Disguised as a man: After living with my boss for a month

I could see that as he moved up, my gender was about to be exposed.

A cold sweat broke out on me, and I was trembling slightly.

He paused, his movements stopping abruptly.

"Why so nervous? It's not like I'm a woman or anything," he said casually.

The mention of "woman" made my heart skip a beat. But his tone was so nonchalant; it was as if we were just discussing dinner options at the office—there was no hint of anything unusual in his demeanor.

I tried to reason with him. "Mr. Johansson, I'm sorry. Please, just..."

Before I could finish, I felt a chill at my waist as my soft belly was exposed. Owen's hand was warm as he rubbed my midriff, then he suddenly burst into laughter. "You need to work on this, you know."

I quickly grabbed the blanket, pushing him away with a hint of disdain. "Work? Work on what? By the time I get it right, you'll be long gone."

Fortunately, we managed to get through the day without too much trouble.

The next day, Owen and I went to discuss a project. After the contract was signed, our partner Vincent Clark invited us to unwind.

Typically, collaborators would pick a high-end restaurant and call it a day, but Vincent, unfamiliar with Owen's aversion to women, took us straight to a karaoke bar and even arranged for some beautiful singers to keep us company.

The moment those stunning women saw Owen, they lit up with excitement and surrounded him.

I glanced at Owen's expression and noticed his face turning gloomy, his body shaking slightly. It was clear he was having one of his episodes. If I didn't get him out soon, he'd probably end up throwing up like a mess.

I quickly intervened, blocking the advances of the women. "Mr. Clark, we've wrapped up the contract. Mr. Johansson is still adjusting to the time difference. We should head back."

Without waiting for a response, I grabbed Owen and led him out.

I thought Owen was just having a minor breakdown, but to my horror, that jerk Vincent had spiked his drink!

Now, Owen was sprawled on the hotel bed, his face flushed, clinging to my waist with an almost desperate grip. He kept rubbing against me, mumbling about feeling unwell. His short hair tickled my skin, and I felt a mix of irritation and amusement.

I held his chin, forcing him to look at me. His dazed eyes met mine, and I decided to tease him a bit.

"Be a good boy and call me ‘sister.' If you do, I'll make you feel better."

He stared at me, silent for a moment. My heart sank—what if he isn't actually drunk? How am I going to explain this?

"Sister…" he mumbled in a sticky voice. Before I could react, I was suddenly toppled onto the bed, Owen's body pressing down on mine.

He was now on top of me, rubbing and kissing my neck while calling out, "Sister, I feel so bad… Sister, sister…"

His voice grew more emotional, losing its usual coldness and taking on a more pleading tone. I was overwhelmed, unsure of how aware he really was. His teeth occasionally scraped my neck, causing a sting mixed with a tingly sensation. His touches were relentless, making it hard for me to think clearly.

I grabbed his short hair, forcing him to look up at me. He groaned softly, still clingy, "It hurts…"

In the dimly lit room, I gently patted his face and asked, "Owen, do you still know who I am?"

Under the dim light, his eyes flickered with confusion before they settled on me. "Cameron…"

He lowered his head, nuzzling my neck like a tamed beast, and whispered, "You smell so good."

His warm breath scorched my face, and his voice, deep and tender, said my name correctly. I took a deep breath and hugged him tightly.

Owen was so strong that he could lift me with one arm, leaving me hanging in the air, my hands weakly draped over him. The familiar scent of mint wafted from his body, the kind he always used in his shower gel, and I felt an overwhelming sense of comfort.

My limbs went limp, my whole body felt like jelly, and my heart melted along with it. I really liked him.

I started calling out, "Owen, Owen... Owen, wait a moment..."

Look at me. Just look at me.

I heard the sound of water droplets falling and the hot, damp sensation of things slowly slipping away. Owen's eyes were bright as he carried me step by step toward the big bed.

My heart was a mix of tender, bittersweet emotions. A year ago, I never would have imagined we'd end up like this. What happens next?

How would he see me once he's fully aware? Would his fear of women change because of me, or...

It seemed like I was drifting off, and Owen's grip tightened a little. I couldn't help but clench my toes and fumble with my hands on his back. He groaned softly, and the next moment, he took me deeper into a sea of desire.

I felt like a small boat drifting on the waves, completely at the mercy of the tide...

When I woke up the next morning, my back and waist were sore. As soon as I opened my eyes, I saw Owen sitting not far away.

"Y... you... um..." My voice came out scratchy and weak. Owen jumped up in alarm, standing rigidly.

I thought, What, am I a monster?

Looking up, I saw Owen's face was pale, like someone who had their world shattered and hadn't picked up the pieces yet.

My heart sank as I realized the worst had happened—Owen was clearly uncomfortable with what happened last night.

Owen said, "I'm so sorry about last night... let's just... take a break!"

With that, he turned and dashed out of the room.

I collapsed back onto the bed, exhaling heavily. I thought, This running-off behavior is so typical of a jerk.

But at the same time, I understood that it was over. We'd become strangers, forever on parallel paths that would never intersect.

Half an hour later, my phone buzzed urgently.

I pulled it out and saw a message from Megan, her voice breaking and frantic.

"Girl!!! You won't believe it! My idiot brother... he said he slept with a man last night!"

I was like, what the hell?