17
2185 Words
Jordan
I stand at the entrance to the terrace and force myself not to pace. The night hums with laughter and soft music, but the noise fades into nothing. I’m not here for anyone else. Just her.
I know she’ll come—because her eyes light up when I ask her to. Not with anger, not with hesitation but with something that looks a lot like excitement, though she tries to hide it every damn time.
My fist tightened at the thought of Felix standing too close to her inside, his hand resting at the small of her back. He has every right—he’s her husband.
That truth burns more than I care to admit. I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t feel this way, not when he’s my best friend. But watching him touch her, claim her in those small, familiar ways—it takes everything in me to stay still. To not cross the room and knock his teeth out for every time he’s made her flinch, for every piece of her he’s broken and tried to hide behind a smile.
When the invitation arrived last week, I didn’t even blink. I cancelled my trip to Tanzania, called my tailor, and told him I needed a tux that would make an impression. I had a feeling she’d be here, and I was right.
It starts somewhere deep in my chest, that pull I can’t explain like my body knows she’s near before my mind catches up and then she steps into the soft wash of light—elegant, breathtaking, every inch the woman who has kept me awake too many nights. My breath catches.
“Hey.”The word slips out rougher than intended. I realize belatedly that my mouth is open like a fool. I recover, sketch a small bow, and flash her a grin that earns me a half-smile. “Sweetheart.”
Her fingers are warm when I take them, delicate but steady. I lift her hand to my lips, letting the kiss linger just long enough to test her composure. She exhales softly—almost a sigh and lowers her gaze to hide the flush colouring her face.
“It’s good to see you,” I murmur.
“Is it?” she asks, her voice light, teasing, but uncertain.
“Trust me,” I say, my tone lower, quieter. “You make being here bearable.”
I let go of her hand, even though every instinct in me screams to pull her closer.
God, I want her. But not just like this. Not as a distraction or a release.
As much as I want to bend her over that damn couch behind us, I know I need to do this differently. She needs to know I’m not some toy she reaches for when the world gets too heavy. I’m human. I feel. And I’ve felt her—in every way that matters—long before we even met.
I draw in a breath, steadying my voice. “Before anything else, Sweetheart… we need to talk.”
She stills at my words, eyes darting toward the terrace doors, as though she might bolt if I say the wrong thing. I can’t let her. Not again.
“I’ve missed this,” I say quietly.
Her brow arches. “What—corner conversations and stolen minutes?”
“You.”
The word slips out before I can stop it, rougher than I meant it to be. Her gaze softens, then shifts away as if the floor has suddenly become very interesting.
I exhale, trying to keep my voice steady. “You hurt me.”
Her eyes snap back to mine. “What?”
“You heard me.” I take a step closer, my hands deep in my pockets to stop myself from touching her. “You disappeared. Just like that. Not even a text. A single line. Anything. You have no idea what that silence did to me.”
She swallows hard, her voice faint. “You think it was easy for me?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “You didn’t give me a chance to find out.”
The air thickens between us. For a moment, neither of us speaks. Then I break the silence, softer this time. “Did you get the flowers?”
Her lips curve slightly. “I did.”
“Did you love them?”
Her eyes flicker—caught between guilt and memory. “They were… beautiful. Lilies, tulips, and roses?”
I nod. “Your favourites.”
“I noticed.” She pauses, her voice quiet. “I also noticed you. Parked outside my house that night.”
My pulse jumps. “You saw me?”
She tilts her head, a hint of a smile teasing her lips. “Why did you take that risk? You knew my husband was home.”
I hold her gaze, unflinching. “Because when you need something badly enough, you damn all consequences.”
Her breath catches, and for a fleeting moment, everything else fades—the party, the people, the world beyond this shadowed terrace. It’s just us.
She shakes her head with a small laugh, trying to ease the weight between us. “You’re insane.”
“Only when it comes to you.”
That earns me a laugh—soft, breathy, real. The sound hits me like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
We talked after that. About nothing and everything.
About the ridiculous dance routines inside, about her work, about the construction project, my team’s been slaving over downtown. The one I lied about, of course.
“So,” she says, tilting her head, “any idea if Jordan is in there tonight?”
I smirk. “No idea.”
“Really?”
“I’m not here for him,” I say, voice dropping. “I’m not here for anyone but you.”
Something in her eyes shifts—guilt, longing, maybe both.
“All I’ve noticed all night…” I pause, stepping closer, my words low and certain, “…has been you.”
For a heartbeat, neither of us breathes. Then her lips part—barely—and I lose the last of my restraint.
My hand finds her cheek again, my thumb brushing her jaw. She doesn’t pull away this time.
When I finally kiss her, it’s slow—like the first taste of something you know you shouldn’t have but crave anyway. Her lips tremble beneath mine, then melt into the kiss, deep and searching, every unspoken word spilling out between us.
It’s not just want. It's a relief. It’s home and heartbreak, all tangled into one breath.
When we finally pull apart, she doesn’t step back.
Her forehead rests against mine, our breaths uneven, our hearts beating in the same wild rhythm.
And for the first time in a long while, the noise of the world feels far away.
“Aren't you going to tell me how lovely I look tonight?” She tilts her head, looking at me with that coy little smile that always disarms me.
I smile against her lip and pull back slightly to run my eyes over her body. The pale satin slip clings to her curves as if the fabric itself is in love with her. Desire stirs deep in my chest, tempting me to forget how dangerous she is to my heart—my sanity.
“This is a bloody spell, isn't it?” I murmur.
“What? The dress?”
“You, silly.” I kiss the side of her neck, my teeth grazing the soft throb beneath her skin. “There’s something about you—something utterly enchanting.”
“What are you waiting for? We don't have much time.”
“Will you be free tomorrow?”
“I'm not here to be quizzed, hot stuff.” She runs a finger along my lapel. “Kiss me or go away so I can return to the gala.”
My gaze lowers to her mouth again. “I want more than just tonight, sweetheart.”
Silently, I slip my hand downwards, then from her waist to her shoulders. I can tell the pressure of my fingers against the outside of her right breast makes her breath unsteady.
With my eager but clever fingers, I ease down the strap of her dress, my fingers following the trail.
“I'm not asking you to leave your husband.” I lower it to her elbow, freeing her breast. “Yet.”
For a moment, I just look at her—the soft rise and fall of her chest, the delicate flush that spreads beneath my gaze. Then I meet her eyes. “I’m asking you to see me as more than a distraction.” My voice is unsteady, roughened by the ache tightening inside me.
Even before I had the courage to meet her in person, I feared this — that I’d want more than she'd be willing to give. More than she possessed.
I've already leapt into the fire. And though it’s warm, soothing — it scorches, too. It burns.
My fingers trace slow, teasing circles around her breast until my thumb brushes over her n****e. Her breath hitches, the sound small and helpless.
“Tell me you’ll think about it,” I whisper against her skin. “About giving me more than these stolen nights.”
She exhales sharply. “f**k…”
“Say it.”
“I…” Her voice breaks, the sound fragile and trembling, and I know I’ve reached the part of her that wants this as much as I do, even if she won’t admit it.
Her knees press against mine. I push the dress off her shoulders completely and take both n*****s between my fingers, rolling them gently until her breath turns ragged.
“I want more than this,” I say softly. “Dates. Road trips. Mornings. You, without the clock, ticking down.”
Then I kiss her again—slowly, deeply—until she melts into me.
“I want us to do more than f**k, sweetheart,” I whisper against her lips.
My hand drifts lower, skimming down her stomach until I find the waistband of her panties. A soft chuckle escapes me.
“Cotton,” I murmur. “Even when you’re trying to be dangerous, you’re still impossibly real.”
She leans into my touch, her breath mingling with mine, warm and unguarded. Her skin hums beneath my fingers, tangled in the same dangerous rhythm.
“I have a cottage somewhere. Cozy, fancy.” My lips find her shoulder, trace it, then close over a n****e.
“Good God,” she gasps, her fingers tangling in my hair.
I shift her underwear aside and brush my finger over her slick heat. She’s drenched. f**k. My body reacts instantly, the ache sharp and consuming.
“We could go away for a weekend,” I whisper, my voice rough with want. The thought feels too easy, too intimate, and yet I can’t stop. My mind is a blur of lust and something darker—something that feels a lot like possession.
“I can’t.”
The word slices through the air. I still, then pull her sleeves back over her shoulders, forcing distance between us. “I think you’re lying.”
“Don’t do this…” she pleads softly, though her eyes don’t match her voice.
“I don’t know what you think this is,” I say, my tone low but unsteady, “but it’s no longer convenient for me.”
“Well,” she snaps, straightening her dress, “I’d better get going. My husband is probably looking for me.”
She adds that last part with a smirk—cold, deliberate—and turns away.
And God, something inside me snaps. I grab her shoulder, my grip iron-tight. “We’re not finished.” I turn her to face me. “How do you do it?”
She arches a brow. “Do what?”
“How do you make me crave you so much I feel like I’ll lose my damn mind if I don’t have you?”
“Is there anything wrong with being attracted to me?” she scoffs, shaking my hand off. “We’re finished here, Sir. I’ll see you around.”
She spins away from me and strides toward the door, her heels clicking against the marble, each step a deliberate dismissal. I’m still trying to catch my breath when an older woman steps out from the corridor just as Nadia reaches the exit.
“Oh, dear! Come on, it’s time to vote. Maxwell put so much into this, and we must help him win the contract!”
Nadia’s lips curve, her composure sliding neatly back into place, as if I was nothing but a momentary distraction.
But just before she disappears into the hall, she glances back at me. For one slow, electric moment, she holds my gaze, lips parting as she drags her tongue over the bottom one, deliberate and unhurried.
Damn you to hell, Nadia.
- Writer
