Chapter 2

HUNTER:

Hunter tugged a clean shirt over his head and blinked at his reflection. The cotton clung tighter than usual across his chest. Not uncomfortably—just snug in a way that made him pause.

His shoulders looked broader. Jaw a little more cut. Eyes brighter, maybe? He smiled. Not bad.

He reached for his belt and paused.

There was a weight to his cock that felt ... new. Thicker. Slightly longer. Not exaggerated, but enough to notice. He adjusted it in his briefs with one hand and chuckled under his breath.

“Damn. Must’ve been the pasta.”

The thought flickered and vanished. He moved on.

He brewed coffee. Chloe’s room was empty, already made. She must’ve left early.

The place felt unusually still.

He sipped his coffee, checked his phone, and stepped out into the world without giving the mirror a second glance.

GINA:

The Keurig hissed.

Gina worked in marketing. Italian features, bold eyes, and the kind of smirk that made people second-guess whether she’d insulted them or flirted. She was sharp, quick-witted, rarely seen without heels—and Chloe had been low-key obsessed with her for months.

They weren’t close. They weren’t even really friends. Just coworkers who crossed paths too often in meetings and break rooms. But there had always been a flicker. A long glance. A too-loud laugh. The ghost of something unspoken between them.

Gina stared down into her paper cup as the hot stream of dark roast spilled and steamed.

Her nipples ached, stiff against the lining of her bra. She hadn’t noticed until now. Her blouse clung in a way that felt obscene. And her lips—were they fuller? They tingled like she’d just kissed someone too hard.

It didn’t make sense. Not until— She hadn’t slept well.

Scratch that. She had. She just hadn’t recovered.

Her thighs still ached. Her lips felt ... full. Everything inside her felt wound tight, like her whole body had been stretched by something slow and deep and not entirely real.

The dream was already fading, but Chloe’s face remained.

And not just Chloe—there’d been a man, too. A faceless, broad-shouldered presence. Gina had been on her knees, eager, open. Chloe had made her serve him. Had told her exactly how to please him, where to touch, when to open her mouth.

It had been so vivid—so specific. And so unlike her. Gina never dreamed of men. Never submitted, even in fantasy.

But in the dream, she had. Not for the man. For Chloe.

Not smiling. Not cruel. Just calm. In control. Watching.

Gina shifted her stance, crossed her legs, uncrossed them. The scent of the coffee grounded her, but only barely. She’d already edged herself three times that morning before dragging herself out of bed—and she hadn’t even come.

“Fuck,” she muttered softly, under her breath.

And then—

“Rough night?”

Chloe.

Gina turned.

There she was. In a soft blouse, tucked in just enough to show off the line of her waist. Her nipples were visibly hard. Her lips looked just as full as Gina’s felt.

The symmetry jolted her.

Chloe looked like her dream made her real. Hair pulled back. Lip gloss catching the overhead light.

She looked rested. Glowing. Like she’d been fucked thoroughly by someone who adored her.

Gina’s heart gave a dull thud.

“Something like that,” she said. Her voice came out hoarse. She cleared her throat.

Chloe smiled. Not wide. Just enough to register.

Their eyes held for a second longer than necessary.

And something in Gina’s chest clenched.

She hadn’t told anyone about the dream. She wasn’t going to.

But now, standing this close to Chloe, watching her casually pop a coffee pod into the machine, Gina felt heat rising up her thighs again.

The dream hadn’t ended. Not really.

And maybe—maybe—Chloe remembered it too.

CHLOE:

Chloe sat at her desk, screen open, email drafted, spreadsheet minimized, and none of it mattered.

Not really.

She was working. She was answering things. She was saying yes and clicking “reply all” and pretending to listen in the morning stand-up.

But underneath it, something hot and constant hummed.

She needed to fuck Hunter.

The thought wasn’t a surprise anymore. It was like hunger or thirst—an ever-present signal running just beneath everything else. Only this was worse. This had teeth.

Every idle moment became a rehearsal. Would she pull him to the couch the second she walked in? Would she let him cook, let the domesticity lull him, then crawl under the table while he talked about his day?

Her panties were already damp. Had been since the elevator.

It wasn’t just lust. It was inevitability. The same way you know the moment your headache will turn into a migraine. She was too tuned. Too charged. She didn’t want release. She wanted confirmation.

She wanted to be wrecked.

By him.

By what she’d made of him.

She crossed her legs under her desk and exhaled slowly.

She thought back to dinner the night before—Hunter’s eyes had drifted to her cleavage more than once. He’d even asked if she was going out, nodding at her makeup. That moment stuck with her. A clue. A spark.

He liked it. Or at least noticed it.

She needed to push that spark into a blaze.

She glanced down at herself—blouse too modest, makeup already faded. Not enough. Not tonight.

Over lunch, she ducked into a boutique two blocks from the office. She’d walked by it a hundred times but never gone in. Today, she did.

She found a top—black, low-cut, ribbed. The kind that clung. That made her look like the kind of girl who didn’t need to ask.

At her desk afterward, she opened a YouTube video titled “5-Minute Sultry Eyeshadow You Can Do at Your Desk.”

She watched it twice.

She wanted to look wreckable.

HUNTER:

I got home a little after six. Chloe was already there, barefoot in joggers and an oversized tee, slicing tomatoes at the counter. She looked normal. Like always. No makeup, hair tied back.

We made sandwiches. Talked about our days. Nothing dramatic.

I told her I’d been weirdly horny lately. She raised an eyebrow and said, “It’s the heat. Or your testosterone’s finally kicking in.” I laughed. But even while I spoke, I kept noticing things: her bare legs, the curve of her hip under that loose shirt. The way she moved like she was humming to music only she could hear.

After we ate, she disappeared to her room “to change into something more comfortable.” I flopped on the couch and half-watched some show I didn’t care about.

When she came back out, I did a double take.

The joggers were gone. In their place: tiny athletic shorts that clung like second skin. The oversized tee had been swapped for a cropped tank top—black, low-cut, doing exactly nothing to hide the fact she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her hair was down. Makeup, subtle but deliberate. Lips glossy. Eyes dark. Glowing.

She didn’t acknowledge the transformation. Just padded in with a glass of water and sat beside me, folding one leg under the other.

We sat like that for a while. Talking, sort of. Watching nothing.

After a stretch of silence, she turned to me and smirked.

“You’ve been looking at me all night.”

I blinked. “Yeah. Kind of hard not to.”

She tilted her head. “You mean the outfit?”

“I mean ... yeah. The makeup. The shirt. The lack of bra.”

She widened her eyes mockingly. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not wearing a bra.”

She gasped in mock offense, hand over her chest. “Are you staring at my nipples, Hunter?”

I tried not to grin. “Just saying it’s not subtle.”

She giggled—a sharp little thing, low and knowing.

Then she laughed harder at the look on my face. Like my discomfort amused her.

“Stop it,” I muttered, shifting slightly. “I told you I’ve been horny all day, and this isn’t helping, Chloe.”

She leaned in anyway. Brazen now. Her chest pressed tighter to my arm, her lips close enough that I could feel the heat of her breath.

“Poor baby,” she whispered, rubbing her breasts deliberately against me. “Is this making it worse?”

Then she straddled me. One fluid motion—knees to either side of my hips, weight settling on my thighs.

I froze.

She looked down at me, eyes dancing. “Come on, Hunter. Kiss me.”

Her leg brushed my hardening cock. My hips twitched in response.

She smiled.

“Unless you’re scared I’ll like it too much.”

That did it.

I grabbed her waist.

And kissed her like it had been building all week.

CHLOE:

YESSSSSSS!

He kissed her back—hungry, breathless—and it lit her up like a fuse.

She had him.

The moment his hands gripped her waist, her mission changed. It wasn’t just about kissing. It was about fucking. About getting his cock inside her before he even thought to say “slow down.”

She broke the kiss, pulled his shirt over his head, shoved her shorts down her thighs. Her own tank top hit the floor. Hunter blinked, dazed, as if the room had tilted.