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Amanda hadn't even made it back to her desk when her phone buzzed in her hand.
Ericka:
My office. Lock the door behind you.
Just that.
No greeting. No emoji. No punctuation.
But Amanda didn't need any.
She turned on her heel and walked, heels sharp against the floor, black pencil skirt hugging her just enough to draw attention — but not enough to make it obvious she'd worn it for a reason.
Ericka's office door closed behind her with a quiet click. The lights were dimmed, golden sunlight spilling in from the floor-to-ceiling windows. Amanda didn't see Ericka at first.
Until she did.
Standing near the far side of the room, Ericka had her back to her, blazer off, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, the smooth lines of her blouse hugging her frame in all the right places. She was reviewing something on the edge of the desk—casual, but too still. Controlled.
Amanda reached back and locked the door. The sound echoed just enough to make Ericka pause.
She turned slowly.
And Amanda nearly forgot how to breathe.
Ericka's gaze found her instantly—dark, unreadable, but not cold. The kind of look that burned quietly beneath the surface. The kind that said you know what this is before a single word had passed between them.
Amanda crossed the room, holding a slim folder in one hand. "Summary," she said, offering it.
Ericka took it without looking, setting it on the desk behind her, fingers brushing the edge like it didn't matter. But her eyes didn't move from Amanda's.
"Turn around," Ericka said softly.
Amanda blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
"Turn around," she repeated, stepping closer, voice like silk stretched over a whisper. "Please."
Amanda did, slowly, heart thudding a little louder in her chest. Her back was now to Ericka. She didn't know what to expect—but she didn't move.
Then—
The soft shuffle of heels.
Ericka's presence pressed in behind her, not touching, but close enough that Amanda could feel her heat through her blouse.
"I dropped my pen earlier," Ericka murmured, and Amanda could practically hear the smirk behind the words. "Don't move."
Ericka took a step to Amanda's side, then crouched low in front of her—reaching for something beneath the desk.
Except... she didn't rush.
She bent slowly. One hand grazed Amanda's ankle—"accidentally"—before dragging upward, not touching, but close enough to make her knees feel weak.
Amanda tried to stay still.
She failed.
When Ericka finally stood, she didn't turn away. She rose up slowly, eye to eye with Amanda again—never breaking contact. Not once.
Amanda felt her entire body react to it. The unspoken tension. The tease. The control.
Ericka reached out then, gently brushing her fingers along the hem of Amanda's skirt.
"This skirt," she murmured, her voice rough. "You knew what you were doing when you wore it."
Amanda swallowed hard. "Is that a problem?"
"It's going to be," Ericka said, then surged forward—pressing Amanda's back gently but firmly against the glass wall, lips crashing into hers in a kiss that was all fire and frustration and need.
Amanda gasped, arms winding instinctively around Ericka's shoulders. The kiss deepened immediately, Ericka taking control with a slow drag of her mouth, one hand resting just above Amanda's hip, the other braced against the glass beside her head.
Amanda kissed her back just as fiercely, heart pounding, lips parting under the pressure, letting Ericka in.
It was hot. Messy. And more intimate than either of them intended it to be in the middle of the workday.
When Ericka finally pulled back, she kept her hand right where it was—fingers brushing bare skin just above the waistband of Amanda's skirt. Her breath was warm against Amanda's cheek.
"You wreck me," she whispered. "You walk around like you don't know what you're doing. But I see it. Every time."
Amanda's lips curved into a shaky smile. "What exactly do you see?"
Ericka leaned in again, kissed her jaw. Her neck. "Confidence. Power. That little smirk you wear when you're pretending not to be the smartest person in the room."
Amanda's voice was a whisper now. "And what does that make you?"
Ericka's hand slid back to her waist, anchoring them. "Dangerously obsessed."
Amanda laughed softly, brushing her fingers through Ericka's hair. "You're terrible at hiding it."
"I'm not trying anymore."
They stayed there for a moment—bodies still pressed close, breath still uneven. Then Amanda gently tugged Ericka's collar and leaned in to kiss her once more—this time slower, softer. A promise.
"I should get back to work," Amanda whispered.
Ericka nodded but didn't move right away. "I hate that you're right."
Amanda smoothed her skirt and adjusted her blouse, trying to recover any semblance of composure. "You'll text me later."
"You know I will."
Amanda turned back before unlocking the door. "Next time I wear this skirt... you better be ready."
Ericka's eyes followed her to the door like a dare. "Try me."
And Amanda left the room—cheeks flushed, lips tingling, and already wondering how the hell she was going to focus on work now.
Amanda barely made it through the rest of her afternoon.
Every email blurred.
Every voice in meetings sounded muffled, like she was underwater.
All she could feel was the echo of Ericka's kiss — the press of her hand against the glass, the heat of her breath right before she whispered, you wreck me.
It wasn't just about the way Ericka touched her. It was the way she looked at her.
Like she knew her. Completely.
Like hiding it was no longer on the table.
At 5:17 PM, Amanda powered down her screen, grabbed her bag, and slipped out of the office without fanfare. She told herself she was just going home to reset. Recharge. Maybe open a bottle of wine and turn her brain off for the night.
Amanda stepped out of the elevator into the familiar quiet of her apartment building, the hum of fluorescent hallway lights buzzing just slightly too loud in the background.
It was the first time she'd been back in a few days—not long, really, but it felt longer. Time bent differently around Ericka.
She unlocked her door and stepped inside.
The air inside was still. A little stale. And somehow lonelier than she remembered.
Her heels clicked across the hardwood as she dropped her bag on the kitchen counter and pulled her hair out of its twist. She padded over to the windows and opened them, letting the evening air drift in, cooler than expected for late spring.
The silence didn't bother her—not tonight.
Amanda kicked off her shoes and curled up on the couch with her laptop, a glass of water, and the city lights blinking quietly outside her window. Her apartment was cute. Comfortable. But suddenly... it felt small. Dim. Like it wasn't quite hers anymore.
She exhaled slowly, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. Her body ached from the long day. Her lips still tingled from Ericka's kiss.
But her mind?
It was somewhere else entirely.
She clicked open a browser and typed it out without overthinking:
"Luxury apartments near Midtown with skyline view"
The results loaded instantly. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Exposed brick. Building gyms. Rooftop lounges. Some looked wildly out of reach, others doable with a little budgeting and letting go of that third streaming service she never used anyway.
It wasn't just about the view. Or the bigger space.
It was about starting over.
Not from scratch—just... from where she was now. A version of Amanda who wasn't tiptoeing around borrowed space, or crashing on a couch while pretending she wasn't falling harder with every sunrise over Ericka's city-facing windows.
She wanted a space that matched the life she was stepping into.
Confident. Grounded. Hers.
She saved a few listings.
One had a little balcony that faced west, perfect for Sunday morning coffee and golden hour. Another had sleek built-in shelves where she could imagine her records, her sketchbooks, maybe even a little framed photo of them—if they ever got brave enough to be that out loud.
A soft buzz interrupted her search.
Ericka:
Did you make it home okay?
Amanda smiled at the screen.
Amanda:
Just walked in.
Apartment's a mess, I missed my own bed, and yes, I miss you already.
There was a pause.
Then:
Ericka:
Come back.
Or let me come to you.
Amanda bit her lip, heart soft.
Amanda:
Not tonight.
I need a night with my own ceiling. But soon. Promise.
Ericka:
I'll try not to be dramatic about it.
But I'm already losing.
Amanda laughed and dropped her phone on the couch cushion beside her, leaning her head back and closing her eyes.
Tonight, she was alone.
But she wasn't lonely.
Not really.
She had ideas. Plans. A thousand tiny hopes she wasn't afraid to want anymore.
And maybe, soon, a new place with a view.