Two months later the secret still held, but the edges had started to fray.

We were careful. I never arrived at his apartment before nine. He never walked me to a car that could be traced back to the company. At the office we kept every interaction professional enough to survive scrutiny. I delivered reports. He approved them. We sat through meetings with the same controlled distance we had practiced since the beginning.

Only I knew what his hands felt like when the doors were locked.

Only he knew the exact sound I made when he told me to look at him while he moved inside me.

It should have...