Breathe.

It was a Thursday. A regular day by any description.

She woke up tired, a light make up, plain bra kind of day. Work, again. Nothing new. She wasn’t expecting her world to change at 34.

It started out innocently. A simple thing. Her shirt was tight across her bust, nothing explicit. But from the right angle, a plain white bra she put on that morning was there for all to see.

He saw. He had been noticing a lot of things. The change in how she wore her hair. Pinned up now, smelling like honey and rose. Her neck, graceful, bare, on full display.

It was a Thursday. Again. Delivery day.

If this was any other story you would hear sordid tales of passionate storeroom sex. Shirts ripped, legs hitched over hips and arses perched dangerously on packaged boxes.

She would be standing in the middle of the room, the hot dust in the air creating smokey halos of light behind her. He would be sweaty, his light shirt clinging to his arms and his chest.

There would be something wrong with an order. She would call him over, leaning forward and reaching high for the box, asking him to help look for what was missing. You would see him struggle not to let his eyes linger on the swell of her arse. Her shirt riding up over the top of her jeans, teasing him with just a slip of skin.

He would come to her, how could he not? Placing a hand on her hip to reach the box, he would lean forward and over her. Shocked at the contact, she would stumble and gasp, that denim clad arse pressing back into him even as she fell forward. He would catch her. Both hands on her hips and pulling her back against him. It would only take an instant, but the feel of his cock swelling and pressing forward against her arse would be something they both couldn’t miss.

But alas, this is not a sordid sex story.

They did meet in the storeroom that day. It was hot, and sweaty. That plain white bra was playing peek-a-boo and her hair was escaping it’s constraints, clinging to her neck.

He called her to him. There was something wrong with a delivery. Leaning back he made room for her to stand before him.

She had seen him before now. Always respectful, deferring to what the front office ladies needed. Holding doors, smiling and happy to help. He was polite, reserved.

That Thursday however, she was noticing. His shirt stretched across his back, patches of sweat making it cling. The slight dusting of hair on the back of his hands. His fingernails cut close and clean. Standing in that sweaty storeroom, he smelt like summers rain.

A simple thing. It was as she leaned forward, about to ask what was missing that her button popped. Turning towards her to show her the missing order, he stopped.

Eyes that were always so respectful heated. Hands that were always so gentle clenched. She felt his gaze, how could she not? Lingering and moving closer, her breath quickened. A pit of heat building and rolling below her waist.

He stepped closer. That plain white bra. His hand came forward, how could he not? He barely brushed her skin. Moving her hair back behind her neck, his hands, those hands she has been noticing, reached forward and tugged at her open button.

Standing so close, in that hot and tight space, the walls felt smaller and she froze. Unable to move. The slightest touch of his hands on her neck felt like fire. Exhaling roughly her eyes followed his hand moving ever closer to her oh so plain and boring bra. How did her nipples tighten so quickly?

“Pet,” he said. “You really should find a better way to keep your hair up”.

“Pet?” She asked in confusion, the word barely a whisper on her breath.

“Pet. A name, an action.” He tugged on her button, her shirt pulling and shifting across her nipples. He could see her slow understanding. The offer, the implication.

Her breath caught and she stumbled, her eyes snapping up and eyes locking on to his, her back pressed up against the towering boxes. He reaches forward, placing a steadying hand above her on the dusty stack. One hand still playing with her top button.

“Careful now pet,” he chuckled quietly. “We would hate for you to find yourself in a spot of trouble out here. Wouldn’t we?”

Her nipples were aching. That rolling ball of heat throbbing. She needed to leave. Shocked and panicking at her own body’s reaction to such a simple word, a direct gaze. She needed to breathe.

“Please.” A whisper. Was that her? What was she asking for? Did she even know?

Taking pity on her, he closes the distance between them, the arm that was braced against the stack behind her moving back to her escaping hair. Hand splayed, holding her still by the back of her neck and hair as she tried to catch her breath.

Her heart was racing as she felt him move in close. His hand surprisingly steadying for all the fire it was igniting in her body. She looks between them. At his hand now brushing the insides of her bra. Fingers still holding that damnable top button.

He watches her reaction. The panic. Her pulse quickening and the dilation of her eyes. She has no idea.

“Easy now pet,” he says.

He releases her hair, fingertips following the curve of her neck, the swell of the top of her breast, moving down to join his other hand playing with her button.

She exhales. Arching forward without even meaning to. One hand coming forward to press against his arm.

He smiles. Hands quickly and deftly closing her shirt back up and covering her plain white bra.

“Breathe Pet, you haven’t even asked me to touch you yet.”

It was at that moment, that she learnt something new.