerked against the desk. His grip on your panties and thigh tightened as he held you in place, his lips still tugging at your clit. You chanted his name in between screams of pleasure as you saw constellations.
“Ty-Tyriq, please!”you begged as you tried to close your legs, but he held them open as he continued eating your pussy like it was his last meal.
Tyriq didn’t stop until your whole body went slack in his arms. Once it did, he rose and immediately wiped your hot tears with the pads of his thumbs.
He kissed your lips twice. “You taste so good, baby,” he praised. “So fuckin’ pretty when you cum for me.”
You unzipped and pushed down his slacks as he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. As soon as his chest was free, you trailed warm kisses all over his pecs and even licked his nipples. He gasped in pleasure before lifting your chin and crashing his lips back into yours, his tongue finding yours almost immediately. You moaned softly as you tasted yourself on his tongue and pulled him closer. Tyriq’s hands slid firmly along your back before one settled against the bunched-up skirt around your waist, pulling you flush against him while the other cradled your jaw carefully like he still couldn’t decide whether he wanted to worship you or lose his mind over you.
Probably both.
You whimpered softly into his mouth as his tongue brushed yours again, rougher this time, deeper, and the sound he made in response nearly sent you over the edge again right there on the desk. The desk shifted faintly beneath you when he ground himself between your legs, and your breath hitched immediately at the feeling of his bulge pressing against your sensitive clit.
Tyriq broke the kiss only long enough to drag his mouth down your neck again, breathing you in slowly while he freed his rock-hard length from his briefs and tapped his tip against your clit.
“Please, I need you inside me,” you whimpered desperately. “And don’t be gentle. I want to feel you tomorrow as I walk through this building.”
He groaned deeply, “Anything you want, Y/N.” He lined his erection up with your entrance while his other hand gripped your waist so tight you were almost certain there’d be thumbprints there in the morning. “Look at me.”
As soon as you tilted your head up and locked eyes with him, he pushed inside. The feeling was no longer foreign but still a tight fit at first. You remembered to relax as much as you can so he can ease inside better. He pushed deeper, muttering all kinds of obscenities in between moans until he finally sank all the way inside you.
Your lips parted in a breathless moan as both hands shot up to his shoulders to brace yourself. “Ohh fuuuckk Tyriq…”
He groaned into your neck as he began to thrust hard and deep just like you asked. “So wet—tight as fuck—squeezin’ the fuck outta me…ALL MINE.” He was already losing it, but then again, so were you and you just got started. “Tell me,” he demanded, breaths growing sharper. “Tell me how it feels.”
“Tyriq, baby, you feel so fuckin’ good,” you moaned softly as you glanced down to watch your walls stretch around his girthy dick as he fucked you harder and deeper.
“You feel so fuckin’ good, baby,” he shot back in between grunts and groans.
Your bodies moved together into that unique rhythm only the two of you seemed to be able to orchestrate as sweat began to slick your chests. Broken breaths sync with your rolling hips.
“Goddamn,” he groaned, trying with all his might not to bust embarrassingly quickly. “You feel too good, Y/N. Too. Fuckin’. Good.”
“Shit—I’ll never get used to how good this feels. I’m so glad it was you. I only want you, Tyriq.”
“Mmm. Look at you.” He leaned in closer, lips brushing your ear as he panted. “So fuckin’ pretty when you taking this dick.”
It wasn't just the words; it was the way he delivered them. Smooth but intense, soaked in adoration and filth all at the same damn time. His thrusts took you apart while his words put you back together.
“Fuuck,” he gasped sharply as he shifted the angle of his hips slightly before setting a rougher pace. “You love giving me this pussy, don’t you?”
You nodded. “Yes! I l-love the way you fuck me!”
“What was that? I ain’t hear you.” His hand slid up your body, squeezing your breast while the other was still trapped inside your bra.
“I love the way you fuck me!”
“You the boss at work, but when it comes to this tight-ass pussy, I’m the boss, ain’t that right?” He lifted his leg and placed his foot on the desk before yanking you into him, making you take every inch as he fucked you nice and rough.
Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.
You couldn’t even respond. The screams of pleasure and the squelching sounds of your pussy getting wetter and wetter should have been answer enough, but apparently those weren’t good enough for him.
“Answer me, Y/N. Am I the boss of this pussy?”
“Yessss!” you cried out, squeezing your legs around him and digging your nails into his shoulders as he fucked the breath right out of you. “Ty—shitshitshit—I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered a warning, toes curling so hard inside your heels they slid off, clattering to the ground.
“Mmhmm,” he moaned loudly, restraint slipping as he felt your walls tighten around him. “Cum all over this dick, pretty girl.”
Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.
You came so hard that black dots temporarily speckled your vision. Your mouth fell open in a loud scream that swiftly became muffled as you bit into his pec. His dick twitched inside you at the jolt of pleasurable pain, but he didn’t dare stop. As he continued to pound you through your orgasm, the tension coiled tighter and the euphoric hum sparkled under your skin. The wet squelches and hissed curses filled the room along with the squeaks of the desk.
“Oh my fuckin’—shitshitshit— I-I need—” you let out the neediest whimper as you looked up at him, brown eyes shining and jaw slack. “Tyriq, pleaseee! Cum for me.”
“Okay, baby—fuckfuckfuck—I’m gonna cum inside this perfect pussy.”
Your thighs shook wildly as the pleasure became almost too much. Still, you held on for dear life as he chased his own orgasm.
Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.
He let out a groan so loud it seemed to bounce off the office walls as his long legs buckled, and thrusts faltered when he spilled inside of you, cumming hard. Your chest rose and fell fast, thighs jerking every time Tyriq twitched inside you.
The office was completely silent by the time the two of you finally came back down to earth. It was silent except for your soft, crescendoing laughter.
Tyriq stood between your legs while you tried—and failed—to catch your breath, both of you smiling so hard it was almost embarrassing.
“Why are you grinning like that? ”you laughed breathlessly.
“Because,” he shrugged shamelessly, brushing your sweaty curls back from your face, “my girlfriend got that super grip.”
You rolled your eyes even though warmth bloomed all through your chest. “You so damn ridiculous.”
“And you just let me ruin you on your desk.” He glanced around dramatically at the scattered papers and crooked keyboard. “This is nasty workplace behavior from a senior editor.”
That made you burst into another fit of laughter, your forehead dropping against his shoulder while his arms wrapped around your waist automatically.
“Oh my God,” you giggled. “Kyle would actually kill us for this.”
Tyriq laughed too, warm and deep against your skin while he held you close. Somehow, this part felt more intimate than everything that happened before it. The tender way he kept kissing your forehead between giggles like he couldn’t even bother to help himself.
You stayed wrapped around each other for another ninety seconds before Tyriq finally sighed dramatically.
“Aight,” he muttered reluctantly. “We should probably clean up before your office start looking like a crime scene.”
“Mmm.”
Neither of you moved.
Tyriq looked down at you knowingly. “Baby.”
“I know, I know,” you acknowledge, smiling weakly. “I just don’t wanna let you go yet.”
His whole expression softened instantly. “Damn, Y/N,” he sighed. “You say sweet shit like that and expect me to keep it together?”
You snorted softly while he kissed your cheek again.
Eventually, the two of you forced yourselves apart long enough to gather your clothes and tidy up the office.
Tyriq buttoned your blouse back up for you slowly, fingers brushing your breasts every few seconds just because he could.
“You know,” he noted while fixing your collar underneath your curls, “I used to be scared of you.”
You gasped in shock. "No, you were not.”
“Baby, the first day I met you, you corrected my grammar without blinking.”
“It was sloppy.”
“It hurt my feelings and turned me on.”
“You survived though.”
“Barely.”
You giggled again while smoothing down your skirt and stepping into your heels.
Meanwhile, Tyriq gathered the stapler and scattered papers from the floor, but he kept getting distracted by staring at you.
At one point you bent over to grab a folder underneath the desk and immediately heard him grumble, “I know you fuckin’ lyin’.”
You looked back at him and raised an innocent eyebrow. “What?”
Tyriq pointed a long finger accusingly. “You know damn well.”
Your laugh echoed through the empty office again because he was shameless. That man was down horrendous.
Eventually the last folder got stacked, the computers shut down, and the final office lights dimmed around the editorial floor.
Tyriq grabbed both your bags before you could protest.
“You don’t gotta carry everything,” you commented.
“I know.” He slid an arm around your waist casually as you walked together through the dark office to the employee elevator that led to the parking garage. “I want to.”
“So, you just don’t give a damn about the cameras no more, huh?”
“Oh, I never did. I want the whole world to know you mine and I’m yours. Especially Marcus. He had me fucked up today.”
“Aight now,” you rolled your eyes as you stopped at the security pad on the hidden column to set the alarm. “Don’t start, Tyriq. I already shut his ass down.”
“I know,” he smirked. “The way his cocky smile dropped when you told him he couldn’t compare had me enraptured for hours.”
The elevator ride down felt entirely different now. There was no longer any unbearable restraint or pretending. Just soft smiles and lingering touches while Tyriq stood behind you with one arm around your waist, absentmindedly kissing the side of your head every few seconds.
“You tired?” he asked quietly.
“A little bit," you nodded honestly. “And hungry.”
“Good.” His lips brushed your temple. “Imma feed you, then you gon’ sleep real good tonight.”
You looked back at him with a tiny smile. “At your place?”
Tyriq blinked once, as if the answer should’ve been obvious. “Baby,” he scoffed softly, almost offended, “where else would you be?”
Your stomach fluttered instantly. You both had nice homes, but being in his space brought you a level of comfort you didn’t know was possible until recently.
The elevator doors opened into the parking garage a second later, but before you could step out, Tyriq caught your wrist gently.
You turned back toward him and immediately got pulled into a slow, warm kiss. You lost track of how long the two of you stood there, smiling into each other’s mouths as you swayed.
By the time he finally pulled away, both of you looked equally gone.
“You know what?” he whispered against your lips.
“What?”
“You definitely not beating the ‘completely gone for your boyfriend’ allegations now.”
You burst out laughing all over again while he chuckled at you like he planned on spending a very long time making that statement true. He was definitely in the same boat. Probably even more gone than you were.
