She reached for the towel, not from modesty—but to cool off. Ineverysense.
She leaned her head against the tile wall, eyes still closed.
“Get a grip,” she whispered to herself.
But even as she tried to come back down to reality, part of her stayed in the fantasy. In that version of life that felt dangerously close to possible.
If she wanted it to be.
29
Hold On & Let Go
It’s7:52PM.Thelast sip of wine has been swallowed, the last bite of dinner long forgotten. Only dim candlelight and wicked tension linger between Claire and Jaxon, the romantic hush of the dining room pressing in around them like a secret waiting to be broken.
She watches him, biting back a smirk.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Nothing at all.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
He tilts his head, voice low. Dangerous. “Just enjoying what I see.”
“Oh?” Claire leans forward, letting the neckline of her black dress drop just enough to tease. “And what do you see?”
Jaxon’s eyes rake over her like a man dying of thirst. “I saw what you put on under that dress.”
Her lips part. “And what do you see now?”
“I see the glow of the chandelier catching the green in your eyes. I see that black dress sliding off your shoulders as I pull the zipper down. I see lace hitting the floor, your body bare except for the pulse pounding under your skin when I put my mouth on you. I see my fingers slipping under that thong, feeling how wet you already are for me...”
“Get the check,” Claire breathes, crossing her legs again, slower this time.
The elevator ride to the 18th floormight as well be purgatory.
Claire stands opposite him—untouchable and dripping in anticipation. Her eyes hold his hostage, and when her teeth sink into her bottom lip, Jaxon feels his restraint snap like thread pulled too tight.
The elevator climbs at a crawl, tension thick and suffocating. Her body hums. His fists clench. Neither of them speaks, but their silence is deafening.
When the doors finally open, Claire saunters out with a come-fuck-me grin and a swing in her hips that makes his cock twitch. She kicks off her heels mid-stride, looks back at him as her fingers reach up and slowly—so fucking slowly—unzip the back of her dress, just enough to show the smooth curve of her spine.
By the time she reaches the suite door, Jaxon’s already there, his need boiling under the surface, skin too tight, blood too hot.
Claire leans against the frame, tilting her head, looking up at him with those eyes—eyes that say take me, wreck me, don’t stop until I forget my name.
Without touching her skin, his hand disappears beneath her dress. He leans in, lips grazing her neck, just breathing her in. His fingers slip over lace, finding heat and slickness that nearly makes him groan aloud.
But he pulls back.
Unlocks the door like nothing just happened.
Claire growls. “Asshole.”
The moment the door clicks shut, she shoves him against the wall, mouth on his like she’s starving for it. Their lips crash, open and wet. She claws at his shirt and strips it off like it’s offended her. He spins her, lips on her shoulder as he unzips her dress and lets it fall.
She steps out of it. Bra gone in a second.
