Sweet Temptations

REKINDLED FLAMES

“I can’t believe it’s you.” The words, husky and low, brushed against her ear from behind. She knew the voice before she turned. Only one man could make such a lethal shiver travel down her spine with just his voice.

Turning, the chaos of the corporate gala fell away. The clinking glasses, the inane chatter about Q4 projections, the sterile hotel ballroom with its overly bright chandeliers, it all muted into a dull hum. There he was. Leo. Five years older, his jaw sharper, his suit more expensive, a silver watch gleaming on his wrist. But his eyes were the same. Dark, intense, and locked on her with a heat that felt like a physical touch.

“Leo,” she breathed, her professional mask cracking in an instant.

He didn’t smile. His gaze raked over her, the emerald cocktail dress she’d chosen specifically because it was the exact opposite of what she used to wear for him, the careful updo, the diamond studs. It felt like he was seeing right through it all, the façade she had forced herself to put on tfor the past years, it felt like he was seeing the girl he’d left in a pool of tears and heartbreak.

“You look…” he started, then shook his head slightly. “Powerful. You look powerful, Avery.”

His use of her full name, the one she used professionally now, was a jab. Acknowledgment and a reminder all at once.

“You look…” She trailed off, unable to finish the lie that he looked just ‘well’. He looked devastating. The space between them, maybe two feet of polished marble floor, felt charged, like stepping into it would trigger a lightning strike.

His hand came up, not to touch her, but to gesture vaguely towards the bustling room. “My firm is merging with the German bank. The one your company just secured the deal with.” A dry, humorless laugh. “Small world.”

“Minuscule,” she agreed, her voice steadier than she felt. Her body was betraying her. A flush was creeping up her chest. A familiar, aching throb had started low in her belly, a pulse she hadn’t felt in years. It was infuriating.

He took a half-step closer. The scent of him, sandalwood and something uniquely, painfully him, washed over her. “I saw you from across the room. You were laughing with that bald guy from Finance. For a second, I thought I was wrong. Then you tilted your head that way you do.” A small smile crossed his magnificent face.

Her breath hitched. He remembered.

“We should talk,” he said, his voice dropping even lower. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a command she felt in her bones.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Leo.”

“Isn’t there?” His eyes flicked to her lips. “The way you’re looking at me says there’s a hell of a lot to talk about.”

She was saved, or damned, by the approach of her CEO. “Avery! There you are. We need you to…” The older man stopped, his smile widening. “Ah, you’ve met Mr. Thorne. Excellent. Avery, why don’t you show our new partner from Valkor Capital the rooftop terrace? The view is… breathtaking.” The CEO gave a knowing, corporate bro wink that made Avery’s skin crawl, but Leo merely nodded, his expression unreadable.

Trapped. She was trapped by politeness, by career ambition, by the sudden, desperate, overwhelming need to be alone with him.

The ride up in the private glass elevator was silent, thick with tension. They watched the city lights drop away beneath them. When the doors slid open to the deserted, wind whipped terrace, he didn’t wait. He took her hand. His grip was firm, warm, and it sent a jolt straight to her core.

He pulled her into the shadow of a large HVAC unit, out of sight from the elevator and the city below. The wind snatched at her hair, whipping strands across her face. He reached up and tucked one gently behind her ear, his thumb lingering on her cheek. The touch was electric.

“Five years,” he whispered, his face inches from hers. “And I still dream about the taste of you.”

That was it. The last thread of her resistance snapped. With a ragged gasp, she grabbed the lapels of his thousand dollar suit and crushed her mouth to his.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a reclamation. Years of anger, of hurt, of pathetic late night fantasies poured into it. His lips were exactly as she remembered, firm, demanding, instantly responsive. His tongue swept into her mouth, and the flavor of him, whiskey and mint and Leo, unraveled her completely. She moaned into him, her hands fisting in his hair, pulling him closer, needing to erase every inch of space.

He broke the kiss, breathing hard. “Tell me you want this,” he growled against her lips. “Tell me, or I walk back to that elevator right now.”

“I want it,” she panted, the words torn from her. “God, Leo, I want you.”

A savage, triumphant sound escaped him. His hands, which had been hovering, descended. One cupped the back of her head, holding her for another searing kiss. The other slid down her back, over the silk of her dress, and grabbed her ass, squeezing possessively. The thin material was no barrier, she felt the heat and strength of his hand through it, pulling her hips flush against his. The hard ridge of his erection pressed into her stomach, and a whimper escaped her throat.

He spun her, pressing her back against the cold metal of the HVAC unit. The contrast of the chill on her back and the furnace of his body on her front was dizzying. His mouth left hers, trailing hot, wet kisses down her jaw, her neck. He found the sensitive spot just below her ear and sucked, hard. A mark. He’s marking me. The thought should have infuriated her. Instead, it made her knees buckle.

“Leo…” she begged, her head falling back against the metal.

“Shhh,” he murmured, his hands sliding to the front of her dress. He found the hidden zipper at the side and tugged. The sound was obscenely loud in the wind. The dress loosened, and he pushed the straps down her shoulders. The cool night air hit her bare skin, her breasts spilling free from the constricting top. He looked down, his breath catching.

“f**k, Avery. You’re even more beautiful.”

He didn’t wait. He dipped his head, his mouth closing over one taut, pebbled n****e. The sensation was so intense, so needed, that a sharp cry ripped from her lungs. His tongue lashed the peak, then soothed it, then drew it deep into the heat of his mouth, sucking rhythmically. His other hand cupped her other breast, his thumb rubbing rough, maddening circles around the areola.

Pleasure, raw and untamed, shot through her like live wires. She arched her back, offering herself more fully to his mouth, her fingers scrabbling at his shoulders, his back, needing to touch him everywhere at once. The careful, controlled woman she’d built herself into was gone, incinerated by his touch.

He switched to her other breast, giving it the same relentless, worshipful attention. Meanwhile, his free hand slid down her stomach, over the lace of her panties. He palmed her through the fabric, his fingers finding the soaked, swollen heat of her. She cried out again, her hips bucking against his hand.

“So wet,” he groaned against her breast. “All for me. Still all for me.”

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and tore them down her thighs in one swift, ruthless motion. The lace gave way with a soft rip. The shock of it, the sheer animalistic possession of the act, made her core clench with empty, desperate need.

He didn’t bother removing them fully. He just pushed the ruined fabric aside. His fingers, long and sure, found her slick folds. He traced her opening, coated his fingers in her arousal, then slid one, then two, deep inside her.

Her world narrowed to that point of penetration. The stretch, the fullness, the rightness of it. A sob caught in her throat. He began to move his fingers, a slow, deep thrusting that brushed against that perfect, hidden spot inside her with every inward stroke. His thumb found her c**t, applying a firm, circular pressure that made her see stars behind her closed eyelids.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice rough.

She forced her eyes open, meeting his dark, hungry gaze. He was watching her face as he f****d her with his hand, his thumb working her c**t. The intimacy of it, the vulnerability, was almost too much. She was completely exposed to him, in every way.

“I’m going to make you come,” he said, his fingers curling inside her, hitting that spot again. “Right here. Against this wall. Then I’m going to f**k you until neither of us can remember why we ever stopped.”

The words, the promise, the relentless motion of his hand, it was too much. The coil of tension in her belly snapped. Pleasure erupted, a white-hot cascade that washed from her core out to her fingertips and toes. She screamed his name into the night wind, her body convulsing around his invading fingers, her legs shaking violently.

He held her through it, his hand still working her, prolonging the waves until she was a trembling, boneless heap against the metal. Only then did he slowly withdraw his fingers. He brought them to his mouth, his eyes locked on hers, and sucked them clean, a dark, possessive gleam in his gaze.

“My turn,” he said, his voice a gravelly promise.