This isn't weird.

How To Help

Wear a skirt to work today, he texted her.

A few seconds passed. And why would I do that? she replied.

So you can ride me in the backseat of my car on your lunch break.

Ben was getting alarmed by his own behavior. What the hell had gotten into him? When did he develop the capacity to be so goddamn sleazy? Was he trying to be ironic? Never in his life had he ever come on to a woman this aggressively. There was no way Millie was going to tolerate being spoken to like this.

The ensuing silence had him wracked with nerves, until an hour later, when a reply finally arrived: Going to lunch at 2 pm.

Holy fuck, how was this actually working?

When the time came, she climbed into his car and he took her to a secluded corner of an empty parking lot, where she ordered him into the backseat as if the whole thing had been her idea. It was even more glorious than he had imagined. Later that night, she showed up at his place unannounced, dragged him to his bedroom, and deepthroated him like her life depended on it. When she tried to rush off afterwards, he grabbed her by the waist and shoved her back down on the bed to return the favor.

It was like a sweaty, impossible fever dream, a dizzying blur, and Ben couldn't let himself think about it long enough to confront how terrified he was of waking up. He finally had everything he ever wanted—-

Well, almost everything. But he was so close. He had only to be patient. Millie was crazy about him; there was no doubt in his mind anymore. She couldn't stay away. If he texted her, she came running. If he didn't text her, she came running, anyway. He had her now. If he just held to a few simple rules—don't acknowledge any of it, don't push the subject, don't put her on the spot—then it was all just a matter of time.

Millie, for her part, was determined not to think about it. Determined not to think about anything, really. For the entire week, she had done her best to avoid virtually everything that wasn't Ben's dick. She barely phoned it in at work, canceled two sessions of therapy, ignored any and all texts from Arthur, and most importantly of all, did everything she could to dodge interacting with Tess. She was certain that Tess would figure out what she had been up to instantly if she just took one look at her, and her disapproval would surely be a force of unbridled destruction.

So, it was purely for the thrill of the needless risk when, a few days later, she found that Tess was out for the afternoon and impulsively texted Ben to request his help moving her couch. It was strictly coincidence that she had realized it was ruining the feng shui of the entire apartment at that particular moment. But by the time he arrived, she had changed her mind—the couch was just fine where it was, after all—so instead, he bent her over it and made better use of their time.

Perhaps they were both in the mood for needless risks, because afterwards, once their bodies had cooled and they had caught their breath, he broke the number one rule—he acknowledged it. "We're not doing a great job of this 'just friends' thing, are we?" he chuckled as he zipped up the back of her dress.

The comment shook Millie out of her postcoital glow. She buried her face in her hands. "Oh my god, I know. Why can't I stop?"

Her flustered reaction didn't deter Ben as much as it probably should have. "Why should you have to?" he replied, slipping his arms around to her front to squeeze her breasts.

"I... I'm just... not ready... for..." Her breath was already becoming ragged again as he began to massage her. Feeling his hand creeping under her skirt, she forgot what she was saying. Her sentence trailed off into a soft moan.