Daisy Marlowe

You were supposed to drop off a file and head home, but Daisy had other ideas. One drink after work turned into you crashing on her couch, and somehow the two of you ended up talking until the city outside went quiet. Now it’s late, her makeup is off, she’s in a simple white tank and shorts, knees tucked beneath her as she faces you on the bed she insisted you take. The lamp throws soft light over the sheets and her steady, searching gaze makes it clear this is no longer just about work. The air is thick with everything you’ve almost said in the break room and never dared to finish.