The Second Time
784 Words
Zara stood outside Jason’s penthouse door, heart in her throat.
She told herself it was just dinner. That she’d wear jeans, eat, make small talk, and leave before midnight.
But she didn’t wear jeans.
She wore a black slip dress that hugged her curves and made her feel powerful—and just a little reckless.
Jason opened the door, lips parting slightly when he saw her.
“You said ‘real food,’” she said, brushing past him. “So I assumed that meant ‘real clothes.’”
Jason grinned, stepping aside. “It meant ‘don’t wear something that’ll distract me,’ but you clearly ignored that.”
---
Dinner was set on the marble counter—pasta, roasted vegetables, wine, and soft jazz humming in the background. She noticed candles.
Too many for a casual night.
“Trying to seduce me with ambiance?” she teased.
Jason poured the wine. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m just… setting the mood for clarity.”
She raised a brow. “Clarity?”
He leaned on the counter. “I don’t want to keep pretending.”
Zara took a sip, slow. “Pretending what?”
“That I’m not drawn to you. That I don’t think about you when you’re not in the room. That I don’t watch you like a madman in meetings just to see if you’ll look at me.”
She blinked.
“I’m not good at this,” he admitted. “But I’m not trying to sleep around. This isn’t about control, or convenience.”
“So what is it?”
He stepped closer. “It’s about you. You make me want to risk the lines I built.”
Zara stared at him.
Then shook her head. “That’s dangerous, Jason. You’re my boss. You could ruin everything.”
“And what if I said it’s already ruined?” His voice dropped. “Because I can’t go back to being just professional with you.”
She hesitated.
“Tell me you don’t feel it too,” he whispered.
She looked away. “It doesn’t matter what I feel.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve loved before,” she snapped, suddenly raw. “And every time, it ends the same way. I give too much, and I lose everything.”
Jason stepped closer, cupping her jaw gently.
“You’re not going to lose me.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“No,” he murmured. “But I can promise this.”
He kissed her.
Not soft.
Not polite.
But hungry. Devouring. Honest.
Zara melted into him, arms wrapping around his neck as he pulled her flush against him. His hands gripped her waist, then her hips, then lower.
She gasped into his mouth when he pressed her against the counter, the edge digging into the back of her thighs.
“Jason—”
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.
She shook her head.
“Say it,” he demanded.
“I don’t want you to stop,” she said, breathless.
That was all it took.
---
Clothes fell to the floor again—but this time, faster.
Jason carried her to the bedroom, his mouth never leaving hers. His hands mapped her skin like it was a new language. He laid her down, eyes burning, and slid her dress off with reverence.
“You’re so damn beautiful.”
Zara pulled his shirt off, fingers trembling with urgency. When he hovered above her, bare skin to bare skin, she felt everything she’d tried to suppress: fear, need, ache, desire.
He kissed her collarbone, then lower.
Her fingers dug into his hair.
By the time he reached her thighs, she was trembling.
And when he finally slid inside her again—slow, deep, claiming—she cried out, clutching him like she might break.
Jason moved in slow, deliberate thrusts, whispering her name like it was sacred.
“You feel like home,” he breathed into her neck.
They moved together, tangled in sweat and sighs, chasing each other’s pleasure with raw abandon.
Zara gasped as he rolled her on top, letting her take control. She rode him with fire in her veins, his hands gripping her hips, his eyes locked to hers.
It was more than s*x.
It was surrender.
When they both came, it was loud, desperate, overwhelming.
Like they’d finally said everything they couldn’t put into words.
---
They lay tangled in the sheets, chest to chest, still catching their breath.
Zara rested her head on his shoulder.
Jason kissed her forehead.
“I want more than this,” he murmured. “Tell me you do too.”
She hesitated.
Then whispered, “I do.”
- Writer
