Maya didn’t believe in reckless choices. She built her life on rules and restraint—until Ethan.
The conference had ended hours ago, but the hotel bar glowed warm and inviting. She should have gone straight to her room. Instead, she found herself nursing a glass of wine while Ethan leaned beside her, all undone charm in a tailored suit, his smile carrying too much promise.
“You don’t strike me as someone who drinks alone,” he said.
“Then you’d be right,” she replied, tipping her glass toward him. “I prefer good company.”
He didn’t miss the invitation. Conversation slid easily between them—light banter, laughter, and something unspoken in the way his knee brushed hers under the table. By the second glass of wine, her pulse matched the rhythm of his touches. By the third, she didn’t even hesitate when he leaned close and murmured, “Come upstairs with me.”
The elevator ride was short, yet charged. Their hands brushed, lingered, entwined. By the time the suite door shut behind them, restraint had already unraveled.
He kissed her hard, hungry, like a man who had been waiting for this moment all night. She melted into it, tugging at his tie, gasping when his hands slipped beneath her blouse. Buttons scattered, her blouse falling open as his mouth claimed the soft curve of her collarbone. Her skirt followed, his shirt undone, until they left a trail of clothing across the room.
On the bed, time ceased to matter. His touch was both reverent and demanding, his mouth mapping every shiver of her skin. When he entered her, the city beyond the glass wall blurred into streaks of silver light. The rhythm of their bodies was relentless, urgent, yet threaded with tenderness that made her heart ache.
She cried out his name, fingers clutching his back as pleasure consumed her. He followed with a growl, pulling her close as if she might slip away.
Afterward, they lay tangled in the sheets, the skyline glowing beyond the window. His hand traced circles on her hip, grounding her in the quiet afterglow.
“You don’t usually do this,” he said softly.
“No,” she admitted, her lips curving into a smile. “But I’m glad I did.”
It was only one night in the city—fleeting, untethered, unforgettable.
