I should have known he’d be trouble from the first day he walked into the office.
We’d just onboarded a new batch of interns, and like every year, they all looked like babies to me, fresh-faced and eager. But Korede? He wasn’t like the others. There was something about him. His presence. His calm confidence. The way he held eye contact, as if he wasn’t afraid to look at you and be looked at.
I was his direct supervisor. Three years older than him, not that it mattered. But in the office, that small age gap felt like a wide line I wasn’t meant to cross.
Still, he kept pushing the line.
He’d compliment my perfume. Offer to help with late tasks. Stand just a little too close when we reviewed work. I pretended not to notice until I couldn’t.
It was a Friday. The office was quiet. Most people had gone home early. I stayed behind to finish a report. Then, as usual, he popped his head into my office with that mischievous smile.
“You’re always the last to leave,” he said.
“Someone has to keep this place running,” I replied, not even looking up.
He stepped in fully, shutting the door behind him. “Want some help?”
I should have said no. I really should have. But I didn’t.
He sat beside me, pretending to go over the report. I could smell his cologne, soft and warm, the kind that lingers on skin and clothes. I turned to say something about a typo, but he was already looking at me.
“I like how you smell,” he said suddenly.
I blinked. “Korede…”
“I think about you,” he added, his voice lower now. “All the time.”
It felt like something in me cracked. The part of me that had been pretending I hadn’t noticed the way his shirts fit, or how his lips moved when he talked. I stared at him for a second too long, and he leaned in, slowly, giving me time to stop him.
I didn’t.
The first kiss was gentle, as if he were asking for permission. The second was hungry. I pulled him in, not caring that this was my office, not caring that he was younger, not caring about anything else except how good it felt to have his hands on my body.
I sat, breath shaky, heart racing. He followed, climbing over me, kissing down my neck, his hand sliding under my shirt like he already knew my body. I moaned softly as he found the curve of my breast.
He paused. “Tell me to stop if this is too much.”
I looked up at him. “Don’t stop.”
He pulled my skirt up, fingers quick and sure. I unbuckled his belt, hands trembling slightly. When he entered me, it was sharp, intoxicating. I gasped, grabbing onto him.
He moved with this rhythm that made my body forget where we were. I bit my lip to hold in the sounds. His breath was hot against my skin, his hands gripping my thighs like he didn’t want to let go.
It was fast but intense, raw, and thrilling. A stolen moment. The kind you don’t plan, but never forget.
When it ended, we were both quiet. We sat there, breathing heavy, clothes wrinkled, the room smelling like perfume, sweat, and a secret we’d just created.
He looked up at me and said, “I’ve wanted this for so long.”
I laughed softly. “You’re too young to be saying things like that.”
“But you didn’t stop me,” he replied.
I didn’t.
And maybe I wouldn’t stop him next time either.The post Cassy’s Chronicles: After Hours first appeared on Time.com.ng & Other Google Search Syndicated Websites.