Revenge Affair

Cracks and Fire

Back in the apartment, the mood shifted. Alex’s kisses grew urgent, his hands roaming under her blouse. “I’ve wanted this all night,” he growled, backing her toward the bedroom.

She responded, her body igniting despite her mind’s protests. Clothes fell away: her blouse, his shirt, revealing the familiar lines of his chest. He lifted her onto the bed, his mouth on her skin, trailing down her neck to her breasts. Elara arched, a moan escaping as he teased her n*****s with his tongue, his fingers dipping lower, stroking her through her lace panties.

“Alex,” she breathed, pulling him closer.

But then his phone rang from the nightstand. He paused, glancing at it.

“Ignore it,” she said, her voice edged.

He did, for a moment, diving back in. His fingers slipped inside her, curling just right, building that delicious pressure. She was close... so close...when it rang again.

“Damn it.” He reached for it. “It’s the office. I have to.”

“Now?” Elara sat up, frustration boiling over.

“It’s crunch time, babe. Two seconds.” He answered, stepping into the hall. “Yeah, Mia? What’s up?”

Mia. His assistant. Elara’s stomach twisted. The call lasted five minutes, his voice low. When he returned, the mood was shattered.

“Sorry. Crisis averted.” He tried to kiss her again, but she pulled away.

“Forget it. I’m tired.”

He sighed, cuddling her instead. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” But sleep evaded her, thoughts churning.

Morning light filtered through the blinds. Alex was up, brewing coffee, humming off-key. “Morning, gorgeous.” He handed her a mug, pecking her cheek.

“Thanks.” She sipped, watching him grab his keys. “Busy day?”

“Meetings stacked. Lunch with the team, then investor pitch.” He kissed her goodbye. “Dinner tonight? I’ll make your favorite pasta.”

“Sounds good.”

As the door clicked shut, his phone lit up on the counter. Forgotten. A text popped up: From Mia. “Lunch meeting can’t wait ;) Looking forward to it.”

Elara froze. Winky face? Her pulse raced. She picked it up, thumb hovering. No, she wouldn’t snoop. Not like that. She set it down, but the damage was done.

Work that day was torture. Voss Visions’ office was a creative hub in Brooklyn—exposed brick walls adorned with her designs, plants thriving under grow lights. Elara dove into her sketches, but her mind kept drifting.

Lila noticed immediately. “You look like death warmed over. Rough night?”

Over coffee in the break room, Elara confessed. “Saw a text on Alex’s phone. From Mia. With a winky face about lunch.”

Lila’s eyes widened. “Mia? Legs-for-days Mia? Oh no.”

“It’s probably innocent.”

Lila scoffed. “Winky face is never innocent. That’s flirt code. You need to talk to him.”

“I will. Tonight.”

But dinner that evening was tense. Alex cooked, chatting about his day. “The pitch went great. Investors are excited.”

Elara poked at her pasta. “How was lunch?”

“Good. Productive.” He smiled. “Mia nailed the presentation prep.”

“Mia again.” She kept her tone light. “You two spend a lot of time together.”

He laughed. “She’s my assistant. Part of the job.”

The evening ended with TV and cuddles, but intimacy felt forced. His touches were there, but her responses were mechanical. After, she lay awake, doubts multiplying.

Days passed in a blur. Wedding planning meetings, dress fittings, all while suspicions simmered. One night, Alex out late again, Elara couldn’t take it. His laptop was open on the desk—password she knew. Just a quick look.

Emails loaded. Inbox full. She searched Mia’s name. Hits galore. Professional at first, then… “Last night was incredible.” “Your place or mine next time?” Photos attached. Intimate ones. Dates lining up with his absences.

Tears streamed down her face. How long? Months? On the eve of their life together?

She slammed the laptop shut, her chest heaving. No packing, no plans. Just out. She grabbed her coat, powered off her phone to silence the world, and headed to the nearest bar—a dimly lit dive a few blocks away where the drinks were strong and the crowd anonymous. Tonight, she needed oblivion.

The bar was hazy, filled with the clink of glasses and low murmurs. Elara slid onto a stool, ordering a whiskey neat. Then another. The burn down her throat matched the fire in her gut. Betrayal looped in her mind, each sip dulling the edges. By the third drink, the room spun a little, her thoughts fuzzy.

A man took the stool next to her. “Rough night?” His voice was deep, smooth like aged scotch.

She glanced over. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark stubble framing a strong jaw and piercing blue eyes. Thirty-two-ish, dressed in a casual button-down that hinted at muscles underneath. “You could say that,” she muttered, signaling for another round.

“Damian Black,” he introduced, extending a hand. “Artist. And occasional bar philosopher.”

Elara shook it, his grip firm and warm. “Elara Voss. Interior designer. And current mess.”

He chuckled, a low rumble that cut through the noise. “Messes make the best stories. What’s yours? If you want to share.”

The whiskey loosened her tongue. She spilled it all: the perfect life, the suspicions, the emails. “Fiancé cheating with his assistant. Classic, right? Like a bad rom-com, but without the happy ending.”

Damian’s expression darkened. “Ouch. Been there. Ex-wife ran off with my business partner. Left me with a gallery full of unsold paintings and a heart in shreds.”

They toasted to broken hearts, shots flowing. His humour shone through: “My last painting? Looked like a toddler finger-painted it blindfolded. Sold for five figures. Art world’s nuts.”

Elara laughed, genuine for the first time in days. “Try clients who swear they want bold colors, then chicken out and pick fifty shades of beige.”

Conversation sparked, easy and electric. Hours blurred. The bar emptied, last call announced. “My place is around the corner,” Damian said, eyes locking on hers. “Coffee to sober up? No strings.”

The alcohol buzzed in her veins, revenge whispering sweet nothings. “Why not?”

His apartment was artsy, walls covered in canvases of stormy seas and abstract passions. Coffee forgotten, they crashed onto the couch, kisses hungry and urgent. His lips claimed hers with a fervor that sent shivers down her spine, his tongue dancing with hers in a rhythm that made her forget everything but the heat building between them. Elara’s hands fumbled with his shirt buttons, revealing a smooth, toned chest that flexed under her touch. He groaned softly as she raked her nails lightly down his back, pulling her closer.

Clothes peeled away slowly in the haze of desire and whiskey fumes. Damian’s fingers traced the curve of her waist, sliding up to cup her breasts, thumbs circling her n*****s until they hardened into peaks. She gasped, arching her back as he lowered his head, taking one into his mouth, sucking gently at first, then with more insistence, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to send jolts of pleasure through her body. His other hand ventured lower, slipping beneath her panties, fingers exploring the slick warmth between her thighs. He stroked her slowly, teasing her c**t with feather-light circles that made her hips buck involuntarily, seeking more friction.

“You’re so responsive,” he murmured against her skin, his breath hot and ragged. “I want to make you forget him.”

Elara’s head fell back, a moan escaping as he increased the pressure, his fingers dipping inside her, curling to hit that perfect spot over and over. The room spun, not just from the alcohol, but from the waves of sensation crashing over her. She tugged at his belt, freeing him, her hand wrapping around his hard length, stroking him in time with his movements. He hissed in pleasure, his free hand tangling in her hair, pulling her in for another deep kiss.

They shifted, Damian guiding her to straddle him on the couch. He peeled off her panties, his eyes dark with lust as he positioned himself at her entrance. “Tell me you want this,” he said, voice husky.

“I do,” she whispered, lowering herself onto him inch by inch, feeling him fill her completely. The stretch was exquisite, a mix of pleasure and the slightest edge of pain that only heightened everything. She rocked her hips slowly at first, savoring the fullness, her hands on his shoulders for leverage.

Damian gripped her hips, guiding her movements, thrusting up to meet her. Their pace quickened, skin slapping against skin, breaths mingling in pants and moans. He leaned forward, capturing her breast again, sucking hard as one hand slipped between them to rub her c**t in tight circles. Elara’s nails dug into his back, the pressure building, coiling tight in her core. “Oh god, Damian,” she cried out, her body trembling as the orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, clenching around him in pulsing waves.

He followed soon after, thrusting deep one last time with a guttural groan, spilling inside her. They collapsed together, breathless and sweaty, tangled in each other’s arms on the couch that now felt like a battlefield of passion.