“Have you ever done something forbidden?”
His words hung between us, heavy like the scent of ripe peaches in the summer night. I stared at the rim of my wine glass, watching how the red ruby shimmered inside. Outside, the string of lights on the hotel terrace traced a golden trail through the velvety darkness. Inside, behind the half-open terrace door, someone laughed—a carefree sound that seemed miles away from what was happening here.
“Depends on what you call forbidden,” I said, raising the glass to my lips. The wine ran over my tongue, tasting of blackberries and a hint of smoke—and of the sweetness of danger.
He leaned back, his white shirt stretching across his chest as if the fabric wanted to emphasize every single muscle. He had rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, and I saw the fine golden hairs on his forearms, shimmering like silk in the flickering candlelight. “For example: starting something with a colleague on a business trip—and not just talking shop.”
I swallowed. My heart hammered against my ribs, a wild, impatient drummer. But I forced myself to stay calm, didn’t let anything show. “Are you serious?”
“I don’t joke when it comes to you.”
His voice was deep, rough, as if he’d been drinking whiskey all evening—yet he’d only ordered mineral water, ice-cold, with a slice of lemon. I knew he’d been looking at me for a long time. During meetings, in the coffee kitchen, when he thought I wasn’t watching. Tonight, though, something lay in his gaze that surpassed everything before—an unfiltered, raw desire that took my breath away.
The air seemed to grow thinner, heavier, more charged. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, a nervous tick I hated. “We’re at a company anniversary. Half the staff is hanging around in the lobby. This isn’t the right place.”
“But the right time,” he said, and his voice was a whisper that landed directly in my lap. “Tomorrow morning we’re in the conference, giving our presentation, and then we’re back in our offices, separated by three floors and a boss who’s always looking over our shoulders. Tonight we’re free. No one will know.”
His words tingled on my skin like fine pinpricks, awakening every nerve fiber. I imagined his hands wandering over my back, his mouth gliding down my neck, his tongue finding the hollow above my collarbone. Immediately, I grew hot—a wave rising deep in my belly and eating its way through my entire body.
“And if someone finds out?” I asked, though I already knew the answer, though I already carried it inside me like a glowing secret.
“Then it was worth the risk.”
I looked at him. In his eyes lay something that frightened me and yet attracted me—an untamed determination that pulled me to the edge of an abyss. I set down my glass, the red wine sloshing slightly over the rim, and placed my hand on his thigh. Beneath the fine fabric of his trousers, I felt the warmth of his skin, the tension of his muscles. He didn’t flinch but pressed lightly against my palm.
“Show me your room,” I whispered, my breath hoarse, trembling.
He stood up, offered me his hand. His fingers closed around mine, firm and natural, as if they’d lain together like that a thousand times before. We walked back through the terrace door into the ballroom, past colleagues standing in groups, past a tablecloth red as a poppy field, past glasses sparkling in the light. No one noticed us. We were invisible, camouflaged in the crowd, while everything burned beneath my skin.
The elevator was empty. The polished steel walls reflected us, two figures about to devour each other. He pressed the button for the fifth floor, and before the doors had fully closed, he pulled me to him. His mouth found mine—demanding, greedy, as if he’d waited years for this, as if every kiss was a promise he now fulfilled. I opened my lips, let his tongue in, tasted mint and something impetuous, a wild animal he carried inside him. His hand slid into my neck, pulling me closer, while the elevator hummed and vibrated softly. As it started moving with a slight jolt, he deepened the kiss, his lips pressing onto mine, his tongue exploring me as if he wanted to know every corner of my mouth, as if he wanted to devour me whole. I felt my blood flow faster, a searing heat exploding in my belly and gathering between my legs. My hands ran over his back, feeling the hard muscles under his shirt, the curve of his shoulder blades. He smelled of sandalwood and something sharp, musk and sweat and pure masculinity. The elevator stopped with a soft beep, the doors opened, but he only reluctantly pulled away from me, his lips leaving a moist trail on my mouth. His eyes were dark, pupils dilated, almost black. “Come,” he said, and his voice sounded rough, like gravel under heavy steps.
As the elevator doors slid open, we almost stumbled out. His room was at the end of the hall—an eternity, a run through a tunnel of neon light and thick carpet. He unlocked the door, and I had barely crossed the threshold when he pressed me against the wall, the door falling shut with a dull thud.
“I want you now,” he murmured against my neck, while his hands slid under my skirt, over the bare skin of my thighs. His fingers dug into my flesh, pulling me closer, pressing me against his hardness.
“I want it too.”
My voice sounded foreign, hoarse with desire, barely recognizable. I unbuttoned his shirt, the buttons nearly popping under my trembling fingers. One rolled across the floor, a small sound that exploded in the silence of the room. His torso was firm, smooth, the chest muscles sharply defined under the warm skin that shimmered in the diffuse light of the room. I let my hands glide over him, felt his heartbeat under my fingertips, wild and irregular. He pulled me tighter against him, his lips finding my throat, sucking gently at the sensitive spot right over my pulse. A shiver that started in my neck and poured down my entire back made me tremble. “I want to taste you,” he whispered, and the tip of his tongue moved slowly, torturously slowly, over my collarbone, down into the hollow between my breasts. I
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