Theo left the house to pick up supplies. Just a quick run, he needed wine, coffee, and a few groceries. But more than that, he needed space.

Space from Selene. From how she looked. From how she made his mind spiral into thoughts he couldn’t type fast enough.

When he returned an hour later, the front door was ajar.

Inside, the house was silent but not empty.

He heard it: the soft clack of keys. Slow. Curious.

He stepped into the study.

Selene sat at his desk. At his typewriter. Reading the pages he had left there unpublished, unfiltered. The erotic manuscript he never meant anyone to see.

Her fingers hovered over the keys. Her eyes, wide and dark, moved with careful hunger. She didn’t notice him right away. She was too absorbed in the story.

Theo spoke low. “That’s not finished.”

She turned, slowly. Her face unreadable. “It’s about me.”

“It’s fiction.”

Selene stood, holding the pages. “The housekeeper who walks in on the writer naked. Who sucks him off against a bookshelf. Who begs for more.”

Theo’s throat dried.

“You wrote me into your story before you ever touched me.”

“I wasn’t going to show you,” he said. “I didn’t think I had the right.”

She stepped toward him. “You had the imagination. Now I want to see the execution.”

Selene let the pages fall between them. She dropped to her knees slowly, like she was stepping into the story and running her tongue along every line.

Theo reached for her, but she was faster. Her hands slid up his thighs, her mouth already warm against the bulge in his jeans.

He gasped.

No build-up. No warning.

Just fantasy, now real her lips tracing the edge of his waistband, her fingers undoing the button, her eyes never leaving his.

And then, she took him in. Eager. Wet. Slow. Like she’d read every paragraph of his story and wanted to rewrite it in her own mouth.

Theo’s hands found her hair. “God, Selene…”

She moaned around him low, soft, greedy.

And he knew: whatever line existed between writer and muse, employer and housekeeper, it was gone now.

She wasn’t part of the fantasy anymore.

She was the whole damn plot.