The champagne flute was a fragile, cool stem between Lucy’s fingers, a familiar weight in a sea of unfamiliar faces. The thrum of conversation, the clink of glasses, the synthetic laughter—it was the soundtrack of a reunion she’d almost skipped. Ten years since graduation. Ten years since she’d last seen the man whose shadow still fell across every other relationship she’d tried to build.
She’d chosen a dress that was armor: deep emerald silk that clung to her curves, a neckline that plunged into a sharp V, showcasing the swell of her breasts. Her hair was a dark curtain, cascading over one shoulder, and her lips were a slash of crimson. She looked polished, successful, untouchable. Inside, her heart was a frantic, caged bird.
Then she saw him.
Ethan Vance stood by the bar, a glass of whiskey in his hand, the amber liquid catching the low light. He wasn’t the lanky boy with the crooked smile from her memory. He was a man forged from ten years of life. His shoulders had broadened, pulling the fabric of his charcoal suit taut. His jaw was a hard line, shadowed with a day’s growth of stubble that gave him a dangerous, lived-in edge. His dark hair was shorter, peppered with silver at the temples, and his eyes—those deep, ocean-blue eyes that had once seen every secret she’d ever held—were scanning the room. They stopped on her.
The air between them thickened, became a palpable current. He didn’t smile. He set his glass down, deliberately, and began to walk towards her. The crowd parted, as if sensing the gravitational pull of two planets about to collide.
“Lucy.” His voice was a low rumble, scraping over her skin. He stopped a foot away, close enough that she could smell his cologne—cedar, leather, and something darker, something purely him.
“Ethan.” Her voice was steadier than she felt.
“You look…” He paused, his gaze traveling down the length of her body with a slow, deliberate heat that made her core clench. “You look like you’ve conquered the world.”
“I’ve tried,” she said, forcing a lightness she didn’t feel. “You look like the world tried to conquer you back.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Something like that.” He took a step closer, violating the social bubble. “Can we talk? Somewhere quieter?”
She should have said no. She should have turned, found her friends, buried herself in safe conversation. Instead, she nodded, her body already betraying her.
He led her through a glass door onto a sprawling balcony, the city lights a glittering carpet below them. The night air was cool, a welcome relief from the suffocating heat of the party. He closed the door behind them, and the noise of the room became a distant hum.
“Why did you leave, Lucy?” The question was raw, stripped of pretense.
“We were eighteen. We were children. Life happened.”
“Bullshit.” He turned to face her, his body a solid wall between her and the door. “You didn’t just leave. You vanished. You never even said goodbye.”
“What was I supposed to say? ‘I’m sorry I love you too much for it to ever work’? We had different paths, Ethan.”
“And now?” His hand came up, fingers brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. The touch was electric, a jolt that shot straight to her clit. “Are our paths still different?”
She couldn’t answer. Her breath hitched as his thumb traced the line of her jaw, her pulse hammering under his touch.
“I’ve thought about you,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Every day. Every goddamn night. I’ve imagined this—what I’d do if I saw you again.”
“What would you do?” The question escaped before she could stop it.
His answer wasn’t words. His mouth claimed hers in a kiss that was not gentle, not patient. It was a declaration of war, a reclaiming of lost territory. His tongue slid against hers, tasting of whiskey and hunger. His hands found her waist, pulling her flush against the hard planes of his chest. She felt the evidence of his arousal pressing into her hip, thick and insistent.
She moaned into his mouth, her fingers clutching the lapels of his jacket. Ten years of celibacy, of self-denial, of comparing every man to the ghost of him, crumbled to dust.
He broke the kiss, his breath ragged. “Not here. Not like this. There’s a hotel room—I booked it, just in case. I’m a fool, but I hoped.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Take me there.”
The elevator ride was an agony of anticipation. He stood behind her, his hands on her hips, his erection pressed into the small of her back. He nuzzled her neck, his lips brushing her earlobe. “I’m going to take my time with you,” he murmured. “I’m going to learn every change in your body, every new sound you make.”
The door to the suite clicked shut, and the floodgates opened.
He backed her against the door, his mouth devouring hers, his hands finding the zipper of her dress. He pulled it down with a rough growl, letting the fabric pool at her feet. She stood before him in a black lace bra and matching thong, her skin flushed with desire.
“Jesus, Lucy.” His gaze was molten, hungry. He reached behind her, unclasping her bra and letting her breasts spring free. They were full, heavy, her nipples pebbled and aching for his touch.
He dropped to his knees, his mouth latching onto one nipple, sucking hard while his thumb rolled the other. She cried out, her head falling back, her fingers tangling in his hair. He bit down, a sharp, delicious pain that sent a jolt of pleasure straight to her cunt.
“More,” she gasped.
He laughed, a low, dark sound. “Patience, sweetheart. I told you, I’m taking my time.”
He stood, lifting her with ease and carrying her to the massive bed. He laid her down on the cool sheets, then stepped back, shrugging off his jacket, unbuttoning his shirt with deliberate slowness. She watched, mesmerized, as each inch of golden skin was revealed—the broad shoulders, the hard chest dusted with dark hair, the ridges of his abdomen, the arrow of hair pointing down to the waistband of his trousers.
He unfastened his belt, the rasp of the buckle loud in the quiet room. He let his pants fall, and then his boxers, and his cock sprang free. It was thick, long, and hard, the head glistening with a bead of pre-cum. Her mouth watered.
“Come here,” she whispered, reaching for him.
He crawled onto the bed, positioning himself over her, his weight supported on his forearms. He kissed her again, deep and slow, his hips grinding against hers, the fabric of her thong offering a frustrating barrier.
“I need to taste you,” he said against her lips.
He moved down her body, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses over her breasts, her stomach, her hip bones. He hooked his fingers into the sides of her thong and pulled it down, exposing her. She was already wet, her folds slick with her arousal.
He spread her legs wide, settling between them. His breath was hot against her most intimate flesh. “You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice reverent. And then he lowered his head.
His tongue was a revelation. He licked her from entrance to clit in one long, slow stroke, savoring her taste. He circled her clit with the tip of his tongue, then sucked it gently into his mouth. She bucked against his face, a guttural moan tearing from her throat.
“Please, Ethan. Please.”
He slid one finger inside her, then two, curling them in a “come here” motion, hitting that sweet spot deep inside. He licked and sucked and fucked her with his fingers, his rhythm relentless. She felt the pressure building, a coiling tension that threatened to shatter her.
“Look at me,” he commanded. Her eyes met his. “I want to see you come.”
And she did. The orgasm ripped through her, a tidal wave of pleasure that left her gasping, her body arching off the bed. He didn’t stop, licking her through the aftershocks until she had to push his head away, oversensitive.
He crawled up her body, his cock slick with her juice. He positioned himself at her entrance, the head nudging against her wet folds. “Look at me,” he said again. “I want to see your eyes when I claim you.”
He pushed inside her in one smooth, deep thrust. She was tight, so tight after so long, and the sensation of being filled, of being stretched by his girth, made her gasp. He paused, letting her adjust, his forehead resting against hers.
“You feel like home,” he whispered.
He began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that felt like a prayer. He kissed her as he fucked her, his tongue mimicking the thrust of his hips. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, her nails raking down his back.
“Harder,” she begged. “Don’t be gentle.”
He flipped her onto her hands and knees, gripping her hips. He entered her from behind, a primal pose that made her feel owned. He slammed into her, his balls slapping against her clit with each powerful stroke. The bed creaked, her moans filled the room, and the tension built again, a second wave already cresting.
He reached around, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing in tight circles as he fucked her. “Come for me again,” he growled. “Come on my cock.”
The command was her undoing. She shattered again, her inner walls clenching around him, milking him. He followed a moment later, a guttural roar escaping his lips as he spilled his seed deep inside her, his body shuddering with release.
He collapsed beside her, pulling her into his arms, his face buried in her hair. They lay there, panting, slick with sweat, the silence broken only by their slowing breaths.
After a long moment, he spoke, his voice rough. “I never stopped loving you, Lucy. Not for a single second.”
She turned in his arms, her eyes glistening. “I know. I never stopped either.”
He kissed her forehead. “Then let’s not waste another ten years.”
She smiled, a real smile, the first in a decade. “We won’t.”
