Ethan never meant to notice her that way.
Not Sophie — his colleague, the one who used to sit two desks away and talk about her kids, her garden, her dog. But lately… something about her had changed.
She was forty-five now, recently divorced, and there was this new, quiet confidence about her — dangerous in a way Ethan couldn’t name.
It started one late Friday evening in the office.
Most of the team had already left. The soft hum of the air conditioner filled the silence, and the sunset spilled gold across the glass walls. Sophie walked past his desk, barefoot now, her heels dangling from her fingers, blouse untucked, a hint of skin visible where the fabric had loosened.
That small sliver of pale skin above the waistband of her skirt caught Ethan’s eye before he could stop himself.
And Sophie noticed.
She paused, leaning against his desk casually. “Still working?”
He nodded, forcing his gaze back to his laptop. “Trying to finish this report.”
“You always work too hard,” she murmured, her voice low, soft. “That’s why you’re still here when everyone else is gone.”
Her hand rested on the edge of his desk — close, almost too close — the delicate lines of her wrist brushing against his pen. It wasn’t intentional. Or maybe it was.
Slow motion.
Sophie bent slightly to glance at his screen, her perfume drifting — warm, subtle, intimate. The loose strands of her hair slipped forward, brushing her jawline. Ethan’s breath hitched.
“God,” she whispered softly, teasing, “you’re so focused when you work.”
He swallowed, forcing out a dry laugh. “Someone has to finish this, right?”
Her lips curved, slow and deliberate, as though she could hear his heartbeat.
Sophie shifted her weight, leaning one hip against the desk, blouse falling open just slightly at the collar. Not much. Just enough for his imagination to fill in the blanks.
And then he saw it — the faint outline beneath the soft silk, the gentle slope of her belly as she leaned closer.
It wasn’t something she flaunted. But it was there, and it said everything she didn’t.
“You know,” she said quietly, twirling her heels in her hand, “people always think the older you get, the less you feel. But that’s not true.”
Ethan looked up, finally meeting her eyes. “No?”
Her gaze held his, steady and deliberate. “Sometimes… it’s the opposite. Sometimes, your body gets louder even when your words don’t.”
The silence stretched between them.
Her blouse brushed against his arm as she leaned slightly closer, pretending to point at a number on his screen. Her nails grazed his skin — just barely — and that featherlight touch sent a shock straight through him.
She didn’t apologize.
Ethan’s throat went dry. “Sophie…”
“Mhm?”
“You’re… close.”
Her lips curved again, slow, knowing. “Am I?”
She didn’t move away.
Slow motion again.
He felt the heat radiating from her, the soft press of her hip against the desk, the faint rise and fall of her belly as she breathed deeper. Every little movement was deliberate without being obvious:
- the slight arch of her back
- the way her blouse clung just enough when she leaned forward
- the flicker of her tongue when she wet her lips, quick but impossible to miss
It was like her body was speaking louder than her words ever could.
Finally, Sophie straightened, her eyes still on his.
“You work too hard,” she whispered, slipping her heels back on slowly, deliberately. “One day, you’ll burn out.”
Her tone was casual, but her gaze wasn’t.
She gathered her bag, walked toward the elevator, and paused at the door just long enough to glance back at him.
“Don’t stay too late,” she said softly. “Some fires aren’t meant to burn out.”
Then she was gone.
Ethan sat there long after, laptop open but forgotten, his chest tight with a heat he couldn’t name.
Sophie hadn’t said much. She hadn’t done much.
But her body had said everything.
And now, he couldn’t unhear it.