He lifts me from the car, my legs wrapping around his waist before my mind can form a protest. My body is still thrumming, a low, liquid ache between my thighs where he emptied himself into me. I bury my face in the neck of his suit jacket, breathing in the scent of him, of us—cologne, sweat, and the sharp, intimate musk of s*x.
The elevator doors slide shut, sealing us in a silent, mirrored ascent. He doesn’t speak. His hands are firm under my thighs, holding me against him. I feel the hard line of his belt buckle through the thin silk of my dress, a reminder of what we just did. What I just did. The mirrors show a stranger: a woman in a ruined emerald dress, clinging to a man in a tailored suit, her heels dangling, her eyes closed tight.
He carries me down a hallway I’ve never seen, th
