Shō stumbled into his apartment and slammed the door, back sliding down until he hit the floor. His bag dropped with a thud. He sat there, knees to chest, fingers touching his swollen lips over and over.
They still tingled. Burned. Tasted like Kenji—coffee, mint, and something dark and addictive.
"What the hell just happened?" he whispered to the empty room.
His mind replayed everything in slow, torturous detail.
The late report. Kenji's office. That firm grip on his chin. The way Kenji crowded him against the desk, strong body pinning him, hands everywhere—waist, neck, under his sweater. Those kisses. Deep, hungry, controlling. The low growls. The "good boy" that made Shō's legs turn to jelly.
He'd never been kissed like that. Never been touched like he was something precious and breakable, yet totally owned.
Shō's face flamed. He buried it in his hands. "I'm such an idiot."
Because part of him—big part—loved it. Craved more. His body still hummed, hot and needy. He could feel phantom hands on his skin.
But the sane part screamed: He's your boss. Straight boss. This is wrong.
Shō dragged himself to the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face. The mirror showed a mess—lips red and puffy, neck with faint pink marks, eyes wide and dazed.
He changed into oversized pajamas and crawled into bed, pulling the blanket over his head like a kid hiding from monsters.
Sleep? Yeah, right.
His brain wouldn't shut up.
Why did he do it? Kenji's always so controlled, so cold. Today he was... different. Eyes darker. Hands rougher. Voice lower.
Shō rolled over, hugging a pillow tight.
Maybe he's confused too? Like in those BL stories—straight guy suddenly wakes up to feelings.
He snorted. "Get real, Shō. Guys like Kenji don't fall for quiet losers like you."
But then why the kisses? Why "you're mine to touch now"?
His phone buzzed. Yumi again.
Yumi: girl where are you?? store's locked and boss is still upstairs with lights on. everything ok??
Shō typed shaky.
Shō: yeah went home early. tired.
He didn't mention the boss's tongue down his throat.
Across the city, in his sleek penthouse, Kenji wasn't doing any better.
He slammed the door harder than needed, tossed his keys on the counter, and headed straight for the bar. Poured whiskey—neat, double shot. Downed it in one go. Poured another.
The burn felt good. Deserved.
He sank onto the leather couch, suit rumpled, tie gone. Stared at the city lights blurring outside.
"Fuck," he muttered.
He hadn't planned it. Any of it.
After Shō left the office, Kenji sat there for ten minutes, hard and shaking. Then he locked up, drove home, and hit the bottle.
He wasn't a big drinker—control freak, remember? But tonight? He needed to numb the guilt crashing in waves.
The kid was twenty-one. Employee. Innocent as hell.
And Kenji had pinned him to the desk like an animal. Kissed him senseless. Marked his neck. Said shit like "mine to touch."
All because of a late report?
No.
Because he'd been obsessed all day. Dreaming about him. Craving those reactions.
The alcohol loosened memories he usually locked away.
Earlier that evening, before closing, he'd had a quick "celebratory" drink with the regional managers—end-of-month numbers crushed targets. One drink turned to three. Whiskey on an empty stomach.
By the time Shō knocked, Kenji was buzzed. Not drunk-drunk, but enough that his iron control slipped.
Enough to act on the want burning since that first jaw touch.
Kenji poured a third glass, sipping slower.
He wasn't gay. Or bi. Whatever. He'd never looked at a man twice.
But Shō? Those big eyes, soft skin, the way he melted at a touch—obedient, trusting. It hit something deep and possessive in Kenji. Something he didn't know existed.
The alcohol made him brave. Stupid.
Now sober(ish), regret hit hard.
He probably thinks I'm a creep. Taking advantage. Power trip.
Kenji rubbed his face.
Tomorrow at work would be hell. Avoid eye contact? Act like nothing happened? Apologize?
No. Aikawa men didn't apologize.
But this wasn't business.
This was... feelings? Want? Obsession?
He finished the glass, head buzzing.
Stood, swayed a little, and headed to bed.
Collapsed fully clothed, staring at the ceiling.
Shō's face flashed—flushed, lips parted, whimpering "please."
Kenji groaned, rolling over.
He didn't mean for it to go that far.
But god, he didn't regret the taste.
Just the timing. The alcohol. The lack of control.
Tomorrow he'd fix it.
Or make it worse.
He wasn't sure which scared him more.
Back in his tiny apartment, Shō finally drifted into uneasy sleep.
Dreamed of strong hands again. Deep kisses. A voice whispering "good boy" while pinning him down.
Woke up hot, tangled, aching.
Touched his lips in the dark.
Was it real? Or will he pretend it never happened?
Shō curled tighter.
Either way, he was already addicted.
And tomorrow? He'd have to face the man who broke his world with one kiss.