Christian
I stared at her door for a long moment after she slipped inside. The elevator had already groaned shut, taking the man with it. Silence pooled in the hallway, thick enough that I could hear my own pulse, a steady thrum in my ears.
My thumb hovered over my phone screen, though I hadn't typed anything. Couldn't.
I wasn't even sure why I was here anymore.
Her voice broke the stillness.
"You coming in or what?"
It was sharp, impatient, but under it, I could hear the slur. A subtle looseness. She was drunk, not stumbling, but loose-limbed and unfiltered.
Every instinct told me to leave.
But instead, I stepped inside.
The space was warm, softly lit, smelling faintly of flowers. It suited her. It was the kind of space she'd curated carefully—clean, and just the right amount of expensive.
She'd already turned away from me, moving toward the hallway. The silk of her gown caught the light, hugging every curve, swaying with every step.
She stopped halfway, glancing back over her shoulder.
"Actually… help me with this zipper." She didn't bother to hide the small smile tugging at her lips. "Unless you want me stuck like this all night."
I crossed the space slowly, my footsteps quiet on the hardwood. My hand found the zipper at the base of her spine. It was warm beneath my fingertips, her skin just visible between the folds of silk.
I tugged it down an inch at a time, the soft shhhk of metal teeth parting too loud in the stillness. The fabric loosened, slipping away to reveal more bare skin.
No bra.
I stopped before it fell too far, releasing the zipper like it burned.
"Done."
She didn't turn around. Just murmured, "Thanks," and disappeared into what I assumed was the bathroom, one hand holding the dress to her chest.
"Don't snoop," she called over her shoulder. "I'll know."
I told myself I should leave. But I didn't.
She was drunk. And this was already a bad idea. The worst. I didn't know what I'd been expecting when I came here, but it wasn't this—her, flushed and loose, her guard down in ways I'd only seen in flashes.
The bathroom door shut. The sound of running water drifted out. Then her voice again, lower, almost to herself. I couldn't make out the words, but there was a faint, breathy laugh.
When she reappeared, her hair was slightly mussed, her bare feet whispering against the floor. The dress hung looser now, the straps sliding just enough to show one bare shoulder.
She leaned against the wall, studying me, like she was trying to figure me out.
"So," she said, eyes narrowing like she was trying to see through me, "what did you want?"
I was going to say something casual, something to brush it off.
"I was in the neighborhood," I said instead.
Her mouth curved into something between disbelief and amusement.
"Bullshit."
"Believe what you want."
Her gaze swept over me slowly, then she pushed off the wall and took a few unhurried steps forward. "You know… I've heard things about you."
"What things?"
"Mhm." She tilted her head, lips curling. "About… proportions."
My jaw tightened.
"Apparently, you're… impressive." She dragged the word out like she was tasting it.
I didn't give her the reaction she was looking for, and I could see the flicker of irritation at that.
"You don't strike me as the type to be shy," she went on, her tone both mocking and curious.
And then she was close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off her, smell the faint mix of champagne and whatever perfume she'd been wearing today.
Her hands came up, resting lightly against my chest, then sliding higher, curling around my neck. She watched my face the entire time, like she was cataloging every twitch of muscle.
Then, without hesitation, she kissed me.
It wasn't tentative. It was deep from the start. Warm, insistent, tasting faintly of gin.
I didn't move for a second, fighting the urge to respond. But with her body pressed against mine, and my restraint snapped just enough to kiss her back.
Her hips shifted forward, the silk of her dress sliding against my trousers. She was grinding on me, deliberately slow, like she wanted me to feel every inch of her.
Heat curled low in my stomach, sharp and insistent. My hands found her waist. Not pulling her closer, but not stopping her either.
She made a low sound in her throat - pleasure, frustration, I couldn't tell - and pressed harder, deepening the kiss. Her fingers tugged at my hair, urging me closer.
I could already feel the line we were about to cross, and how fast it was coming.
I broke the kiss. My breathing was rougher than I wanted it to be.
Her brows pulled together, surprise giving way to something sharper.
"Seriously?" she asked, her brows furrowing. She stepped back, her expression shifting from surprise to frustration. "Why the hell are you even here then?"
"Amaya—"
"No," she snapped, stepping back. "If you're going to stand here and act like you're not thinking the same things I am, then get the fuck out and let me enjoy my toys in peace."
The word toys lit something dark in me. My jaw clenched.
I stayed where I was, pulse heavy, her taste still on my tongue.
She didn't give me a moment to reply. "Not even going to touch me?" she scoffed. "After everything? I'm your fucking fiancé, Christian."
I stood still, my chest tight, the tension in the air growing thicker.
She was right. We both wanted this. But I wasn't going to cave.
"Amaya," I said, my voice firm, even if I felt the need to step forward. "You're drunk."
Her eyes hardened at that. "I'm not that drunk. And you don't get to say that. Not when you're acting like this."
I shook my head, voice low, a cold edge slipping in. "No matter what happens tonight, you'll regret it tomorrow." The truth hit me hard. This wasn't something we could afford.
She opened her mouth to argue, but stopped. Something flickered in her eyes, then it was gone. She stared at me, breathing heavy, her body still trembling with want.
She watched me for a beat, waiting for me to change my mind.
I wasn't going to.
When I didn't, she let out a humorless laugh. "Be sure to close the door behind you, asshole."
Without a word, I turned and walked away. The tension lingered in the air, but I knew I'd made the right choice.
And as I left, I couldn't help but think that next time, I wouldn't walk away. Next time, I wouldn't have the self-control.