This was Emily’s second year working as a creative planner at Starry Ad Agency, a place she had dreamed of joining ever since she first fell in love with the world of advertising. The agency was known for its innovative campaigns and cutting-edge creativity, and Emily had worked tirelessly to prove herself among the talented team. 

Tonight, the atmosphere was electric as the company celebrated Ryan, the creative director, for winning the prestigious Annual Outstanding Creative Award. The award was a testament to Ryan’s unparalleled talent and vision, and the entire creative department had gathered at a chic, dimly lit bar downtown to toast his success. The bar was buzzing with laughter, clinking glasses, and the hum of conversation, but Emily found herself sitting alone at a corner table, nursing a beer and reflecting on the night.

As she sipped her drink, lost in thought, she was startled when Ryan himself approached her, holding a vibrant red cocktail in his hand. He flashed her a warm smile and slid into the seat beside her, his presence commanding yet surprisingly approachable. “You’re Emily from the planning department, right? I ordered this drink for you. Hope you’ll like it,” he said, his voice smooth and genuine as he handed her the cocktail. Emily’s heart skipped a beat. She had always admired Ryan from afar, marveling at his creativity and leadership, but she never imagined he would notice her, let alone take the time to sit down and talk to her.

Nervously, she accepted the drink, her fingers brushing against his for a brief moment. “Thank you, Director Ryan,” she replied, her voice slightly trembling as she took a tentative sip. The cocktail was sweet with a hint of tartness, perfectly balanced and exactly to her taste. She couldn’t help but smile, and Ryan noticed her reaction, his lips curving into a satisfied grin. “Looks like I made a good choice,” he said, his tone light and teasing.

Feeling a bit more at ease, Emily decided to seize the moment. 

“Director Ryan, I sincerely congratulate you on winning the Outstanding Creative Award. Ever since I saw your first camera advertisement five years ago, I’ve admired your work. It was actually because of you that I chose to enter the advertising industry and join Starry Ad Agency. It’s an honor to work on your team,” she admitted, her words pouring out in a rush of sincerity. She hadn’t planned to share so much, but the alcohol was beginning to loosen her inhibitions, and the admiration she had bottled up for years finally found its way out.

Ryan was visibly surprised, his eyebrows lifting slightly as he processed her words. He hadn’t expected Emily to remember his first advertisement, let alone cite it as her inspiration. Her heartfelt confession struck a chord with him, stirring something deep within. In his position, Ryan was accustomed to being surrounded by people who sought his attention for various reasons—some genuine, others less so. But Emily’s words carried a rare authenticity that resonated with him. There was something about her—her passion, her humility, the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about her work—that felt different. It was as if she saw him not just as a successful creative director, but as someone who had genuinely inspired her.

As the night wore on, the two continued to talk, their conversation flowing effortlessly from work to life, from dreams to challenges. They laughed over shared experiences and debated the latest trends in advertising, their connection growing stronger with each passing minute. 

Meanwhile, their colleagues began to drift away, some heading to a nearby karaoke bar to continue the celebration. But Emily and Ryan chose to stay behind, content in each other’s company. They ordered another round of drinks, the alcohol further blurring the lines between professionalism and something more personal.

As the hours slipped by, Emily’s initial nervousness melted away, replaced by a warm, tipsy glow. She found herself laughing more freely, her guard completely down. Ryan, too, seemed more relaxed, his usual composed demeanor softened by the alcohol and the easy rapport they had developed. But as the night deepened, Emily’s energy began to wane. The combination of the drinks and the emotional weight of the evening finally caught up with her, and she gradually drifted into a hazy, tipsy state. Before she knew it, her head was resting on the table, her eyes closed as she succumbed to sleep.

Ryan watched her for a moment, a soft smile playing on his lips. He couldn’t quite explain it, but there was something about Emily that had touched him in a way few people ever had. As he sat there, surrounded by the quiet hum of the bar, he felt a strange sense of contentment, as if the night had brought him something far more meaningful than any award ever could.

“Emily, where do you live? I’ll take you home,” Ryan asked softly, his voice laced with concern as he gently shook her shoulder, trying to rouse her from her drowsy state. When she didn’t respond, her breathing steady and deep, he sighed and glanced around the now nearly empty bar. 

Realizing he couldn’t just leave her there, he made a quick decision. Carefully, he slipped one arm under her knees and the other around her back, lifting her effortlessly. Her head lolled against his chest as he carried her out into the cool night air, the city lights casting a soft glow around them. He hailed a taxi and, after a moment’s hesitation, instructed the driver to take them to a nearby hotel. It wasn’t ideal, but he couldn’t think of a better option at the moment.

Once they arrived at the hotel, Ryan checked them in, his mind racing as he tried to push aside the growing tension he felt. When he lifted Emily into his arms, her body melted against him—soft, warm, yielding. The press of her curves, the dip of her small waist beneath his fingers, made his breath hitch. She was light, but the way she nestled into him, the heat of her skin seeping through her clothes, was intoxicating. He carried Emily to the room, her weight light in his arms, and carefully laid her down on the bed. He adjusted the pillows under her head and draped a blanket over her, ensuring she was comfortable. As he turned to leave, Emily’s hand suddenly shot out, grasping his wrist with surprising strength. Her eyes were still closed, but her lips moved, her voice barely above a whisper. “Director Ryan, your advertisements have always been my inspiration. I hope one day, I can follow in your footsteps and create work that will be remembered.”

Her words struck him like a bolt of lightning, piercing through the walls he had built around himself. Ryan froze, his heart pounding in his chest as he looked down at her. Her delicate features were softened by the dim light of the room, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol, and her lips slightly parted. In that moment, she looked so vulnerable, so genuine, that he felt something shift inside him. He had spent years surrounded by people who sought his attention for their own gain, but Emily’s admiration was pure, untainted by ulterior motives. It was a rare and precious thing, and it stirred something deep within him—something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Before he could stop himself, Ryan leaned down, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, tentative kiss. It was brief, almost chaste, but it sent a jolt of electricity through him. When Emily’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze hazy and unfocused, he felt a pang of guilt but also a surge of desire he couldn’t ignore. “Ryan…” she murmured, her voice drowsy but tinged with something else—something that made his heart race.

“I’m sorry, Emily,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I can’t hold back… I just want to cherish you.” His lips found hers again, this time with more urgency, his hand sliding behind her head to cradle it gently. His fingers threaded through her hair, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened. Emily’s response was hesitant at first, but then she melted into him, her hands finding their way to his shoulders, her touch tentative yet eager.

Ryan’s fingers skimmed down her arm, grazing over the smooth fabric of her dress before finding the zipper at her back. He tugged it down slowly, the sound barely audible in the quiet room—a whisper of surrender. The dress slipped off her shoulders, pooling at her waist, revealing the soft curve of her collarbone, the delicate straps of her bra. His lips followed, pressing gentle, reverent kisses over her bare skin, savoring every inch of her as if she were something sacred.

Then, with aching slowness, he reached for the clasp of her bra, his fingers brushing the warm skin of her back before releasing it. The fabric fell away, and his breath caught.

Emily’s breasts were exquisite—full, perfectly shaped, the kind of beauty that made his chest tighten. They rose with every unsteady breath she took, her nipples already pebbled under his gaze. Soft as rose petals, yet lush enough to fill his hands, they were a temptation he couldn’t resist. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire as his lips returned to hers, kissing her with a hunger that surprised even him. He cupped their weight, thumbs tracing slow circles over her flushed skin, watching the way she arched into his touch.

Lowering his mouth, he tasted her—first the curve, then the peak, teasing with his tongue until her breath hitched.Emily shivered under his touch, her body both tense and aching for more. Ryan’s hands roamed over her sides, his touch firm yet tender, as if memorizing the curves of her body. His hands explored every inch of her, his touch gentle yet electrifying, sending shivers down her spine. As Ryan’s lips traveled lower, his fingers traced along the edge of her remaining clothing, his movements slow and deliberate, giving her every chance to push him away. 

Ryan’s fingers hooked into the delicate lace of Emily’s panties, sliding them down her trembling thighs with agonizing slowness. His breath turned ragged as he took in the sight of her—bare, flushed, and beautifully exposed just for him. He couldn’t resist lowering his mouth to her, his tongue tracing slow circles over her swollen flesh. Emily gasped, her fingers knotting in his hair as he licked deeper, drinking in her sweetness, her legs shaking around his shoulders.

But the more she whimpered, the more his control frayed. His cock ached, straining against his pants, hard and desperate for relief. With a growl, he stripped off his clothes, his gaze locked on hers as he settled between her thighs.

The first press of his cock against her warmth made them both shudder—but when he pushed forward slightly, he froze.

Tight. Too tight.

Ryan’s breath hitched as realization dawned. "Emily…" He cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. "Look at me. Do you want this?"

Her answer wasn’t words—it was her arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer, her body arching in silent surrender.

"I’ll be gentle," he promised, his voice rough with restraint.

He entered her inch by torturous inch, his muscles trembling with the effort to go slow. 

Emily’s breath came in sharp little gasps, her nails digging into his shoulders, but she didn’t push him away. When he finally sheathed himself fully inside her, he stilled, letting her adjust to the stretch, to the feel of him.

"You’re perfect," he gritted out, his forehead pressed to hers. "So fucking perfect."

Then, with agonizing care, he began to move—shallow thrusts at first, just enough to make her whimper. But as her body relaxed, as her hips lifted to meet his, he deepened his strokes, his pace growing steadier, more confident.

"God, you feel incredible," Ryan groaned, his hands sliding under her thighs to lift her legs higher, anchoring them over his shoulders. The new angle made her cry out as he thrust deeper, hitting a spot that had her trembling.

When Emily’s climax hit, her body clenched around him like a vise, her moans music to his ears. Ryan rolled them to their sides, never slipping out of her, and cradled her close as he continued to move—slower now, drawing out every last ripple of her pleasure.

"That’s it," he murmured against her lips, his voice rough with reverence. His hips rolled in deep, measured strokes, each one prolonging her shudders until she whimpered, oversensitive and trembling. He swallowed the sound with a kiss, his hand sliding down to grip her thigh, hiking it higher around his waist.

She was pliant in his arms, her breaths still ragged, but he couldn’t stop—not when she felt this good, not when every drag of his body against hers made her gasp. His control frayed with every slick, clinging pull, his rhythm turning uneven, desperate.

He increased the rhythm of his thrusts, his release crashing over him with a groan that vibrated through her skin. He held her tighter, burying his face in her neck as he spilled inside her, his entire body taut with pleasure.

The night seemed to stretch on forever, Ryan’s touch was both tender and demanding, his kisses a mix of reverence and passion. 

The next morning, Emily woke up with a dull ache in her head, the remnants of last night’s alcohol still fogging her mind. As she woke up, she noticed the plain hotel room, drawn curtains, and the soft hum of the aircon.

Her heart began to race as she sat up abruptly, the sheets slipping down to reveal her bare skin. Panic surged through her as she realized she was naked, the reality of her situation crashing down on her like a tidal wave. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the disheveled bed, the clothes strewn across the floor, and the unmistakable signs of what had happened the night before. Her stomach churned as the pieces began to fall into place, but one glaring question remained: who had she been with?

Her mind raced, trying to recall the events of the previous night, but her memories were hazy, fragmented. She remembered the bar, the celebration for Ryan’s award, and the drinks—too many drinks. She remembered talking to someone, laughing, feeling a connection, but the details were blurry, lost in the haze of alcohol and exhaustion. 

Her heart pounded as she glanced toward the bathroom, where the sound of running water indicated that whoever had been with her was still there. A wave of dread washed over her as she realized she didn’t even know who it was. The thought of facing a stranger, of having to confront the awkwardness and shame of the situation, was too much to bear. She couldn’t stay—she had to leave, now.

With trembling hands, Emily scrambled out of the bed, her legs shaky as her feet hit the floor. She grabbed her clothes from where they lay discarded, her movements frantic as she pulled on her dress, not even bothering to zip it up properly. Her fingers fumbled with the straps of her heels as she slipped them on, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. She glanced at the bathroom door, the sound of the water still running, and felt a surge of relief that she still had time to escape. Her mind raced with excuses, with reasons to justify her flight, but all she could think about was getting out of there before she had to face the person on the other side of that door.

“I’m sorry… I have work, I have to go!” she called out toward the bathroom, her voice trembling but loud enough to be heard over the running water. She didn’t wait for a response, didn’t dare to linger even a second longer. Grabbing her purse, she bolted toward the door, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure it could be heard across the room. 

She yanked the door open and stepped into the hallway, the cool air hitting her flushed face as she hurried toward the elevator. Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions—shame, regret, and a deep, gnawing fear of what this would mean for her job, for her reputation, for everything she had worked so hard to build.

As the elevator doors closed behind her, Emily leaned against the wall, her legs threatening to give out beneath her. She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing, but the image of the hotel room, the disheveled bed, and the sound of the running water haunted her. She had always been so careful, so focused on her career, and now this—this one night had upended everything. She didn’t know who she had been with, and the uncertainty gnawed at her, filling her with a sense of dread. 

But for now, all she could do was run, putting as much distance between herself and that hotel room as possible. The elevator dinged as it reached the lobby, and Emily stepped out, her head down as she hurried through the bustling space, desperate to escape the weight of what had happened. 

By the time Emily arrived at the office, her mind was in complete turmoil. The events of the previous night were a blur, fragmented and hazy, like pieces of a puzzle she couldn’t quite fit together. She couldn’t recall exactly what had happened after she left the bar, and the uncertainty gnawed at her. Who had she been with? The last clear memory she had was sitting at the bar, sipping her drink, surrounded by colleagues celebrating Ryan’s award. Among those who had stayed behind, there was… Ryan. 

The thought sent a shiver down her spine. Could it have been him? The idea was both thrilling and terrifying, but she couldn’t be sure. Her heart raced as she tried to piece together the fragments of her memory, but the more she strained to remember, the more elusive the details became.

Just as she was lost in thought, the glass doors of the company lobby slid open, and Ryan walked in at the same time as her. He looked as composed and confident as ever, his tailored suit immaculate and his demeanor calm. 

Employees greeted him one after another as he made his way through the lobby, and he responded with his usual polite nods and brief smiles. Emily’s stomach churned as she approached him, her nerves on edge. She forced herself to act normal, to push aside the whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

“Good morning, Director Ryan,” she greeted him, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her.

“Morning, Emily,” Ryan responded, his tone warm but professional, a small smile playing on his lips before he stepped into the elevator. Emily froze in place, her heart skipping a beat. Had he just greeted her by name? It was such a small thing, but it felt significant, especially given the circumstances. 

Before she could process it further, her colleague, Lisa, appeared beside her, nudging her playfully. “Emily! Did you hear that? Director Ryan only greeted you by name! Looks like last night’s celebration was especially lucky for you,” Lisa teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Emily forced a laugh, her cheeks flushing as she tried to brush off the comment. “Yeah… I was lucky to get the chance to talk to him,” she replied vaguely, her mind still reeling.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that something had happened between them, but without clear memories, she was left in a state of agonizing uncertainty. The rest of the morning passed in a blur as she tried to focus on her work, but her thoughts kept drifting back to the hotel room, the disheveled sheets, and the sound of running water in the bathroom.

Later that day, her desk phone buzzed with an unexpected notification—Ryan was summoning her to his office. Her heart leapt into her throat as she made her way to the executive floor, her mind racing with possibilities. 

Was this about last night? Or was it something else entirely? 

When she entered his office, she found a few colleagues already there, gathered around the large conference table. Ryan stood at the head of the table, his expression focused and professional. 

“Emily, you’re here. We’ve just received an invitation to participate in the National Sport Advertising Campaign selection. You’ll be the lead planner responsible for developing the concept. The rest of the team will support you,” he announced, his tone firm but encouraging.

Emily’s eyes widened in surprise and excitement. This was a huge opportunity, one that could catapult her career to new heights. The thrill of the challenge momentarily pushed aside her anxieties, and she felt a surge of determination. “Thank you, Director Ryan. I won’t let you down,” she responded, her voice filled with resolve. 

As the meeting wrapped up and her colleagues filed out of the office, Ryan lingered for a moment, his gaze meeting hers. “I’ve seen your previous work. The manager showed it to me. I believe in you. Keep it up,” he said, his voice softer now, almost intimate.

Emily felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words, a mix of pride and something else she couldn’t quite name.

“Thank you, Director Ryan. I’ll do my best,” she replied, her smile genuine this time. 

As she returned to her desk, she felt a renewed sense of purpose, her mind buzzing with ideas for the campaign. But even as she immersed herself in brainstorming, a part of her couldn’t help but wonder about the night before. 

The way Ryan had looked at her, the way he had spoken to her—was it just professional admiration, or was there something more? For now, she pushed those thoughts aside, determined to focus on the task at hand.

Before leaving work, Emily’s phone buzzed with a text message that made her heart skip a beat. The screen lit up with a simple yet loaded sentence: “Meet me at the same bar after work. - Ryan.” 

She stared at the message, her fingers hovering over the screen as a wave of surprise and uncertainty washed over her. Why did Ryan want to meet her privately? Was this about the project, or something more personal? Her mind raced with possibilities, each one more nerve-wracking than the last. She hesitated, torn between curiosity and apprehension, but ultimately, her desire to understand what had happened between them outweighed her doubts. 

After a deep breath, she typed a quick reply: “Okay, see you there.”

When she arrived at the bar, the familiar ambiance greeted her—dim lighting, the soft hum of conversation, and the clinking of glasses. Her eyes scanned the room, and she quickly spotted Ryan sitting by the window, his silhouette framed by the city lights outside. He looked as composed as ever, his posture relaxed but confident, a half-empty glass of whiskey in front of him. 

Emily’s stomach fluttered as she approached him, her heels clicking softly against the floor.

“Director Ryan, sorry for making you wait,” she greeted as she slid into the seat across from him, her voice steady despite the nervous energy coursing through her.

“No worries. I just got here,” Ryan replied, his tone calm and reassuring. He gestured to the bartender, who promptly brought over a cocktail identical to the one he had ordered for her the previous night. 

The sight of the drink stirred something in Emily’s memory, but the details remained frustratingly out of reach. She accepted the glass with a small smile, her fingers brushing against his for a brief moment. 

“Thank you, but… why did you ask me to meet you?” she asked directly, her curiosity getting the better of her.

Ryan leaned back in his seat, his gaze steady as he studied her. “Because I wanted to see you,” he said simply, his voice carrying a weight that made Emily’s breath catch. His words were straightforward, yet they left her feeling exposed, as if he could see right through her carefully constructed facade. 

She hesitated, unsure how to respond, before pressing further. “Is there something you need?” she asked, her tone tinged with both curiosity and caution.

Ryan’s expression softened, a hint of concern flickering in his eyes. “Do you really not remember what happened last night?” he asked, his voice low and measured. 

The question hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken implications. It was only then that the pieces began to fall into place for Emily. Her eyes widened as the realization hit her like a thunderclap. 

“You were… the one?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her mind reeling as the truth sank in.

“Yes,” Ryan confirmed without hesitation, his gaze never leaving hers. “Do you really not remember anything?” 

As he spoke, fragments of the night began to resurface in Emily’s mind—the warmth of his hands, the way he had held her so tenderly, the softness of his lips against hers. Her cheeks flushed at the memories, a mix of embarrassment and something else she couldn’t quite name.

“I’m sorry… I was drunk. I’m not usually like that,” she tried to explain, her words tumbling out in a rush as she desperately tried to clarify her actions, not wanting him to misunderstand her.

Ryan’s expression remained calm, his voice gentle as he responded. “I know last night was your first time. And just so you know, I don’t regret it,” he said honestly, his words carrying a sincerity that made Emily’s heart ache. She looked down at her hands, her fingers nervously tracing the rim of her glass.

 “I see… then let’s not talk about it anymore,” she said, her voice barely audible as she tried to brush the topic aside, hoping to move past the awkwardness.

But Ryan had other thoughts. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze intense yet tender. “I want to be with you again tonight. Will you stay with me?” he asked, his voice soft but firm, leaving no room for misinterpretation. 

Emily’s breath hitched at his words, her mind racing as she processed what he was asking. She was momentarily taken aback, her heart pounding in her chest as she weighed her options. 

After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded shyly, her cheeks flushing even deeper. She didn’t want to miss another chance to be close to him, to explore whatever this was between them. As they left the bar together, the city lights casting a golden glow around them, Emily couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and trepidation, knowing that this night would change everything.

That night, instead of heading to a hotel as Emily had expected, Ryan led her to his car and drove them to his home. The quiet hum of the engine and the soft glow of the streetlights created an intimate atmosphere, but Emily couldn’t help but feel a flicker of confusion.

“Director Ryan, we’re not going to a hotel?” she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity as she glanced at him from the passenger seat. Ryan kept his eyes on the road, but a soft smile played on his lips.

“No. We’re going to my place,” he replied, his tone calm and reassuring, as if he had already made up his mind about how the night would unfold. Emily’s heart fluttered at his words, a mix of nervousness and anticipation swirling inside her. She had never been to a man’s home before, and the idea of stepping into his private space felt both thrilling and daunting.

When they arrived, Ryan’s home was exactly as she had imagined—sleek, modern, and impeccably designed, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a stunning view of the city skyline. 

But before she could take in the details, Ryan closed the door behind them and pulled her into a warm embrace, his arms wrapping around her with a possessiveness that made her breath catch. 

He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, “Emily, this time, I want you to remember everything.” His voice was low and husky, sending shivers down her spine. 

Before she could respond, Ryan leaned in, his lips capturing hers in the softest, most tentative kiss. It was a question, a choice laid bare. She could pull away, retreat into the safety of distance and professionalism, or she could give in to the pull of whatever this was between them. 

For once, Emily chose to follow her heart. She kissed him back, her hands sliding up to his shoulders as she surrendered to the moment. Ryan groaned softly, the sound vibrating against her lips as he deepened the kiss, his arms tightening around her as if he never wanted to let her go. 

This time, there was no hesitation, no alcohol-clouded judgment—just pure, undeniable desire that burned brighter with every passing second.

Ryan lifted her effortlessly, his strength surprising her as he carried her toward the bedroom without breaking the kiss. Emily’s pulse raced, her heart pounding in her chest as he laid her down on the bed, his body pressing against hers in a way that felt both familiar and exhilaratingly new. 

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," Ryan murmured against her lips, his voice rough with desire. His hands slid under her shirt, fingers tracing the curve of her waist, sending shivers down her spine.

Emily arched into his touch, breathless. "Then stop wasting time," she teased, tugging at the hem of his shirt. He didn’t need to be told twice. Clothes disappeared between kisses, their movements hurried yet deliberate, as if they were both desperate to close the distance between them.

When they were finally skin to skin, Emily gasped at the intensity of it all—the heat of Ryan’s body pressed flush against hers, his calloused hands roaming possessively over every curve. His mouth was relentless, leaving marks along her throat, her breasts, her stomach, as if branding her his.

God, he’s beautiful. The thought seared through her mind as she let her hands explore him in return—the hard planes of his chest, the ridges of his abdomen, the way his muscles tensed under her touch. His shoulders were broad enough to pin her down effortlessly, his body a perfect contrast of strength and controlled restraint. She could feel the power coiled in his thighs as he settled between her legs, the evidence of his desire pressing against her, hot and insistent.

There was something almost primal about the way he looked at her—like he wanted to devour her, worship her, ruin her—all at once. The dim light caught the sweat glistening on his skin, the sharp angle of his jaw clenched with need. When he kissed her again, deep and claiming, she moaned into his mouth, her fingers threading through his hair.

The weight of him, the scent of his skin, the way his breath hitched when she scraped her nails down his back. Every inch of him was intoxicating, and she wanted more—more of his touch, his taste, the low, rough sounds he made when she arched against him.

"Ryan—" His name escaped her in a breathless whisper, half plea, half praise, as his fingers slid between her thighs, teasing her until she was slick and trembling.

He smirked, his fingers tangling in her hair as he pinned her beneath him, his voice a rough command. "Tell me what you want."

Emily’s nails bit into his shoulders, her hips arching off the bed in silent demand. "I want you Now."

A growl rumbled in his chest as he positioned himself between her legs, the thick head of his cock dragging through her wetness before pressing against her entrance. 

And when her eyes locked onto his—dark, desperate, completely his—he pushed inside with one slow, deliberate thrust, stretching her exquisitely.

Emily cried out, her back bowing as he filled her completely, the stretch bordering on too much before melting into pure, molten pleasure. "God—you feel—"

"I know," Ryan gritted out, his muscles taut with restraint as he let her adjust. But when she clenched around him, urging him on, he lost control.

His hips snapped forward, burying himself to the hilt before pulling back and driving into her again, each stroke deep and punishing. The slap of skin on skin, the way her breath hitched with every thrust—it was filthy, intoxicating.

"Harder," Emily gasped, her legs hooking around his waist to take him deeper.

Ryan obliged, his pace turning ruthless, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside her with every plunge. She could feel him everywhere—his sweat-slicked chest against hers, his fingers digging into her hips, the ragged groan that spilled from his lips as she tightened around him.

"You’re gonna make me come," she panted, her climax coiling tight, ready to shatter.

"Do it," he growled, his thrusts turning erratic. "Let me feel you."

And she did—her body clamping down on him as pleasure ripped through her in waves, her scream muffled by his mouth crashing onto hers. Ryan followed with a rough groan, his hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside her, his release hot and endless.

For a long moment, they stayed locked together, breathless and trembling, the only sound their ragged breathing. Then Ryan finally collapsed beside her, pulling her against him, both of them still thrumming with the aftershocks.

"Fuck," he muttered against her hair, his voice wrecked. "That was—"

"Yeah," Emily breathed, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. "It was."

A slow, satisfied smirk curled his lips as he tilted her chin up, capturing her mouth in a lazy, possessive kiss. "And we’re just getting started."

Before she could respond, Ryan rolled them over in one smooth motion, his hands gripping her hips as he settled her on top of him. The sudden shift made her gasp, her thighs tightening around his waist as she straddled him. The new angle sent a jolt of pleasure through her—he was still deep inside her, still so there, and now she had control.

"Like this?" she whispered, rocking against him experimentally.

His groan was all the answer she needed. His hands slid up her body, rough palms skimming her ribs before cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples in a way that made her breath hitch. "Fuck, yes. Just like that."

Emily braced her hands on his chest, rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles, watching his face as pleasure tightened his features. The way his jaw clenched, the way his fingers dug into her skin—she loved knowing she could unravel him just as thoroughly as he did her.

"You feel so good," she murmured, arching back slightly, letting him watch the way she took him, inch by inch.

Ryan’s grip on her tightened, his hips lifting to meet her movements. "Look at you," he growled. "Riding me like you were made for it."

The words sent a rush of heat through her, and she leaned forward, pressing her palms flat against his chest as she picked up the pace. Their breaths tangled, the air between them thick with sweat and shared desire.

"Ryan—" His name spilled from her lips in a broken moan as his hands dropped to her ass, guiding her, urging her faster.

"Come for me, Em," he demanded, his voice rough. "Let me feel it again."

And when she did—when pleasure crashed over her in waves, her body clenching around him—he followed her over the edge with a groan, his fingers pressing bruises into her skin as he held her close.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, their breathing ragged, their bodies still tangled together. Then Ryan brushed a damp strand of hair from her face, his smirk returning.

"Told you," he murmured. "Just getting started."

*****

Emily woke up to the soft glow of morning light filtering through the curtains, casting a golden hue across the room. For a moment, she forgot where she was—the unfamiliar surroundings, the plush bed, the quiet hum of a space that wasn’t hers. 

But then she felt it: the warmth of a strong arm draped over her waist, the steady rise and fall of a chest pressed against her back. 

Ryan. 

Her heart raced as memories of last night flooded back: his deep kisses, the way he touched her and left her breathless, and how he held her close like she meant everything. It was overwhelming, but it felt right.

Her gaze shifted to him. He was still asleep, his face relaxed, his dark hair slightly tousled from the night. 

In the soft morning light, he looked almost boyish, his sharp features softened by the peacefulness of sleep. She couldn’t help but stare, her heart aching with a mixture of affection and fear. This was dangerous. She knew she should get up, get dressed, and leave before this became even more complicated. Before she let herself fall any deeper. 

But when she tried to move, Ryan stirred, his arm tightening around her waist as he pulled her closer. “Where are you going?” His voice was husky with sleep, low and gravelly, sending a shiver down her spine.

Emily swallowed, her mind racing as she tried to find the right words. “I should leave before—” she began, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ryan opened his eyes, fixing her with a lazy yet intense gaze that made her stomach flip. “Before what?” he asked, his tone calm but probing.

“Before this gets out of hand,” she admitted, her cheeks flushing as she avoided his eyes. She could feel the weight of his stare, the way it seemed to see straight through her defenses.

Ryan smirked, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “I think that ship has already sailed,” he said, his voice teasing but laced with a seriousness that made her heart race.

Emily groaned, burying her face in the pillow to hide her embarrassment. “You’re not helping,” she muttered, her voice muffled.

His expression softened, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by something deeper, something that made her breath catch. “Emily, I know you’re avoiding,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. 

She bit her lip, her mind racing with all the reasons why this was a bad idea. “This isn’t just about me, Ryan. You’re my boss. If anyone finds out—” she began, her voice trembling with the weight of her fears.

Ryan reached out, his fingers gently tilting her chin up so she had no choice but to look at him. His gaze was unwavering, his eyes filled with a determination that left her speechless. “Then let them,” he said simply, his voice firm.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “You can’t be serious,” she whispered, her heart pounding in her chest.

He sighed, his thumb brushing lightly over her cheek. “I don’t care what anyone thinks,” he said, his voice low but resolute. “I care about you.”

Emily’s breath hitched, her mind spinning as she tried to process his words. The sincerity in his voice, the way he looked at her—it was too much, too real. 

She wanted to believe him, to let herself fall into this moment without fear or hesitation. But the rational part of her brain screamed warnings, reminding her of the risks, the complications, the potential fallout. 

And yet, as she lay there in his arms, the warmth of his body pressed against hers, she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, this was worth the risk.