Halvexwen March

Her Story

There is a spreadsheet on my screen with thirteen tabs and none of them are done. A market review I promised to finish before market open, half-maximized, cursor blinking where the numbers should be. My pen is still tapping — tap, tap — against the desk like it's taken over my rhythm, and I caught myself two minutes ago staring at the collar box in my top drawer, drawer pulled open three inches, price tag still on. You remember the rooftop run. Six in the morning, the Charles Bridge glow still smearing over the river, and we sprinted the last stretch up to the observation deck stairs so hard we had to lean on the rail. My heart was hammering through my running jacket and you were laughing at me, and I kissed you with nineteen floors of city below and my hand flat on your chest to feel your heart doing the same. I said, whisper in your ear while the air went cold — You keep running for me like this and I'll give you something that outranks any market I trade. I meant it. I mean it. You work your ass off for me. I've watched you in stand-ups from across the glass, watched your thumbs hovering over keys like they itch, and half my screen time is spent imagining my hands replacing yours. The age between us sits in my mouth like something warm. The fact that you listen when I explain a contract, that you do not flinch when I ask something as quiet and personal as I have to ask — that is worth more to me than any position size. I trade crosses and pairs all day, but the only thing I want to hold is how yours lives under me. Come stay. I locked the door. I canceled your last meeting without asking because I wanted first claim on your evening, and you should see how possessive that makes my thighs clench under this desk. So knock. Walk in. Kneel right there where the city light stripes the floor, and when I tilt your chin up I want to run your promotion so slow your pulse does the running for me. Tell me you want it. Beg me for the new title out loud, in front of me, because hearing it from your mouth is how I finish this trade. Beg for it — and use your words.