MICHAEL

Dealing with Aliana ought to have been straightforward and simple.

I had reminded myself countless times that evening: take her home, bid her goodnight, then leave.

I intended to do so.

I truly had.

Aliana is in my living room, her wet hair cascading down her shoulders, dressed in one of my shirts since her dress had become drenched-

It changed every guideline I had ever followed.

How she couldn't feel my tremors I had no idea but I knew I was in trouble as I watched her fold in her legs and sit comfortably while I struggled to breathe because my hard on couldn't get more hard. I tried so hard to maintain a semblance of being normal by acting as if I wasn't affected but I failed woefully.

We maintain few seconds of peaceful silence before she looked straight at me and asked me a dangerous question. "What keeps you gruonded Hamilton? The world talks about you like an untouchable soldier, you overthink a lot, so how do you maintain normalcy?".

I had no idea what the response to that question is because quite frankly until I met her, I've never questioned anything about my life but after meeting her even the foundations of my belief are totally unfounded.

In the pregnant silence of my confusion, with rain petals still making it's wavy sound on the roof, I clear my throat and try to sound normal. "It's been a very long day Aliana, you should go get some sleep now."

She smirks then scoffs "Will you go to bed if I go now?, will you stop overthinking even for a second?"

"I rarely ever get enough sleep anyway."

"Is it because of me?" she inquired, playfully-but her voice shook.

I gulped. "Partly also due to all the things I'm trying to suppress."

She was near enough now that I could observe the small droplets dropping to her lashes. My heart raced like a drum I couldn't silence.

"I've never seen you so frazzled and unsure," she murmured. "You're always very composed and capable."

"That's the issue, isn't it?"Perception is not all there is." I whispered, hardly hearable.

Her hand lightly touched mine. It was a short, unintentional shift, yet it shattered something within me-something deeply coiled, old and exhausted of always being in control.

I grabbed her fingers just before she could retract them. "You have no idea what you've been doing to me Aliana, and honestly, I'm trying to give you space because if I were to touch you, there would be no turning back."

She looked directly at me, her eyes challenging me with something I hesitated to identify. "Perhaps you could show it to me."

It felt as if gravity had been awaiting approval.

As soon as I kissed her, all my fears-the separation, the constraints, the tag of "asexuality," the idea that I'd never experienced, what other guys did-it disintegrated in one fleeting moment.

I have no idea who made the first move afterwards, or whether the storm outside had lessened, or if time itself had just paused out of compassion but I was totally lost.

I was aware only of her hands on me, gentle yet confident, while mine shook as they outlined her face. Each touch seemed like a revelation. Each breath, a promise of more to come.

"I'm unsure how to handle this; I've had some partners after that, but never anything deep," I murmured against her temple.

She gave a slight smile. "Neither do I, but you probably have more experience at this than I do." "Seven years of being married without any form of intimacy, you must be superior to me."

That truth broke me more than anything else.

We were not specialists, were not flawless. We were two shattered individuals discovering comfort in the most unlikely places.

I had a thousand questions for her-whether she was sure, if she grasped the implications-but her eyes responded before I could say anything. There was no uncertainty, only confidence.

I kissed her deeply and passionately, lifted her up, and carried her to my bedroom; within moments, we were both breathless and undressed. Her phone began to ring at one point, but I was too lost to let her return to her reality or her husband, so I bit her shoulder to keep her with me in this moment. My fingers traveled to her clit as she moaned in desire before I slid my dick into her. She was tight-definitely too tight, confirming she had never been intimate with her husband. This knowledge thrilled me because I would be her first and last. She tensed, and I reassured her, "It'll pass, sweetheart; you'll feel good soon." I dry her tears, saying, "It hurts so bad, Mike..."

I peck her forehead and say, "Calm down, things will get better soon."

I attempted to restrain myself, yet her tightness nearly overwhelmed me; however, at some point, her tears turned into moans, and I lost my grip on control as I repeatedly thrust into her. "Mike...oh...god, it feels odd...please..."

She experiences her first orgasm as I release fully within her, but the night is merely starting.

The universe gave way to the rhythm of her inhalations, the ebb, and the flow of them alongside my own.

It wasn't desire-it was something more genuine, profound, frighteningly authentic.

For the first time ever, I experienced a sense of vitality within my own body.

And I realized, without question, I was back. I brought her to the bathroom and bathed her, and upon our return, my housekeeper had changed the sheets.

Eventually, after the storm had calmed down following my relentless grasp on her after taking her at least three times, and she rested half-asleep next to me, I found it impossible to look away from her.

Her expression was serene, illuminated by moonlight, and I understood something both lovely and harsh: there was no return from this.

I swept a lock of hair away from her face. "You've ruined me," I murmured.

Her eyes slowly opened, a relaxed smile appearing. "You ruined me."

I chuckled gently, the noise unusual and fresh in the silent room.

She snuggled up tighter, exhaling softly. "Are you thinking once more?"

"Always."

"Stop." "Simply live in this moment."

So I went ahead and did it.

For a moment in my life, I allowed the world to fade away, and I remained.

Yet long after she fell asleep, I remained awake, staring at the ceiling, experiencing all that I had spent years telling myself I couldn't feel.

Desire

Love

Primarily fear-since I had discovered what it felt like to desire, to care, I wasn't sure if I'd ever survive losing it.

I reached for her hand beneath the sheets, intertwining our fingers.

The rain had stopped outside but inside me, a storm had just begun.

ALIANA

My body ached terribly, I tried to stretch my body to get a bit of relief but I felt tied to something so a frown comes on my face.

I woke up enveloped in a comfort that wasn't my own.

Michael's arm was around my shoulders. His breathing was slow and deep - as if he truly slept, possibly for the first time in a long while.

For a moment, I simply... watched him.

The world was silent and motionless, and I experienced an unusual calm I hesitated to label.

However, peace never lasted for me.

Reality hit hard and suddenly.

The garments spread across the ground.

The reality that I had just overstepped boundaries with my boss while in a marriage.

Despite his gentle nature, Michael Hamilton remained the most disciplined person I was acquainted with - and I was unaware of the implications this would hold for the morning.

Thus, I chose the cowardly option.

I quietly got out of bed.

My dress was still wet, draped close to the heater. I took one of his white shirts from the drawer, folded a piece of his stationery, and wrote:

> I appreciate all that you've done.

Thanks for the tea and keeping me warm last night.

No need to worry - I won't complicate matters.

I placed the note beside his bed.

He remained motionless.

I lingered at the door for a moment too long.

After that, I turned and left.

The following month resembled a painful thread on a thin electrical wire of evasion.

I mastered the art of scheduling. I showed up sooner than normal, stayed later, and conveniently "overlooked" meetings with Michael in attendance.

He never pointed me out.

Never sought clarifications.

He was courteous, aloof - the type of politeness that stung more than rage.

Perhaps that was justified. Perhaps that single night held meaning solely for me.

I still noticed him glancing occasionally at times. For just a moment - a brief glimmer of something lurking behind those serene grey eyes before he would avert his gaze, as if he were reprimanding himself for looking at me at all.

It was a Thursday when fate chose to challenge me.

I was at the staff café, attempting to remember how coffee operated, when a recognizable voice broke my train of thought.

"Aliana."

I rotated. Aaron Blake - a youthful lawyer at the firm, endearing in his refined, innocuous manner.

"Hi," I said, grinning amicably.

"Hello to you too."You seem as if you've been subsisting on spreadsheets."

"That's due to the fact that I have," I chuckled gently. "Work-related risk."

He smiled broadly. "Perhaps I can save you from them this weekend?"

I closed my eyes momentarily. "Save me?"

"A date," he specified, maintaining his smile. "Evening meal." Somewhere that doesn't require legal paperwork or tax records.

I paused. He was generous. Appealing. The type of man who wouldn't make my life more complicated.

Still, the idea of agreeing made my stomach churn for reasons I didn't wish to explore.

Nevertheless, reason prevailed. "Of course," I replied at last. "Why shouldn't we?"

"Perfect." His grin grew larger. "Is eight on Saturday good?"

"Eight works just fine for me."

I watched him leave, feeling oddly empty.

Then I glanced upward - and stopped.

On the other side of the hall, behind the glass partition, Michael stood by the conference room, his eyes locked directly on me.

His expression can not be read.

Our gazes locked for an instant before he turned and left.

Exactly like that.

For some reason, it pained me more than I expected.

The air in the office felt denser by the following day. Or perhaps it was I.

Everyone continued with their tasks as normal - gatherings, phone calls, the rhythmic buzz of efficiency - yet I sensed his presence.

Whenever I walked by his office, the quietness that hung in the air felt charged like static electricity.

During lunch, I listened in and heard someone mention, "Mr. "Hamilton is in one of his moods again."

Nobody had the courage to question the reason.

I didn't have to.

I possessed a hypothesis.

And I despised that it left me feeling both remorseful and optimistic.

That night, I was leaving late - the hallways largely vacant, the noise of the elevator resonating down the marble corridor.

I pushed the button and paused.

As the doors opened, I entered, completely lost in thought.

Then the doors shut - and I understood I wasn't by myself.

He was present.

Michael.

Positioned quietly in the corner of the elevator, resembling a form of celestial retribution.

"Mr. Hamilton," I began, my tone instinctively formal. "I was unaware-"

He pushed the button to halt the elevator.

The gentle chime was overwhelming in the silence that ensued.

"Why are you avoiding me after leaving me with such a ridiculous note?" he inquired softly.

I gulped down nervously. "I'm not-"

"Aliana." His voice became quieter, more assertive. "You left that morning in silence." You've been avoiding me for weeks. "I've heard that you've decided to date Blake."

I gazed at him, shocked. "Are you looking into my current relationship?"

He breathed out forcefully. "Yes, I am." He mentioned it to me personally - seemingly pleased with his accomplishment."

I stifled a chuckle. "Who cares if I am?" I am not in a relationship. "I have the freedom to date anyone I choose."

"Yes," he replied, moving nearer, "you are able to."

"However?"

He paused, jaw clenched. "It's hard to act like that doesn't trouble me because the only person you are allowed to date in this lifetime now is me."

A pressure formed in my chest. "You showed that the night held no meaning."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't need to," I murmured. "You behaved that way."

His demeanor relaxed a bit. "I aimed to protect you, I was giving you space because I thought it's what you wanted but I can see now that I was wrong."

"How did you come up with that conclusion?" From your emotions?

He glanced at me, troubled. "You deserve a person who is straightforward." Someone who won't startle you or ruin what you have.

"And what if I prefer complexity?"

The words escaped my lips before I could prevent them.

The atmosphere shifted as he stared at me in silence for some seconds.

He moved forward one more step, near enough for me to notice the subtle fatigue beneath his eyes. "Do you truly understand what you're saying?"

"Absolutely." My voice trembled, yet I maintained his stare. "I'm telling you that you can't determine what's best for me."

He looked at me, his breath irregular. "You believe I haven't made attempts to keep my distance?" That I haven't attempted to erase the memory of what it was like since that night-" He paused, ran his fingers through his hair, sighed. "All I want in this life is just you Aliana."

The admission shattered something within me.

I reached for the control panel, planning to restart the elevator to flee this unbearable moment - but he gripped my wrist. Softly.

"Stop," he said softly.

"Mike..."

He released a quiet, humorless chuckle. "You believe I'm oblivious to it?" How do others see your appearance? As you stroll through this structure, half the men become unsteady.

I shuttered my eyes. "Are you feeling jealous?"

He locked eyes with me. "Jealousy doesn't even start to describe it."

I attempted to regulate my breathing. "Go ahead and say it."

He scowled. "Excuse me?"

"That you want me again."

He became rigid.

The quiet lingered, brittle as crystal.

"I am unable to," he eventually replied. "Wanting you involves risking it all." You might not even want me the way I do you, what we possess-

"What we possess is silence," I interjected. "Also, I'm tired of it."

His hand gradually fell away. "You are mad at me."

"I'm hurt," I revised. "Since your actions led me to think that night was nothing." That it meant nothing. Then you vanished behind your walls and left me to tidy up my own messed up feelings alone.

He shut his eyes momentarily, the muscles in his jaw twitching. "It was never my intention to hurt you Aliana, I just misread the situation."

"Then why are we here acting as if it didn't happen?"

He remained silent.

Instead, he withdrew and hit the elevator button once more. The doors parted, and he motioned to the exit.

"You ought to leave," he said softly.

I looked at him, feeling something intense and piercing in my chest. "You keep doing this." You keep people near enough to make them feel needed, then distance yourself when things become serious.

He didn't refute it.

He simply stated, "I'm not skilled at depending on others."

"Then understand but then you need to stay away and let me move on with someone else." I murmured.

He blinked - as if the word had pierced more than I intended it to.

I exited the elevator, heart pounding.

As the doors started to shut, he uttered my name - gentle, unrefined.

"Aliana."

I turned.

He gazed at me with that subdued, anguished look I had come to dread - the one that indicated he wished to end his solitude but was uncertain how.

"Don't go for the date" he declared at last. "Please."

"Why is that?"

"Because if he lays a hand on you," he murmured, voice just above a whisper, "I can't trust myself not to act in a way I would regret. And I promise to do better. The only person you're dating is me."

Then the doors shut.

That evening, I stayed awake going over it repeatedly.

Each term. Each glance. Each quiet moment.

And I understood something both hurtful and lovely simultaneously.

He was not cold. He was not disconnected.

He was simply afraid, he is after all human like the rest of us.