The faint, warm citrus scent of Nari’s perfume filled the empty office like it owned the space.
It drifted from the leather chair behind the wide desk and mixed with the cool air from the vents that hummed quietly now that the rest of the floor was dark.
I stood in the doorway with my bag still over one shoulder, the city lights blinking through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind her.
She was already there, legs crossed, one heel dangling from her toes as she glanced up from a stack of files.
“You came,” she said, her voice low and even.
“You called,” I answered.
Nari smiled without showing teeth, the same way she had when my parents first asked her to let me stay at her apartment for the summer.
She wasn’t my real aunt. My parents had been close with her since college, and I had grown up calling her Auntie Nari out of habit and respect.
But I was twenty-one now, and she was thirty-four, and when she opened her spare room to me three weeks ago I knew the polite distance we used to keep had already started to thin.
The apartment was only a fifteen-minute walk from the company she ran.
Most mornings I left before she did, grabbing coffee and trying not to notice how she looked in the silk robe she wore until the last minute before leaving for work.
Nights were worse.
She would cook simple meals and ask about my internship shifts at the marketing firm down the hall, her questions always casual, always careful.
Yet sometimes her gaze lingered half a second too long when I came out of the shower with wet hair, and I would stare at the ceiling fan in the guest room wondering if I was imagining things.
That evening she had texted me around eight to come by her office before heading home.
Something about reviewing the notes I had taken during a client call.
The elevator ride up felt longer than usual.
Now, watching her push the papers aside, I realized the office smelled exactly like her apartment but sharper, more serious.
The citrus note was stronger here, almost like it had been refreshed by the long day.
She uncrossed her legs and stood, the red shape of her lipstick catching the desk lamp as she walked around to the front of the desk.
“Sit,” she said, nodding at the chair across from her.
I did, setting my bag down.
“You’ve been distracted lately,” Nari continued, pulling my notebook from the top of her stack.
“Your summaries are solid, but you keep looking at me instead of the screen when we review them together at home.”
My face heated.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” she said, flipping through the pages slowly.
“Just be honest.”
She closed the notebook with a soft snap and folded her hands on top of it, the red of her nails matching the faint stain on her lower lip.
“Tell me what you really want.”
The question landed in the quiet room like a stone in still water.
I opened my mouth but nothing came out at first.
The citrus scent seemed stronger now that she had moved closer.
“Nari,” I said finally, using her real name the way she had asked me to after the first week I moved in.
“We’re both adults.”
She tilted her head slightly.
“That’s not an answer.”
Her voice stayed calm, almost teaching, the same tone she used when we went over contracts together on the kitchen table.
“I’m going to ask once more,” she said.
“And you can take all the time you need. But you have to say it out loud. And you can tell me to stop at any point.”
I swallowed.
“I want you to kiss me.”
She nodded once, the same patient nod she gave when I finally got an answer right during study sessions.
“Good answer.”
Nari stepped between my knees and rested one hand on the back of my chair.
Her other hand traced the line of my jaw, thumb brushing just beneath my ear.
She leaned in slowly enough that I could have pulled away, but I didn’t.
Her lips met mine and the citrus scent surrounded me completely.
The kiss started soft, testing, then deepened when I reached up and touched her waist.
She made a small approving sound against my mouth.
“Like that,” she whispered.
Her fingers moved to my collar, loosening the top button of my shirt.
“Stand up.”
I stood.
She guided me backward until my hips met the edge of her desk.
The city lights stretched behind her as she pressed closer, her body warm through the thin blouse she still wore from the workday.
“Is this what you want?” she asked again, voice low against my ear.
“Yes,” I said, breathing hard.
“Tell me out loud.”
“I want you. Here. Now.”
She smiled against my skin.
Her hands slid down my chest, exploring, taking her time the way she took her time with everything.
She unbuttoned my shirt the rest of the way and pushed it open, then traced the lines of my stomach with her fingertips until I shivered.
“Good,” she murmured.
“Now your turn.”
I reached for the buttons of her blouse, fingers clumsy at first.
She waited, patient, letting me figure it out.
When the fabric parted I saw the simple black bra beneath, and the way her breath caught when I touched the skin just above it.
“You’re allowed to look,” she said softly.
“You’re allowed to touch.”
Her words made something inside me settle and ignite at the same time.
I slid the blouse off her shoulders and let it fall to the desk.
Then she took my wrists and placed my hands on her hips, guiding them lower until I found the zipper of her skirt.
She stepped out of it without breaking eye contact, now in only the bra, matching panties, and the delicate chain necklace she always wore.
“Still with me?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She kissed me again, deeper this time, and I felt her tongue brush mine.
Her hands moved between us, undoing my belt and pushing my pants down just enough.
She wrapped her fingers around me and stroked slowly, watching my face the entire time.
“Breathe,” she said when my knees threatened to give.
She let go only to lift herself onto the edge of the desk, pulling me between her thighs.
The wood was cool beneath her but her skin was hot where it touched mine.
She reached down and moved her panties aside, guiding me exactly where she wanted.
“Slow,” she instructed.
“I’ve got you.”
I pushed forward and the heat of her surrounded me, tight and slick.
She exhaled sharply, fingers digging into my shoulders.
“There,” she whispered.
“Just like that.”
I moved carefully at first, still half afraid I would do something wrong.
She tilted her hips to meet me, setting the rhythm with quiet commands.
“Deeper.”
“Yes, right there.”
“Look at me.”
Her eyes stayed locked on mine, dark and steady, the same way they had been when she taught me how to write a proper report.
Her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer each time.
The desk creaked softly beneath us.
Her breathing turned ragged when I reached between us and touched the place she had guided my hand to earlier.
She came with a low, controlled sound, forehead pressed to my shoulder, body tightening around me in steady pulses.
She didn’t stop moving until the last tremor faded.
Then she lifted her head and smiled, small and satisfied.
“Your turn,” she said.
She slid off the desk, turned around, and bent forward over it, looking back at me over one shoulder.
“Like this.”
I followed, hands on her hips, sliding back into her.
This angle felt different, deeper.
She pushed back against me, meeting every thrust.
Her voice stayed soft but insistent.
“Faster now.”
“Don’t hold back.”
I let go of the last thread of control and moved the way my body wanted, the citrus scent of her perfume rising with every motion.
She reached back and squeezed my thigh, urging me on.
I came hard, the release pulling a rough sound from my throat that surprised even me.
She stayed still until I stopped shaking, then straightened and turned in my arms.
She kissed the side of my neck once, gently.
“Breathe,” she said again.
We stayed like that for a minute, the office quiet except for our breathing and the distant hum of the building.
She helped me straighten my clothes, then slipped back into her skirt and blouse with practiced ease.
“We should go home,” she said.
“The cleaning crew will be here soon.”
The walk back to the apartment was quiet, but her hand brushed mine twice, each time sending a small spark up my arm.
Once inside she poured two glasses of water and handed me one.
“You did well,” she said, leaning against the counter.
“Telling me what you wanted.”
“I was nervous,” I admitted.
“I noticed.”
She set her glass down and stepped closer, sliding her arms around my waist.
“Do you still want this? The whole summer?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She kissed me once more, slower than before, then stepped back.
“Shower with me?”
We showered together, the warm water washing away the office smell but not the memory.
She washed my hair with the same focused attention she gave everything else, fingertips massaging my scalp until my eyes closed.
Afterward she toweled me off and led me to her bedroom instead of the guest room.
The sheets were already turned down.
She pulled me down with her, the mattress dipping under our weight.
This time was slower.
She lay on her side facing me, one leg hooked over my hip as we moved together under the covers.
Her voice stayed close to my ear, soft instructions mixed with quiet encouragement.
“You feel good.”
“I like it when you touch me there.”
“Yes, just like that.”
She came again, quieter than before, face buried against my chest.
I followed soon after, the release drawn out and deep.
Afterward she traced lazy circles on my back with one finger until my breathing evened out.
“This stays between us,” she said softly.
“No one else needs to know.”
“I know.”
“But I want you to keep coming to me when you want something. No more guessing.”
“Okay.”
She kissed my forehead and pulled the blanket higher around us.
“Sleep.”
I woke to sunlight cutting across the empty bed beside me.
The apartment was quiet, no sound of the shower running or coffee brewing in the kitchen.
Nari’s side of the sheets was cool.
I sat up, scanning the room.
Her closet door was closed, her phone charger unplugged from the wall.
No note on the nightstand, no text on my phone.
The only trace was a single strand of dark hair caught on the pillow where she had lain, thin and shining in the morning light like it shouldn’t still be there.
I picked it up between two fingers and wondered if any of it had really happened at all.