Three, maybe four months in, everything had its rhythm. Work, relationship, routine. It was all… smooth. Familiar.
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The branch opened at 8:30. I’d get there by 8. Make the coffee. Sit down in my little corner office and check the emails no one wanted to deal with. Abby usually came in right after—skirt hugging her ass, top just tight enough to pull across her chest. She always gave me that sweet, sleepy smile as she poured vanilla creamer into her cup.
Matt showed up last, like always. Hair messy, tie loosened, grinning like he’d had the best morning of his life. Most days, he probably had.
We all got along. The three of us.
Me and Matt would talk shit by the printer.
“You catch the game last night?” he’d ask, tapping a report against the table.
“Barely,” I’d say. “Abby wouldn’t shut up during the second half.”
He’d laugh. “Man, I don’t know how you do it. She talks a lot, huh?”
“Nonstop,” I’d say, and we’d both smirk like we were in on the same joke.
Except we weren’t in on the same joke. I was the joke.
They kept fucking. Regularly. Strategically. Like it was part of their shift schedule.
Some mornings, before I even finished logging in, they were already at it. I’d hear the vault click shut, and a few minutes later, she’d come out with her cheeks flushed, lips shiny, walking a little slower than usual. He’d stroll out behind her, adjusting his belt.
Once I caught her kneeling in front of him in the back hallway. I turned the corner and saw her head bobbing, his hand gripping the back of it like he owned her. She was taking him deep, slow, deliberate. Her eyes were half-lidded, spit leaking down her chin. He didn’t stop. He just looked up at me, met my eyes, and smirked.
She pulled off him with a gasp. Looked over her shoulder.
“Oh—hey babe,” she said casually, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “We were just—”
“Printer jam,” Matt said, zipping up. “She was helping.”
I didn’t say a word. Just walked past them and grabbed a folder I didn’t even need.
At lunch, we sat in the breakroom like nothing happened.
Matt unwrapped his sandwich. “You ever try that shawarma place on King?”
“Not yet.”
“Shame. Abby’s obsessed.”
She smiled with her mouth full. “It’s just the garlic sauce. It’s addictive.”
I watched her talk, watched her chew, and wondered if she could still taste him in her throat.
They were bold about it. Sometimes I’d watch Matt walk up behind her while she was filing receipts, grab her hips, and grind against her like no one was around. She’d giggle, push him off lightly, but never hard enough to mean it.
One afternoon, I came out of a call and saw them through the glass door of the storage room. Her skirt was hiked up around her waist, panties pulled to the side. He had her bent over a crate, pounding her from behind. Her moans were low, desperate, and his hand was tangled in her hair, pulling her back against him.
I stood there, frozen, watching her back arch as he slammed into her. Watching her bite her lip to keep quiet. Watching her clench around him and shudder as she came.
He grunted, pulled out, and came all over her ass, wiping it quickly with a paper towel.
When she stood up, she adjusted her blouse, wiped her inner thigh, and smoothed her hair.
They both saw me standing there.
Matt just grinned and said, “Didn’t think you’d be off that call so fast.”
Abby winked. “We were just taking inventory.”
That night, she came to my place.
She rode me slowly, kissed me deep, said, “I missed you today.”
I could still smell his cologne on her skin.
The next morning at work, Matt handed me a coffee.
“Extra cream, just how Abby likes it,” he joked.
I took it. “Thanks, man.”
“Of course. Gotta keep the boss happy,” he said, locking eyes with me for a little too long.
Later that day, he dropped a note on my desk. Handwritten. Casual.
“She’s got the tightest throat I’ve ever fucked. You lucky bastard.”
I crumpled it and threw it in the trash. But I didn’t say anything.
We still laughed together. Talked about our weekends. Shared playlists.
One time, after hours, I found them again. This time in the breakroom. She was on her knees, one hand braced against the wall, the other on his thigh. He was groaning, whispering, “Fuck, just like that,” as she took him all the way down.
She gagged once. Then again. He held her there.
When he came, he shuddered and gripped her hair tight. She didn’t pull away. She swallowed, slowly, eyes fluttering closed.
When she stood up, she wiped her mouth and kissed his cheek.
Then she turned, saw me watching through the glass.
She didn’t look surprised. She didn’t look guilty.
She just said, “Want to grab sushi later?”
I nodded.
We went to our usual spot. She held my hand across the table.
Matt texted her while we were eating.
Matt: “Still throbbing. Your throat’s not fair.”
She smiled at her phone, then looked up at me. “You know I love you, right?”
I smiled back.
I didn’t ask questions. She didn’t offer details.
It’s just one of those things