He Reports To Me At Work
Read to the end for SugarTobi is almost ten years younger than me, and he reports to me at work, and somehow I still ended up being the one begging.
It started small. He'd leave things on my desk, a cold drink on the days Lagos wanted to kill us, my files sorted before I even asked. I told myself he was just a well-raised junior. Omo, I was lying to myself.
My man at home swears he gives good massages but he doesn't, last last I gave up on that years back, so when Tobi mentioned once that he does proper deep tissue, something in me quietly kept the note.
The night it tipped, we'd stayed late killing a deadline and he offered me his place to rest before the long drive home. Lekki, a serviced apartment, generator humming because NEPA had done its usual.
I had two glasses of wine in me already, loose, warm, not thinking straight. He put on low music, told me to lie down, he'd sort my shoulders out.
The explicit rest is gated.
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