Revenge Affair

Morning After

Elara Voss stirred slowly, her eyelids fluttering open to a world that felt slightly tilted. The first thing she registered was the pounding in her temples, a relentless drumbeat that matched the chaos in her chest. Sunlight pierced through the slats of unfamiliar blinds, painting golden stripes across the white sheets that wrapped around her like a cocoon. Sheets that were not hers.

A faint scent of acrylic paint and fresh linen hung in the air, mingled with something more primal: sweat and desire from the night before. Her body ached in places she hadn’t felt in months, a sweet soreness that brought back flashes of heated skin, urgent whispers, and a stranger’s touch that had made her forget, if only for a few hours.

Oh god. What have I done?

Elara bolted upright, clutching the sheet to her chest as if it could shield her from the reality crashing down.

She was naked beneath it, her skin still tingling from the memories. The room came into focus: a spacious loft with high ceilings, exposed brick walls lined with canvases in various stages of completion. Bold strokes of color dominated, stormy oceans in deep blues, fiery abstracts in reds and oranges that seemed to pulse with emotion. An easel stood in the corner, a half-finished piece depicting a woman’s silhouette against a turbulent sea. Artistic. Sexy.

Damian’s place.

Damian Black. The name hit her like a splash of cold water. Tall, brooding, with those piercing blue eyes and a jaw dusted with stubble that had scratched deliciously against her thighs. She groaned, burying her face in her hands.

Last night played out in fragmented reels: the dim bar lights, whiskey burning her throat, spilling her guts about Alex’s betrayal. Damian listening, his deep voice offering sympathy laced with humor.

Then the invitation to his place for “coffee,” which turned into anything but. Kisses that started hungry on the couch, his hands exploring every curve as if mapping a new canvas.

Clothes shedding in a frenzy, his mouth on her breasts, teasing until she arched and begged. Fingers dipping lower, stroking her to the brink, then his tongue replacing them, skillful and insistent, drawing out moans she didn’t know she had in her.

And when he finally entered her, slow at first, then building to a rhythm that shattered her world, god, it had been explosive. A one-night stand fueled by alcohol and revenge, but damn if it hadn’t felt right in the moment.

Now, in the harsh light of morning, regret gnawed at the edges. She was engaged, technically still, though Alex’s affair had blown that to hell. Was this cheating on a cheater? Did it make her better or worse? Elara spotted her dress crumpled on the floor, panties tangled nearby, bra slung over a chair.

She slipped out of bed, wobbling slightly from the hangover, and dressed quickly, her fingers fumbling with buttons. Her purse was on the coffee table, phone inside, dead, as she had powered it off to escape Alex’s calls. How long had she been here? A glance at the wall clock: 9 a.m. Work started at 10. s**t.

A sizzle from the kitchen pulled her attention. Damian was there, shirtless in low-slung gray sweatpants that did nothing to hide his athletic build. Muscles rippled under tanned skin as he flipped eggs in a pan, his back to her.

Dark hair tousled from sleep or lack thereof, and a tattoo peeking over his shoulder, some abstract design that looked like swirling waves. He turned, spotting her, and a slow smile spread across his face, those blue eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Morning, beautiful. You look like you could use some grease to combat that hangover.”

Elara forced a smile, hovering in the doorway. “Hey. Yeah, head’s killing me. Smells good, though.”

He plated the eggs with toast and bacon, setting it on the island counter with a mug of black coffee. “Sit. Eat. I make a mean breakfast, artist’s survival skill for late nights in the studio.”

She slid onto a stool, the warmth of the coffee grounding her. “Thanks. Last night… I don’t usually… you know.”

Damian leaned on the counter opposite her, sipping his own coffee. “Hook up with strangers? Me neither. But you were hurting, and… chemistry happened. No regrets on my end.” His gaze was steady, no judgment, just a hint of that smoldering intensity from the night before.

Elara poked at the eggs, appetite warring with nausea. “It was… amazing, actually. But my life’s a dumpster fire right now. Fiancé cheating, me drowning sorrows in whiskey. Not my finest hour.”

He nodded, expression softening. “Hey, we all have those. My divorce was a nightmare, ex took half the gallery, half my heart. Took me months to paint again. But you? You’ll bounce back. You’re strong; I saw that last night.”

She met his eyes, a spark flickering. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Bar Philosopher.”

He chuckled, that low rumble sending a shiver down her spine. “Flattery will get you seconds. So, what’s the plan? Confront the asshole?”

Elara sighed, buttering her toast. “Yeah. Tonight. Rip off the Band-Aid.”

“Good. You deserve honesty. And if you need a distraction…” He trailed off, handing her a napkin with his number scrawled on it. “Call. Coffee, talk, or whatever.”

She pocketed it, a small thrill mixing with the guilt. “Might take you up on that. But I should go, work calls."

Damian walked her to the door, his presence close enough to feel the heat from his body. “Take care, Elara. Last night was more than just a rebound for me.”

She paused, turning to him. On impulse, she leaned in, brushing a quick kiss on his cheek. “Thanks, Damian. For listening. And… everything.”

The cab ride back to her apartment was a whirlwind of thoughts. The city blurred past, honking horns, pedestrians dodging rain puddles from an overnight shower. Alex. How would she face him? The emails burned in her mind: “Can’t wait to feel you again,” Mia had written, with photos of them tangled in sheets that looked suspiciously like a hotel bed.

Months of lies while she picked out wedding invitations. Rage bubbled, mixed with hurt that made her eyes sting. And Damian, god, he had been a balm, his touch erasing the pain temporarily. But was she ready for more? Or was this just vengeance s*x?

Home felt foreign.

The sleek kitchen where Alex had cooked pasta last night, the living room with their shared throw blankets.

He was gone, off to work, his side of the bed still made. Elara showered, hot water cascading over her, washing away the remnants of Damian’s cologne, a musky, artistic scent that lingered in her hair. She scrubbed harder, but the memories stuck. Dressed in a power suit, tailored pants, crisp blouse, to armor herself, she grabbed her portfolio and headed to Voss Visions.

The Brooklyn office was a sanctuary: open plan with natural light flooding in, potted ferns and succulents everywhere, mood boards pinned to walls like colorful puzzles. Her team bustled, interns sketching, phones ringing with client queries. Lila Reyes spotted her immediately, waving from her desk cluttered with marketing mockups and empty coffee cups.

“Elara! You look like you pulled an all-nighter. Spill, did you confront Alex yet?”

Elara dropped her bag in her office, a cozy corner with a drafting table and inspiration wall of fabric swatches. “Worse. Found proof. Emails, photos. He’s been screwing Mia for months.”

Lila gasped, following her in and closing the door. “That rat bastard! I always thought Mia had that sneaky vibe, legs for days and ambition to match. What did you do?”

Elara sank into her chair, rubbing her temples.

“Went to a bar. Got hammered. Ended up in bed with a hot stranger.”

Lila’s eyes lit up like Christmas lights. “No way! Details, woman. Name? Looks? Scale of one to ten?”

“Damian Black. Artist. Solid ten, tall, muscled, blue eyes that could melt steel. And the s*x? Off the charts. Started with kisses that turned my brain to mush, then he… well, let’s say he knew exactly what he was doing.”

Lila fanned herself dramatically. “Jealous! My love life is drier than the Sahara. Last guy I dated thought foreplay was a high five. So, revenge s*x? Empowering or complicated?”

“Both,” Elara admitted. “Felt amazing in the moment, but now? Guilt. Though Alex deserves it.”

Lila hugged her tight. “No guilt, girl. He cheated first. You’re a queen reclaiming her throne. Now, plan: dump his ass, or make him grovel?”

“Confront tonight. See what he says.”

“Good. And if you need backup, I’m your girl. Now, distract with work, that startup HQ needs your genius.”

Elara nodded, diving into her sketches. The project was a dream: transforming a bland warehouse into a tech haven with biophilic elements, living walls of greenery, ergonomic pods for brainstorming, ambient lights that shifted with the day. She lost herself in it, drawing waterfall features for the lobby, symbolizing innovation flow. But thoughts intruded: Alex’s smile in those photos, Mia’s smug texts. And Damian’s number burning in her pocket.

Mid-morning, a team meeting in the conference room. Her staff presented updates: “The sustainable flooring samples arrived, bamboo composite, eco-friendly,” said Jake, her junior designer.

Elara approved, adding notes. “Pair it with recycled glass accents for that modern edge. Clients want green without sacrificing style.”

Praise from the team boosted her: “Boss, your vision’s killer,” said Sarah, the intern.

Lunch rolled around, Lila dragging her to their favorite deli around the corner. Pastrami on rye for Elara, turkey club for Lila. They sat at a window table, watching the Brooklyn bustle, hipsters with laptops, dog walkers dodging cyclists.

“So, more on Damian,” Lila prodded, munching a chip. “Tattoos? Abs? Give me the play-by-play.”

Elara laughed, cheeks warming. “Tattoo on his shoulder, waves, fitting for an artist. Abs? Carved like marble. He started slow, kissing my neck, hands everywhere. Teased until I was begging, then went down… expert level. When we finally… it was intense, like he was painting with his body.”

Lila whistled. “Damn. Call him again? Or is this one and done?”

“Not sure. He gave me his number. Texted this morning: ‘Coffee sometime? Miss that laugh.’ Cute, right?”

“Adorable. Do it. Alex who?”