She froze, coat half-on, arms caught in the sleeves. “You should be out there celebrating.”
“I needed to find you.” He stepped closer, voice low and rough, each word scraping against something raw inside her. “I need to thank you.”
Her breath hitched, sharp and audible in the stillness. “I’m just doing my job.”
He closed the distance until she could feel the heat rolling off him, smell the faint mix of his cologne and champagne on his breath. “Just your job? I thought we were past that. I thought we were… friends.”
The air between them crackled, electric. Her pulse hammered so hard she could feel it throbbing in her throat, in her wrists, between her legs. “Lucas, you’re—”
He didn’t let her finish. One hand cupped the back of her neck—firm, warm, fingers threading into her hair—while the otherslid to her waist, pulling her flush against him in one swift motion. His mouth crashed down on hers—hot, urgent, tasting of champagne and pent-up want. Mia gasped into the kiss, a broken sound she couldn’t stop, hands fisting in the front of his shirt as she kissed him back just as hard. No hesitation. No gentleness. Just months of tension finally, violently snapping.
He backed her against the wall, bodies aligning perfectly—his chest to hers, hips slotting against hers, thigh pressing firmly between her legs. The pressure sent a jolt straight through her core; she moaned softly into his mouth, hips jerking forward on instinct. Her fingers left his shirt to slide up and bury themselves in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him growl low in his chest, the sound vibrating against her lips.
His mouth left hers to trail fire down her jaw, then her neck—teeth grazing, then biting gently at the sensitive spot below her ear. She tilted her head back, exposing more skin, shivering as his hand slipped under her jacket, palm scorching against the bare skin of her lower back. The contact made her arch, breasts pressing harder against him, nipples already tight and aching beneath the thin fabric of her dress.
“God, Mia,” he murmured against her throat, voice wracked with need. “You have no idea…”
Her nails dug into his shoulders through his shirt, anchoring her as the world narrowed to the heat of his mouth, the rough scrape of his stubble, the hard length of him pressing insistently against her hip.
He kissed her again—deeper, dirtier, tongues sliding, bodies grinding in a slow rhythm that had her thighs trembling beneath the hem of her black dress. The fitted fabric clung to her hips and ass, riding up slightly with every roll of his pelvis against hers until the cool air of the room kissed the newly bared skin at the tops of her thighs.
His hand slid up her bare arm, fingers tracing the smooth line of her shoulder before hooking under the thin straps of the dress. With a slow, deliberate tug, he slid the straps down fromher shoulders, easing the neckline lower until both breasts were bared to the air. His palms covered her fully—warm, rough, thumbs circling her nipples until they peaked hard and tight under his touch. Then his mouth descended.
Mia’s breath caught on a sharp, needy gasp as he licked a slow, wet stripe across one sensitive tip, then sucked it deep—hard, deliberate, tongue flicking relentlessly. The sensation shot straight between her legs; she cried out softly, hips jerking forward, chasing the friction of his thigh. The dress bunched higher around her waist as she arched into him; he switched to the other breast, giving it the same ruthless attention: licking, sucking, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp and rise onto her toes, thighs clenching around nothing.
“Lucas—” Her voice was raspy, barely a whisper, cracked with want.
His free hand slid down her body, skimming the smooth fabric over her stomach before dipping beneath the hem of the dress. No teasing—he pushed the skirt up around her hips, fingers finding the thin lace of her underwear. He hooked the waistband with two fingers and tugged it down just enough—barely an inch, but enough for his hand to slip inside.
Mia’s breath hitched hard. One fingertip traced gently, teasing without rushing, circling the most sensitive spot with the lightest pressure. She whimpered, hips canting forward instinctively, chasing more—needing him to slide inside, to fill her, to finally give her what her body had been screaming for since Abu Dhabi.
He groaned against her breast, the sound vibrating through her as his finger pressed just a fraction deeper—
The door handle rattled sharply.
They froze.
“Oi, anyone in here? I left my coat—need to grab it before the next round of shots!”
A random mechanic’s voice—cheerful, oblivious—cut throughthe haze like a bucket of ice water.
They broke apart in an instant. Lucas yanked his hand free, breathing ragged, eyes wild and dark with frustration. Mia pulled the straps of her dress back up with trembling fingers, smoothing the fabric down over her hips in a frantic rush. Cheeks burning, legs unsteady, core still throbbing with unspent need—aching, empty, screaming—she turned away and busied herself with her jacket, trying to hide the way her body was shaking, still wound tight and desperate.
The door cracked open a few inches. “Sorry—thought it was empty—”
Lucas stepped in front of her instinctively, blocking the view. “It’s fine. Just… grabbing something. Give us a sec.”
The mechanic muttered an apology and backed out, door clicking shut again.
Silence.
Mia’s chest heaved, lungs burning. She couldn’t look at him—couldn’t face the swollen lips, the mussed hair, the obvious strain at the front of his trousers. Shame and want twisted together in her gut, sharp and nauseating.
“Go,” she whispered, voice cracking. “They’re waiting for you out there.”
Lucas stared at her, conflicted and raw, unspent hunger still burning in his eyes. “Mia—”
“Go.”
