Lucas stepped in closer—shoulder brushing Mia’s, protective wall up. “Mia,” he said, tone low but firm, “can I borrow you for a minute?”
He didn’t wait for Marco’s response. His hand settled on her lower back—light but deliberate—and he guided her away, cutting through the crowd without another word.
They slipped down a quiet corridor, past velvet ropes, into a small powder room tucked behind the VIP area. Door locked. Lights dimmed to soft gold.
The second the bolt clicked, they were on each other.
His mouth crashed down—hard, desperate, tasting of champagne and victory. She kissed him back just as fiercely, hands yanking his jacket open, fingers working his belt. He lifted her onto the marble vanity—dress shoved up, underwear pushed aside. He thrust in—deep, sudden, both of them gasping.
“Quiet,” he breathed against her ear, hips snapping forward. “They’ll hear.”
She bit her lip, nodding, but couldn’t stop the soft moans as he buried deep into her—a steady rhythm that built fast. Her legs wrapped around him, perfect pressure.
They were close—too close—when the door rattled.
Then swung open—someone had a key card.
Marco stood there—champagne flute still in hand, eyes widening.
For one frozen heartbeat: Mia on the vanity, dress around her waist, legs around him; him buried deep inside her, black suit jacket open, hands gripping her thighs.
Marco’s mouth opened—shock, then something darker.
“Well,” he said slowly. “This is… enlightening.”
He turned to leave.
“Marco—” she called.
* * *
Mia
Lucas pulled out—slow, careful—helped her down. Her legs shook as her feet hit the floor. She yanked her dress down with trembling hands, smoothing it frantically, but the fabric felt wrong now—too short, too tight, like it was advertising what Marco had just witnessed.
They straightened up—clothes fixed, breathing ragged—and slipped back into the party separately, faces composed, smiles polite, as if nothing had happened.
But everything had.
They found Marco at the bar, leaning against the counter, fresh drink in hand. He saw them approach—saw the way Lucas’s hand hovered near her back, protective.
“Marco—” Her voice came out unsteady, small. “Please. Don’t say anything.”
Marco looked at her—really looked—then at Lucas. A hard ridge formed along his jaw.
“You said no drinks,” he said quietly. “No flirting. Nothing. But then?” He gestured between them. “This you do.”
Lucas stepped forward—calm, but protective. “She said no. You didn’t listen.”
Marco’s eyes narrowed. “And you? You’re fucking her in a bathroom at a work party. Very professional.”
She stepped between them—heart hammering, panic rising. “Marco, please. We’re not— It’s not what it looks like.”
“It looks exactly like what it is,” he said. “And I’m not sure I feel like keeping quiet about it.”
Lucas stepped in front of him—black suit sharp, expression calm but dangerous.
“Marco,” he said quietly. “We need to talk.”
