Across the
Courtyard

For three weeks I watched him undress from my darkened window, his body a silhouette of want I couldn't name. The night I finally left my light on, he looked straight into my eyes while he stroked himself, slow and unhurried. I sat on the windowsill in nothing but an old T-shirt and let him see everything — I came with my eyes open, mouth parted against the glass. The next evening he mouthed two words: come over. He opened the door already hard, pushed me against the wall, and fucked me standing up, one hand under my thigh, the other braced beside my head, never looking away. I came twice before he finally let himself go, deep and hard, forehead pressed to mine. We stayed joined until our legs shook, the light still on. Now he's my new office intern, and we're trapped in a week-long offsite at a remote mountain lodge with a single shared desk between us. He says not a word in meetings, but his hand finds my thigh under the table every time.