SPECIE OF LOVE

"MISTAKE"

Chapter 3 - MISTAKE

Ava’s Pov

She woke up smiling.

Actual, teeth-showing, heart-racing smiling. The kind that made her cheeks hurt before her feet even touched the floor. Her phone lit up at 8:12am and there it was. One text. From Damien.

*Damien: We’re going out. 10am. Don’t be late.*

She read it three times. Four. Five. Each time her pulse jumped higher. He was coming back to his senses. After five years of “coffee, schedule, hey you”, he finally saw her. Finally wanted her. Finally…

Her chest filled with something dangerous. Pleased. Powerful. This was what she’d been doing to him, wasn’t it? The navy dress, the schedule read-out, the “sir, can I go now”. It worked. She had his attention.

Although one part of her hated it. Hated that she was troubling him, twisting him, playing games with a man who never played. That part sounded like her mother. Like her pastor. Like God.

But the other part? The part that had been invisible for five years? That part whispered: _Seen. Seen. Seen._

“Seen,” she said aloud to her empty room. The word tasted like victory and sin mixed together.

She flew to her closet and yanked it open. There it was. The dress. Red. Tight. Bought two months ago during a 2am online shopping spiral she’d immediately regretted. She’d never worn it. Too bold. Too much. Too much skin.

Today felt different. Today had to be different.

The shower water ran cool over her skin and she closed her eyes. She could already imagine it. Damien’s hands on her wet shoulders. His mouth on her neck. Him backing her against the bathroom wall, his suit getting soaked, his control snapping. Him kissing her like he’d been starving for five years.

She moaned softly, head tipped back, water streaming down her face.

The alarm screamed for the third time. 9:00am.

She snapped back so hard her teeth clicked. No. She couldn’t be early. She wouldn’t be. If he was taking her out, then his whole schedule should burn. She wanted to be fashionably, unavoidably, maddeningly late. Let him wait. Let him wonder. Let him feel what five years of waiting felt like.

The dress snatched her waist like it was angry at her curves. The cleavage sat high and demanding. Her boobs had never looked like this. She did her makeup slower than usual. Red lips. Winged eyeliner sharp enough to cut. Jewelry that clinked when she moved.

She stood in front of the mirror and didn’t recognize herself. This wasn’t Ava the ghost. This was Ava the woman.

“Father Lord, thank You for this opportunity,” she whispered, hands pressed together. “I’ll never misuse it. And also… forgive me for anything that might take place. Guide me, Lord. Amen.”

Then she sang. Soft, off-key, giddy. She grabbed her bag, heels clicking against her floor, and walked out like she owned the world.

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Damien’s Pov

“Jeez.”

The word ripped out of him before he could stop it.

The woman walking toward him wasn’t his PA. His Ava. The invisible one. The one who wore navy and beige and disappeared against his office walls.

This was someone else. Someone sexier. Someone dangerous.

His little mister under his trousers had opinions. Loud ones. It stirred, tightened, begged for attention. He wanted to get down with her. Badly. Right here on his desk. On the floor. Against the glass. He wanted to ruin that red dress and find out what sounds she made when he broke her composure.

She looked tempting. God, she looked like sin in heels.

He stood up too fast, grabbed the coffee she’d set down without looking at it, and slammed it on the table. He needed distance. He needed air. He needed to not look at the way her dress hugged every curve.

He stepped close. Too close. He could smell her perfume. Vanilla and something sharp, something that made his brain short-circuit. Lust possessed him like a demon.

“Why are you dressed like this,” he said. His voice came out rough, low, possessive. Not a question. An accusation.

“Sir, you messaged me that you were taking me out, isn’t it?” She said it sweet. Innocent. But her eyes were anything but innocent. They were daring him.

He wasn’t listening. He couldn’t. All he could see were those little puffins glaring at him from the top of her dress. Round, soft, begging to be touched. His mouth went dry.

She knew. He saw it in the slight lift of her chin. She knew he wanted her. She’d planned this.

Then she did it. She rose on her toes and kissed his neck. Just a brush of lips. Warm. Wet. Deliberate.

“God help me,” she whispered, so low he almost missed it.

That was it. Control shattered.

He took the bull by the horns. His hands slammed onto her boobs, fingers digging into soft flesh through silk. He fumbled, desperate, finding his way down to her thighs, sliding under the dress. She gasped, then moaned. Soft. Broken.

“God help me,” she said again, but this time she was moaning it. Like a prayer and a curse at the same time.

His hands found her center through lace. He romanced it, circled, pressed, and she arched into him like she’d been waiting her whole life for his touch. He kissed her hard. Teeth and tongue and five years of wanting. He picked her up like she weighed nothing and laid her on the couch in the corner of his office.

The zipper. He was already opening it. The dress gave way under his hands.

“The door,” she moaned, quiet. A warning. A plea.

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He was past words. He shoved his trousers down, his d**k hard and aching, and she wrapped her hand around it. His head fell back. He moaned. Loud. Animal.

Boom.

The doorknob turned.

A woman stood there. Beautiful. Flawless. Dressed elegantly but modestly in cream silk and pearls. Her belly was small but unmistakable under the fabric.

Isabella George.

Time stopped. The air left the room.

Damien moved faster than thought. He shoved himself back into his trousers, zipped, turned. Ava scrambled, hands shaking as she tried to clean up the mess, tried to pull the dress back over her bare skin, tried to become invisible again.

Isabella didn’t say a word. Her eyes flicked from Damien’s open shirt to Ava’s flushed face to the couch, the truth clicking into place.

Her voice cut through the silence like glass. “Appointment cancelled.”

Then she turned and stormed out. Heels stabbing the marble floor.

Damien didn’t chase her. He turned back to Ava. Pulled her up. Kissed her again, deeper this time, like he could erase Isabella from both their minds. Like he could pretend none of it happened.

Ava kissed him back. God, she didn’t want to stop. His mouth was fire and she was thirsty. For five years she’d dreamed of this. Of being wanted. Of being chosen.

But then she remembered. _Appointment cancelled._

The words hit her like ice water.

She broke the kiss, chest heaving. “Was I supposed to just go sit there as a PA?” Her voice shook. “Was I supposed to follow the expecting parents to wherever they are going? To the hospital? To hold your hand while she gives birth to your child?”

He didn’t stop. He laid her back down. His d**k was out again, heavy against her thigh. He was drowning in lust and she was drowning with him.

She held him in her hand. He almost got in. She could feel it. The stretch. The burn. The point of no return.

And then her brain screamed.

She jolted up, shoving at his chest. “Was I supposed to follow you somewhere?”

Without paying attention, eyes glazed with need, he muttered, “Yes. You were supposed to follow us to the hospital. And then later, for a meeting.”

Her heart stopped.

So that was it. She wasn’t the woman he wanted. She was the thing he used to ease his lustful desires while his pregnant baby mama waited in the car. She was the distraction. The mistake. The sin he’d regret later.

The truth hit harder than Isabella’s presence.

She pushed him. Hard. Her hands came away sticky and she wiped them on the couch like he was filth. She fixed her dress with shaking fingers, mascara running, lips swollen.

While he stood there, confused, breathing hard, still half-hard and completely lost, she stormed out.

He followed. Of course he did. He caught her by the staircase, spun her around, and his hands were on her boobs again. Like he couldn’t help himself. Like she was his drug.

She loved it. Her body betrayed her and melted into his touch. But her mind? Her mind was screaming.

She stopped him. Both hands on his chest, pushing. “Sir,” she said, voice steady even though she was breaking inside. “Whatever happened inside was a mistake. And it will not repeat itself again.”

Then she ran. Down the stairs. Out of the building. Into the sunlight that suddenly felt too bright.

He stood there on the landing, helpless. Chest rising and falling. Hands still shaped like her body.

“Her body is worth more than billions of dollars,” he said to no one. The words felt like a confession and a curse.

Downstairs, Ava pressed her back against the building and slid to the ground. She wasn’t crying. Not yet.

But inside, something cracked. Something that had been holding her up for five years.

She’d finally been seen.

And she wished she hadn’t.

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