They met at work.
Not in some dramatic, fate-driven moment--just two people in a too-bright office, riding the same elevators and brushing shoulders in passing. Faye worked in marketing, Drew in finance. Separate teams, separate floors. But from the moment he saw her, Drew knew something was different.
He didn't know what it was exactly. Just that when Faye walked into a room, the air shifted.
She was tall--maybe 5'9"--with long, sculpted legs that seemed to carry her with effortless poise. Her body was athletic but curved in all the right places: a firm, cute ass beneath pencil skirts that left him distracted, and full, perfect breasts that never needed to try too hard to get his attention. Her eyes were stunning--ocean blue, deep and focused. And her hair, a cascade of slightly wavy brown, sometimes hung loose, but more often was pulled back into a sleek ponytail that made her look sharp. Polished. In control.
Faye didn't talk much at work. She was reserved in meetings, always calm, never rattled. But beneath that quiet exterior was something else--confidence. Not loud, not performative. Just something steady. Like she didn't need to prove herself to anyone.
Then there was the voice.
The first time Drew heard her speak--really heard her--he nearly forgot what she'd said. All he could focus on was the soft British accent that curled around her words. Controlled. Precise. Just a little sultry. It hit him in the chest like a slow, sinking weight.
He was done for after that.
Drew also was tall--6'2", enough to stand out--but never tried to. His short-to-mid-length brown hair was always just a little bit messy, like he'd tried to tame it and given up halfway. Faye adored it, though he didn't know that yet. It was one of the first things she noticed about him--the quiet frustration in the way he'd run his hand through it when it wouldn't sit right. That, and the fact that he was very good at his job. Climbing the corporate ladder. Well-liked. Smart.
And just a little bit shy.
That part, Faye liked most of all.
They started with hallway chats. Nothing flirtatious at first--just good-natured teasing and a bit of eye contact that lingered too long. But Faye's interest was obvious. She'd touch his arm a second longer than necessary. She'd stand close enough that he could smell her perfume. She'd find reasons to stop by his floor, always with that soft, knowing smile that said, I'm waiting. When will you do something about it?
But Drew hesitated. Not because he didn't want her--but because he wanted her too much. There was something about her that stripped away all his usual composure. She made him feel like a teenager again--nervous, awkward, off-balance in the best way.
And then there was that night.
The company Christmas party. Everyone half-drunk, pretending they weren't watching who was flirting with who. Faye walked in wearing a black silk blouse and a pair of tight, high-waisted leather pants that clung to her legs like they'd been sewn on. Drew saw her from across the room and nearly forgot how to breathe. She looked devastating. Cool and sleek, like she knew what she was doing to him.
He didn't go talk to her that night. He stood by the bar, holding his drink a little too tightly, watching as she moved through the crowd like she didn't belong to it. He went home alone and didn't sleep. For days afterward, he couldn't stop thinking about the way those pants hugged her hips. He didn't understand why it got to him so much--but it did. It always would.
Months passed.
The flirtation deepened. Faye's glances turned into lingering stares. She started texting him after hours. "Just checking in," she'd say. "How's your day been?" But the subtext was always there. Waiting.
And finally--finally--Drew asked her out.
It was after work. She was gathering her things at her desk when he approached her, palms damp, heart pounding. He stood there for a second too long before the words stumbled out.
"Hey, Faye... I was wondering if maybe... you'd want to grab dinner sometime?"
He looked like he was bracing for rejection. Faye, hiding her smile, turned to face him fully. Her eyes sparkled.
"I was wondering when you'd ask," she said.
Their first date wasn't extravagant. Just a little wine bar near Faye's flat. A cozy place with too many candles and the kind of low music that makes you lean in closer without realizing it.
Drew showed up early. Nervous. Fixing his shirt collar in the reflection of the window for the third time. Faye arrived five minutes late, dressed in something simple--black jeans, boots, and a dark green top that made her eyes look almost silver in the low light.
He stood as she approached the table. She smiled. It was all over from there.
The conversation flowed easily, like they were picking up where they'd left off in another life. They laughed--really laughed--about awkward work stories, bad takeout, and the office manager who'd once ordered 2000 custom pens with a typo. Drew told her about growing up in a small town, about how he never really imagined himself in the corporate world. Faye told him about her sister, about her childhood in the countryside, and about how much she hated the color orange for no good reason.
She watched him when he talked--really watched him--and Drew noticed, because no one ever really had before.
And he listened to her like she mattered. Not just what she said, but how she said it. He laughed when she made dry jokes that most people missed. He asked questions no one had ever bothered to ask. She felt seen. Comfortable. And that terrified her a little.
The date lasted four hours.
Then it turned into two more, walking through quiet streets, hands brushing but not quite holding yet. Faye eventually stopped outside her building, turned to face him with that soft, unreadable smile she wore so well.
"I had a really nice time," she said.
Drew opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then finally: "I'd really like to see you again."
Faye tilted her head, eyes gleaming. "You will."
They kissed--just once, slow and warm--and then she left him standing there like someone who'd just been handed a secret he didn't know how to keep.
From there, it was easy.
They saw each other twice the next week. Then three times. Then she started leaving a toothbrush at his place, and he started storing her favorite oat milk in his fridge. Everything fit. Effortless.
The kind of love that sneaks up on you.
Drew was completely taken. Faye was all he thought about--her laugh, her presence, the way she could look at him across a room and make him feel like she knew things about him he hadn't even admitted to himself. She had this way of kissing him like she was choosing to every time. Like he was lucky. Like she knew it.
And Faye? She was undone by how deeply he cared. How he listened. How he never tried to control her or tell her what to do, but still made her feel protected, adored. She liked being close to him. Liked how nervous he still got when she wore something low-cut, how he couldn't quite hide it when he stared. She liked that he tried to play the role of the confident man. It was sweet. Endearing.
But she always knew he was soft underneath. Gentle. Earnest. Willing to give her anything, even if he didn't know it yet.
For the first two years, Drew and Faye were like any other couple--on the surface.
He took the lead. Planned their dates. Chose the wine. Opened doors. Paid the check. In public, he wore the mask of the confident boyfriend: steady, capable, polite with just enough edge to seem in charge. And she let him. Played her part. Smiled sweetly when he wrapped his arm around her waist, let him order for both of them at restaurants, even leaned into his kiss like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And in many ways, it was.
They were in love. That part was never in question.
Drew adored Faye. Her wit, her calm strength, the way she seemed to move through life like she was never in a rush but always knew exactly where she was going. She had this quiet way of reading a room--and him--with unnerving accuracy. And even when she was teasing, there was a care to it. A gentleness behind the smirk. He loved that.
Faye loved Drew in a way that surprised her. He was sharp, driven, emotionally tuned in. When she had a bad day, he didn't try to fix it--he just listened. He brought her tea the way she liked it without being asked. And even when he was clumsy or overthinking everything, she found it endearing. Charming, even. He made her laugh in quiet moments. Held her without hesitation. Worshipped her in ways he didn't even realize he was doing.
Still, under all of it--beneath the shared routines, the lazy Sundays, the deep talks and better sex--there were hints.
Not things either of them could name yet. But they were there.
Faye would sometimes take control without realizing it. She'd steer their weekend plans without asking. Rearrange the furniture without consulting him. Make suggestions that weren't really suggestions, and he'd follow them without complaint. She liked structure. Clarity. Control. It made her feel safe. Settled.
And Drew?
He liked it when she did that.
Liked it more than he ever admitted.
He didn't think about it too hard at first. He just knew there was something deeply satisfying in letting her take the reins in small ways. He didn't mind when she took the driver's seat--he preferred it. Especially when she gave him that look, the one that said she already knew the answer and was just waiting for him to catch up.
But he kept those thoughts to himself. Buried them. Just like the ones he'd been carrying since long before they met.
His other desires.
He'd never told her--not about the thoughts that lived in the back of his mind when he was alone. The ones where he wasn't leading, wasn't strong. Where he knelt. Served. Worshipped. Where Faye wasn't just confident, but commanding. Where she wore skin-tight latex that creaked softly with every movement, where her eyes pinned him to the floor without ever raising her voice.
He couldn't say it. Not out loud. He told himself it was just a fantasy. A thing best left untouched. He didn't want to risk breaking what they had. Faye was everything to him. What if she didn't understand?
So he played the part.
And Faye--though she didn't know his secret--felt something too. A tension. A current. Like something in her was waiting to be unlocked.
She'd catch herself thinking, when Drew did something particularly sweet or clumsy, God, he's mine. Not in a romantic way. In a possessive way. In a way that felt... deeper. And she didn't question it. Not yet. But it was there. Brewing.
Sometimes, in the bedroom, it would come close to the surface.
She'd push him down, ride him without warning, grab his wrists and hold them against the sheets. And Drew--God, he'd melt under her. Always. And the next morning, he'd act like it had never happened, and so would she.
It was all love. All real. All them.
But something inside both of them was stirring--subtle, quiet, waiting.
Waiting for a confession.
Waiting for a shift.
Waiting for the night when everything would change.
It started as a quiet night.
A bottle of red. A movie half-watched from the couch, Faye curled against him, her bare legs tangled with his. Drew had his arm around her, stroking her shoulder absentmindedly. The air was warm, still, full of comfort and domestic intimacy.
But inside Drew?
He was coming apart.
The thoughts had been building again. Lately, they never really stopped. The longer he loved her, the more impossible it became to keep them buried. He couldn't look at Faye anymore--her natural command, the calm way she took over without even realizing--without feeling it. The pull. The ache. The need.
He had told himself he could live with the secret. That the fantasies could stay locked away forever. That loving her, being with her, waking up next to her was enough.
But it wasn't.
Because he didn't want just love.
He wanted to kneel for her. To give her everything. To be used. Owned.
And more than anything... he wanted her to know.
