Just One Orgasm!

"Come with me."

Emilia’s eyes dropped to his hand. She stared at his strong long and veiny fingers. This was a terrible idea wrapped in perfect manners.

Her pulse fluttered. "This is exactly how women end up making terrible decisions." She smiled nervously.

"And yet," he said quietly, "you’re still thinking about it."

She looked back at him.

The corner of his mouth lifted.

She reached into her handbag instead.

His eyebrow rose.

"My friend," Emilia explained quickly.

She unlocked her phone, opening her messages, she typed.

Emilia: Going to disappear for about an hour. Don’t panic.

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

Kylie: ???

Kylie: With WHO?

Emilia bit the inside of her cheek.

Another message arrived.

Kylie: Emilia Hayes.

Kylie: Answer me before I call the police.

Despite herself, Emilia laughed.

Adrian glanced down. "Good news?"

"My best friend believes I’m incapable of making responsible decisions."

He grew intrested. "And is she right?"

She looked up at him. "Tonight?" A reluctant smile escaped her. "Probably."

She typed quickly.

Emilia: I’m safe.

Another pause.

Kylie: If you’re lying, I’ll haunt you.

Emilia: One hour.

Kylie: One hour.

Kylie: Use protection.

Emilia’s entire face turned scarlet. She locked the phone so quickly she nearly dropped it.

Adrian noticed. "I assume she approves."

"She absolutely does not." She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "She’s threatening my life."

"I imagine she’s protective."

"You have no idea."

He watched the colour refuse to leave her cheeks. "You blush easily." He fixed a hand into his pant picket. "You’ve been red since the balcony."

"I have not."

His smile deepened.

She narrowed her eyes.

He finally lowered his hand. "For the record," he said, "you don’t have to come."

He wasn’t pulling, or persuading. He was simply leaving the choice with her.

Emilia looked at his hand one last time.

Then, she placed hers inside it. His fingers closed gently around hers. He led her away from the balcony.

Neither of them spoke as they crossed the quieter corridor beside the rooftop lounge.

The music faded with every step, and the lighting became softer.

A discreet hostess behind a polished marble desk looked up.

"Good evening, Mr. Ashford."

Emilia blinked. The realization that he came here often enough to be recognised struck her.

Adrian nodded politely. "I’ll need one of the private lounges."

"Of course."

The hostess simply handed him a keycard.

"This way." She lead.

A minute later, the door unlocked with a soft click.

Emilia stepped inside first.

She stopped.

The room looked more like the suite of a luxury hotel than anything attached to a nightclub.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city skyline, and a cream sectional sofa curved around a low black marble table.

Soft amber lighting glowed from hidden panels in the ceiling.

Books rested on floating shelves, and a fireplace flickered silently beneath a mounted television.

Fresh flowers stood in a crystal vase beside an ice bucket filled with bottled water and sparkling drinks.

The entire room smelled faintly of cedarwood.

She turned slowly. "This is a private room?"

"They’re rented by the hour."

She laughed. "Only you would find a library inside a nightclub."

His eyes travelled briefly to the shelves.

She wandered toward the windows. "I expected something..." She searched for the word. "...less civilized."

He loosened the cuffs of his shirt. "I don’t enjoy shouting over music."

"So why come at all?"

"A colleague insisted."

"You don’t strike me as someone who gives in to peer pressure."

"I don’t."

He slipped off his watch and placed it on the table. "I planned to leave after thirty minutes."

She smiled. "I’m sorry if I ruined your initial plans."

She looked back at him.

His gaze settled on her face again. "Can I ask you something?"

She nodded.

"Your eyes."

She blinked. "My eyes?"

"Did you do something about them?"

She smiled faintly.

"I can’t take your money." She folded her arms lightly. "My eyes are perfectly intact, and I’ll return it soon."

Adrian didn’t even hesitate. "You might as well burn it."

Emilia blinked. "What?"

"The money." His tone remained calm. "I’m not taking it back."

She stared at him. "Twenty thousand dollars isn’t exactly pocket change."

"It stopped being mine the moment I left it on that table."

"You can’t be serious."

He spared her a glance, and he took his buttons off. "I rarely joke about money."

She let out a quiet, incredulous laugh. "That’s an absurd amount to leave behind. You barely knew me."

"You trusted a complete stranger." She added, hoping he would see her reason.

His eyes settled on hers.

"I did."

Silence stretched between them. She searched his face, looking for some hint that he was teasing her.

She found none.

Her smile faded.

He shrugged lightly.

Emilia looked down at her hands. "You really thought I’d spend twenty thousand dollars fixing my eyes?"

"I thought you deserved to spend it however you wanted."

She looked back up. "I never hated my eyes."

Adrian nodded once. His expression softened. "You squint a lot. Don’t get blind."

She shook her head, still unable to understand him. Unconsciously, a comfortable silence settled over the room.

Adrian reached for the top button of his shirt.

Emilia’s brows lifted.

He unfastened another button before slipping the shirt from his shoulders with an easy, unhurried movement.

Emilia’s breath caught.

He wasn’t sculpted in the exaggerated way magazine covers are often portrayed.

He looked... real with broad shoulders, and strong arms marked by years of disciplined training rather than vanity.

Every movement carried quiet strength instead of showmanship.

Then her eyes drifted past him, and she froze.

His entire back was covered in intricate black-and-grey tattoo work.

It stretched from one shoulder to the other before flowing down his spine in sweeping lines of detailed artistry.

She stepped closer without thinking. "I didn’t expect that."

He glanced back over one shoulder.

She smiled softly. Her green eyes glistened. "Did it hurt?"

"A little."

"A little?"

He chuckled. "Quite a lot."

She laughed, and her gaze lingered on the artwork. "Can I?" She lifted her hand slightly before stopping herself. "...touch it?"

His eyes met hers.

"You can."

Slowly, almost cautiously, her fingertips brushed across the ink. The lines were smooth beneath her touch, and warm against his skin.

She traced part of the design with quiet fascination.

"I thought tattoos would somehow feel raised."

"They healed years ago."

She nodded absent-mindedly, still studying the details. "You’ve been looking at it for almost a full minute."

"It’s hard not to."

"You like tattoos?"

"I like yours."

He turned to face her fully again. "I expected you to disapprove."

She tilted her head. "You’ve decided I’m secretly judgmental?"

"You wear lots of cardigans. People who do are usually judgemental."

She folded her arms. "I don’t always wear cardigans."

His eyes drifted briefly to her dress before returning to her face. "You clean up remarkably well."

Heat climbed into her cheeks. She rolled her eyes. "I should stop talking to you."

"I disagree."

She smiled again despite herself. The room fell quiet again.

After a long moment, Emilia spoke.

"So..." She leaned lightly against the edge of the table. "What exactly are we doing?"

Adrian didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he held her gaze, and slowly moved towards her.

"I don’t know."

She nodded slowly.

"We can’t pretend this makes sense. You’re way older."

Adrian said nothing. He approached her, towered above her, and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her in.

"You teach my class." Emilia whispered, with the little breath left in her, and she held back from gripping the collars of his shirt, and kissing him.

"I do."

Emilia swallowed. "We probably shouldn’t even be in the same room." She slowly brought her fingers to his collars, and they danced there.

"Probably not."

She let out a soft cautious breath.

"And yet," he echoed, as one of his hands moved up to her face. His thumb brushed her jaw tenderly.

"I don’t want promises."

He watched her carefully.

"I’ve just escaped one relationship that left me questioning myself every day." Her voice remained calm. "I’m not looking for another one."

He nodded once. "Neither am I."

She looked back into his eyes.

"So..." A small satisfied smile appeared across her lips. "This is... nothing."

He understood exactly what she meant.

"No expectations."

He nodded.

"No labels."

He nodded again, as his eyes trialed to her lips softly.

"No promises."

He nodded.

"No pretending it’s more than it is."

"Noted." He accepted. His gaze never left hers.

"If either of us wants to walk away..."

"We walk away." He completed the words for her

She extended her hand toward his face, tracing his lower lip. "Agreed?"

A faint smile tugged at his lips. He cupped her face, and lifted her face to meet his gaze. "Agreed."

"I_"

Adrian shook his head, and cut her off. "Agreed," he murmured.

His eyes dropped to her lips. "Now kiss me before one of us remembers we’re supposed to have common sense."

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