The Night Before I Knew Him

"You're coming out tonight, and I don't want to hear it." Natalie stood in my doorway with her arms crossed, already dressed in a tight black dress and heels that made her legs look a mile long. Meanwhile, I was sitting on my bed in sweatpants, laptop open to a checklist of everything I needed for my first day tomorrow. "Nat, I start at Kane Industries in the morning. My alarm is set for five-thirty. I need to—" "You need to celebrate." She walked into my room and closed my laptop. "You've been working toward this job for years. Years, Emma. One drink. That's all I'm asking." One drink always turns into five with her. "I really shouldn't." "But you're going to." She pulled open my closet and started rifling through the hangers. "Because you're my best friend and you love me and also because if you don't come out with me, you're going to sit here all night obsessing over tomorrow until you make yourself sick." She wasn't wrong. My stomach had been in knots since the offer letter came through. Junior analyst at Kane Industries. It was everything I had worked for. Every late night studying, every unpaid internship, every time I had said no to parties and trips and anything that might distract me from the goal. And now the goal was here. Tomorrow morning. Waiting for me. One drink. I can do one drink. "Fine." I stood up and took the dress she was holding out to me. Simple black, fitted, nothing special. "But we're leaving by ten." Natalie grinned. "Sure we are." ------------------------------------------------------------ The bar was packed. Bodies were everywhere, pressed together near the entrance, crowded around tables, lined up three deep at the bar. The music was too loud. Some kind of electronic beat that pulsed through the floor and up into my chest. This was a mistake. Natalie had already disappeared into the crowd, probably toward some guy she'd spotted from across the room. That was her talent. She could walk into any place and find the most attractive person within thirty seconds. Meanwhile, I stood near the wall with an overpriced cocktail I had barely touched, counting the minutes until I could leave. Forty-five minutes. That's respectable. Forty-five minutes and then I'm gone. I checked my phone. 9:17. Forty-three minutes to go. The drink tasted like sugar and vodka and something vaguely fruity. Twelve dollars for this. Twelve dollars I didn't have to spare, not with rent due next week and my mom's birthday coming up. But Natalie had insisted on this place, said it was where all the "important people" went on Friday nights, said I needed to start getting comfortable in spaces like this if I was going to work at Kane Industries. Important people. I looked around at the crowd. Everyone here looked rich. That polished, effortless kind of rich where even their casual clothes probably cost more than my entire outfit. Designer bags. Expensive watches. I didn't belong here. That much was obvious. Forty-one minutes. That's when I noticed him. He was sitting at the far end of the bar, alone, which was weird because every other seat had been claimed hours ago. He had dark hair, pushed back from his face. Strong jaw. Suit that fit him like it had been sewn directly onto his body. He was holding a glass of something amber, he wasn't drinking it, just holding it while he watched the room. Okay, he's attractive. Really attractive. So what? I looked away. Took a sip of my terrible cocktail. Checked my phone again. 9:19. Thirty-nine minutes. When I looked back up, he was watching me. My stomach did something weird. Not butterflies, nothing that stupid and romantic. More like a warning. The way your body tenses when you sense something you can't quite place yet. He didn't look away when our eyes met. Most people would. That little social contract where you pretend you weren't just staring at a stranger. He didn't do that. He just kept looking, like he had every right to, like I was something he'd already decided to figure out. Look away. Look away right now. I didn't. He stood up. Left his glass on the bar. Started walking toward me. Oh no. No no no. What is happening? My heart rate picked up. Not excitement. Something closer to panic. I didn't do this. I didn't get approached by men in bars, I didn't have one-night stands, I didn't take risks with strangers. I was careful. Controlled. I had a plan and the plan did not include whatever this was. He stopped in front of me. Close enough that I had to tilt my head back to look at him. He was tall. Over six feet. Up close, his eyes were gray, the color of storm clouds, and there was nothing soft in them. "You've been standing here for twenty minutes." His voice was low, direct. "You've checked your phone eleven times. You hate that drink but you keep holding it because it gives you something to do with your hands." I blinked. "Excuse me?" "You don't want to be here." "That's—" I stopped. He was right. "So what if I don't?" "So why are you?" Because Natalie dragged me here. Because I can't say no to her. Because I'm too anxious about tomorrow to sleep anyway so I might as well be anxious somewhere with alcohol. "My friend wanted to celebrate something." "What are you celebrating?" Don't tell him. You don't know him. Don't tell him anything. "New job. I start tomorrow." He nodded slowly, like this information meant something to him. "Nervous?" "No." His mouth twitched. Almost a smile but not quite. "Liar." My jaw tightened. "You don't know me." "I know you're standing in a corner at a bar you can't afford, wearing a dress you've worn at least a dozen times, pretending to drink something you hate, counting the minutes until you can leave." He tilted his head, studying me. "And I know you're not going to leave. Not yet. Because part of you wants something to happen tonight. Something that isn't part of the plan." My face went hot. Whether from embarrassment or anger, I couldn't tell. Who the hell does he think he is? "You're very full of yourself." "Yes." Okay, I wasn't expecting him to just agree with that. "Does this usually work for you?" I asked. "Walking up to women and psychoanalyzing them?" "I don't usually walk up to women." "Then why me?" He didn't answer right away. Just looked at me with those gray eyes, that unreadable expression, and something shifted in the air between us. "I don't know yet." He said it like it bothered him. Like I was a problem he hadn't solved. "Come have a drink with me." "I have a drink." "You have sugar water with vodka. Come have a real drink." Say no. Say you have to leave. Say anything except yes. "One drink." God, Emma. What are you doing? His hand touched the small of my back as he guided me toward the bar. Light pressure, warm through the thin fabric of my dress. My skin prickled where he made contact. One drink turned into two. Two turned into three. He didn't tell me his name and I didn't ask. We talked about nothing important. Books. Cities we'd visited. The worst jobs we'd ever had. He was guarded, giving me just enough to keep the conversation going without revealing anything real. I should have found that suspicious. I should have walked away. Instead, when he leaned in and said "Come home with me," I said yes. -------------------------------------------------------------------- His apartment was ridiculous. It was a penthouse. Top floor, windows looking out over the city. The kind of place that costs more per month than most people make in a year. I barely registered any of it because his mouth was on my neck before we even made it past the entryway. His lips trailed hot, deliberate kisses along the sensitive skin there, teeth grazing lightly as he backed me against the wall. I gasped, my hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt. He pressed his body against mine, his arousal evident through his pants, grinding slowly as his hands slid down to grip my hips, pulling me closer. He lifted me effortlessly onto the couch, my dress hiking up around my thighs as he knelt between my legs. His fingers hooked into the waistband of my panties, yanking them down in one swift motion, exposing me to the cool air of the room. I shivered, but not from the cold, his gaze was intense, hungry, as he lowered his head. His tongue flicked out, teasing my c**t with slow, circling strokes that made my back arch off the cushions. He sucked gently at first, then harder, his fingers digging into my thighs to hold me in place as I squirmed. One hand moved up, two fingers sliding inside me, curling to hit that spot that sent sparks through my body. I moaned, my fingers tangling in his dark hair, pulling him closer as the pressure built. He didn't stop, his mouth working relentlessly—licking, sucking, thrusting until I shattered, my orgasm crashing over me in waves, my legs trembling around him. But he wasn't done. Still panting, I fumbled with his belt, my hands shaking as I undid his pants and freed his c**k—thick, hard, and ready. He groaned as I stroked him, his eyes darkening with need. He positioned himself at my entrance, teasing for a moment before thrusting in deep, filling me completely. It was fast and messy, his hips slamming into mine with urgent rhythm, the couch creaking beneath us. My nails raked down his back, urging him on, our breaths mingling in harsh gasps. He buried his face in my neck, biting down as he came, his body shuddering against mine, triggering a second, smaller climax for me. The second time was slower. He carried me to his bedroom, laying me down on sheets that felt like water against my skin, silky, cool and luxurious. He stripped off the rest of our clothes deliberately, his eyes roaming over my body like he was memorizing every curve. Starting at my toes, he kissed his way up my legs, lingering at the insides of my thighs, his breath hot against my still-sensitive core. He bypassed it this time, moving up to my breasts, taking one n****e into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it while his hand kneaded the other. I arched into him, whimpering as he switched sides, his free hand trailing down to stroke between my legs, fingers slipping in and out with agonizing slowness. When he finally entered me again, it was unhurried, his weight pressing me into the mattress as he rocked into me deeply, each thrust measured to build the tension. He held my gaze with those storm-gray eyes, one hand pinning my wrists above my head, the other gripping my hip. I wrapped my legs around him, meeting his movements, the friction delicious and overwhelming. He whispered things in my ear, dirty, commanding words that made my pulse race, telling me how good I felt, how tight, how he wanted to make me c*m again. The pace quickened gradually, his control fraying until we were both lost in it, my cries echoing in the room as I clenched around him, pulling him over the edge with me. I left before sunrise. He was asleep when I gathered my clothes, my body aching in a way that would remind me of him for days. I had given him my number at some point during the night. Stupid. I found his phone on the nightstand and deleted it. Clean break. Like it never happened. The elevator took forever. The doorman didn't look at me when I walked through the lobby, which was probably a mercy. Outside, the cold morning air hit my face like a slap. My heels clicked against the sidewalk as I walked toward the subway. Bury it. Forget it. Tomorrow is a new start. I told myself it was just one night. One mistake. It didn't mean anything, and it would never matter. Ten hours later, I walked into the Kane Industries lobby for orientation. The building was everything I'd imagined. Glass, steel, intimidating as hell. I followed the other new hires toward the welcome desk, trying to look like I belonged. Movement near the elevators caught my attention. Two men stepped out. One older, talking rapidly about something. The other one made my stomach drop straight to the floor. It was him. He looked different in daylight, more polished, more untouchable in his charcoal suit. But I knew that face. I knew those hands. He was nodding at whatever the older man was saying. Then he glanced toward the welcome desk, casual, probably just scanning the room. His eyes landed on me. Something flickered across his face. Surprise, maybe. Then it was gone, and he looked away. What the hell is he doing here?