The city lights flickered through the hotel window like restless stars, their glow washing over her skin as she leaned against the cool glass. Rain traced rivulets down the pane, echoing the soft pulse in her veins.
Behind her, he watched. Not touching. Just breathing her in.
She turned slowly, letting the silk robe fall from her shoulders. It slid like a whisper down her arms, pooling at her feet. She didn’t say a word. Neither did he. They had talked enough at dinner—casual flirtations woven with wine and stolen glances. Now, it was all breath and heat.
He closed the distance in three slow steps, each one laced with tension. When he reached her, he didn’t rush. His fingers trailed the curve of her waist, down to the dip of her hip. She arched into him instinctively, gasping when his mouth found her neck.
Their kiss was a collision—urgent, aching. She pushed his jacket from his shoulders, her nails dragging lightly down his chest as she undid each button, savoring the way his breath hitched with every touch.
He lifted her effortlessly, laying her on the bed like something sacred. The air between them pulsed with need. She welcomed him with legs parted, eyes wild, hands greedy. He took his time, worshipping every inch of her with lips, tongue, teeth—slow at first, then faster, deeper, until she was all sound and sweat and sensation.
Their rhythm built like thunder rolling in the chest—chaotic, beautiful, unstoppable.
When it ended, they lay tangled in silence, hearts hammering in sync, the rain still falling outside like applause.
Neither said a word.
There was no need.