🔥STEAMINESS ALERT—a nice little moment in here :D 🔥

♫ I fall to pieces when I'm with you, I fall to pieces
My cherries and wine, rosemary and thyme 
And all of my peaches (are ruined) ♪
{Lana Del Rey—Cherry}

Coralie was in a daze for the rest of the day. She breezed through her briefing with Nikita and the other bosses, basking in their praise, blushing at their compliments. Then she suffered through a detailed rehashing of Nikita's night—she didn't have to sit through it, but chose to, out of curiosity. And she had lunch with another up-and-coming artist at the label; an eighteen-year-old who identified with no particular gender and who was the coolest and sweetest person Coralie had ever met. Talented, too—she peeked at their recording session after lunch, and was astonished at the towering heights and the deep lows their voice took.

Torn between being bummed—a newcomer meant she'd soon lose her novelty status at the studio—and excited to discover what this new singer would bring to the company, Coralie spent the afternoon in her office.

She tried to write, but the words were garbled, unfocused. Every sentence was half-hearted, and her prose didn't provoke any feelings in her gut. No rhythms sprang to life in her mind, and after a time, she flicked off the screen and got up to turn the lights off, needing obscurity and silence.

A migraine had started to grow, pulsating in her temples, and she sensed it lessen once the lights were extinguished. But as she navigated around in the dark, she worsened the pain by jamming into a corner of her desk.

"Ah!" She hissed and tumbled to the floor, unsure where her chair was. "Fuck."

She crawled around until she found a wall, and settled herself against it. Breathing in, out, in, out, she let the darkness consume her, soothe her. The quiet enveloped her and drew her into its depths, wrapping its tranquil blanket over her limbs.

Her agonizing headache dulled down. She rolled her neck, cracked her knuckles, and felt around for her chair, that she found a few inches in front of her. She grabbed her phone from her jacket pocket, dangling from the chair, and turned the screen on.

As she began to type, words flowed through her, and though they made no sense, she let them out.

"My nocturnal cravings, can't be assuaged in the dark..."

She smirked; the thoughts brewing in her mind were about to turn dirty, and those had become her favorite to write about. They came to her unbidden, but so well-rounded, so charged with the electricity constantly surging through her.

"You're creeping into the covers, taking over my heart..."

"Heart," she said out loud, then placed a hand to the left side of her chest. "That's the important thing, isn't it?"

She finished her train of thought, and then pulled up a number she'd blocked what felt like forever ago.

The letters of his name curved across the screen, as if waving their arms, waggling their fingers at her. Beckoning her, begging her; unblock him. Message him. Call him.

Ryan would be at work right now, but from what she remembered, he always had his phone nearby. He'd respond to a message from her immediately, wouldn't he? If he wasn't already waiting for one, since he'd asked her to hurry and make up her mind.

As she clicked the unblock button, she suppressed a shiver. Such a simple motion, yet it meant so much; it meant she was willing to give him a shot, to prove to her he was the one she'd wanted all along. That all their issues would be resolved now, if she caved, if she gave in to him, once and for all. Her insides tightened, and she wasn't one hundred percent certain of her decision, but she'd told herself last night what she wanted.

Another go with Ryan, to figure out if he's the one.

Her fingers fumbled over the screen, typing sloppily, as if drunk with desire, inebriated by the idea of disrobing in front of him and baring her soul, her heart.

CORALIE: I've unblocked you. We need to talk. Call me, please.

As she stumbled over to the light switch, she sneered—that text was too vague, and Ryan might misinterpret it.

Once seated, readjusting to the illumination, she brought up the messaging screen again.

CORALIE: I made that look terrible. Nothing bad, but this is urgent, Ryan. Please, call me. Message me.

She groaned. "Great, and now I look desperate."

She typed up another sentence, then cringed, erasing it all. Because she'd seem more desperate if she kept trying to rectify every message she'd sent. No, Ryan knew her; he'd understand the urgency, and he'd get back to her ASAP.

***

Her workday ended, and still, Coralie received no reply from Ryan. She wasn't even sure if he'd received the message. Upon unblocking him on all her social media outlets, she noticed he hadn't been active in a few days. Not since—

She gasped. "Not since the show night," she muttered to herself, in the back of the Lyft taking her home.

In a frenzy, she pressed the green call button, and crammed the phone to her ear.

The line rang once, twice, then went to voicemail.

"This is Ryan Bennett," his suave, sultry voice said; professional and straight to the point. Downright too sexy to resist. Coralie smiled despite her worry. "I'm not able to take your call right now, but please leave a detailed message and a phone number, and I will get back to you promptly."

What was she supposed to say? That she hadn't heard from him? No, of course she hadn't—she'd blocked him, she'd kept him out of her social media and text messages, because she'd needed space.

BEEP!

"Shit," she said, preparing to hang up, but then deciding against it at the last second. "Well, you said detailed message, so... here it is." She cleared her throat. "I've texted you, but no response. I'm freaking out, Ryan. You always answer. And I've honestly never heard your voicemail until today. It's hot—" she shook her head, ridding herself of her momentary seduction via Ryan's voicemail tone, "—but that's beside the point. Where are you? I need to discuss something with you. And it's vital to my decision, which means... well, if you want a chance with me, call me. Text me. Please."

Grimacing at her disturbing timbre, she hung up, and ignored the driver's slight snort.

Once upstairs, she paced in her small room. With such a narrow space, she did a lot of back-and-forth, and smacking into her bedside table, or catching her feet in her bed frame.

"Fuck!" She checked her phone—still nothing—and threw her hands up. "He's going to make me do something drastic, isn't he? This is time sensitive, dammit!"

To her luck, neither Bella nor Delilah were home to hear her losing her mind; nor would they be able to stop her when she left to visit Ryan. Unannounced, unprepared—like he used to do to her.

"Well, if he won't answer me, that's what he gets."

After a quick shower, she changed into her best panties, her prettiest bra, and threw on the tightest pair of jeans she owned. A sleek, nearly see-through top—one he'd once told her was bold, but that took his breath away—and her favorite heels, and she was ready. She dashed out the door without a second thought, ordering a Lyft as she descended the stairs.

Halfway to Ryan's place, she filled with regret. What if he was sick, and hadn't had access to his phone because he was convalescing? What if he was in an important business meeting and her constant calls had interrupted a huge deal? Or what if he was with someone else, and—

She grunted. "I have no issue interrupting that," she mumbled to herself, losing all the guilt she'd gathered in her gut as she pictured Ryan snuggling with another woman. If that was the case, Coralie was about to find out—she'd be at his apartment in a matter of minutes.

She knew the code to his building, and hurried up to his floor. In front of his door, she lifted her knuckles, but hesitated. A moment that was all too familiar to her—she'd experienced that same hesitation when going to meet Michael at his hotel room. It was a different hesitation; more of a nervousness with Michael, a fear of disappointing, an anxiety of him being able to read through her in their moments of passion.

With Ryan, the hesitation wasn't so easy to comprehend. It was a mix of emotions; terror, disgust, anticipation, lust. So many things that stopped her from knocking on his door and barging in on whatever he was doing. So many scenarios that prompted her to want to walk away, change her mind, return to the drawing board—

The door swung open before she had an opportunity to decide what to do. There he stood in the doorway, his shirt unbuttoned, his pants clinging to his waist though his belt had come undone. He was flushed—he had the air of someone who'd been disturbed in the middle of something important.

Coralie knew what, and she snarled at him as he held onto the door-frame and peeked at her, quirking one eyebrow.

"Cora?" He didn't frown, but didn't smile, either. Nor did he block the doorway or scramble to hide—for someone who might have been about to fuck someone else at that very moment, he wasn't discreet, nor did he seem to care that Coralie was about to find out about it.

"I..." She gritted her teeth, bartering with herself not to melt in front of him. She had the upper hand, potentially catching him in a transgression; to fumble now would make it easy for him to take advantage of her. To turn the situation around and make her the villain. "Sorry, am I interrupting something?" She gestured at him—her gaze lingering on that V wandering under his pants, and the soft hairs near his navel.

Ryan scratched his head and sighed. His shoulders—that had been tense at the sight of her—relaxed. "I was about to get in the shower."

Coralie loosened her grip on her purse—she'd been clutching it tight against her bosom, bracing to hasten off down the hallway. Or to force herself into his apartment, to verify his claim. Was there someone else in there? How could she find out without prying, without being that kind of girl?

"I'm alone, Cora." Ryan narrowed his gaze on her, but didn't budge from the doorway. He didn't bar her from entering, but didn't seem pleased at the notion of her coming in, either. "It's been a long day—why are you here?"

She returned his glower. "Did you not get any of my texts? My voicemail?"

Ryan blew out a breath. "I did. I was going to call you later, or tomorrow. Please, Cora, can this wait? Whatever it is?"

"No." She bit her lip; was it too much to ask for a bit of his time? How often had he gotten into her space, invaded her privacy, convinced her to let him in? It was her turn. She took a small step closer, to gauge his reaction. "It's important, like I said in all my messages."

She waited to see if he'd slam the door in her face, or tell her to politely piss off—but to her surprise, he moved out of the way and gestured at the entryway. "By all means, then," he said, his voice pinched.

She tiptoed in, and sensed a wave of heat brush onto her cheeks. The sound of trickling water came from the bathroom adjoining the bedroom.

He was running a shower—but why had he come to the door?

"Were you expecting someone?" She turned to watch him close the door and crossed her arms. "Because you opened up before I had a chance to knock, so why—"

He motioned at the small screen to the right of the door. "Security camera. It sends me a message when someone is at the door. I got the text as I was undressing—" he glimpsed his bare feet, "—as you can see."

Coralie's cheeks burned, and not from the heat in his apartment. He'd been telling the truth, and if he was waiting for someone else, they weren't there yet. She still had a shot at getting what she wanted from him.

"Cora." Ryan padded over to her, and trailed a finger along her chin. He gently lifted it, making her look at him. His eyes weren't as warm as they could be, but they didn't deter her, they didn't scrutinize her. "I'm not expecting anyone. Why are you here? What's so important that it couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

The scent of him—that musk of a long day, the whiff of deodorant, a hint of alcohol on his breath—weakened her knees, but it didn't weaken her resolve. If anything, it strengthened her, reminded her why she'd come. Usually, he seduced her—and with little effort, too. A smirk, a quick view of his chiseled chest, a flutter of his lips near her earlobe. Tonight, she'd have to work for his attention, to shake away whatever was distracting him.

"Us." She backed away from him and removed her coat, letting it drop to her feet. Exposing her outfit—that she hoped he'd be pleased to see.

Ryan eyed her warily; yet she saw the slightest spark in his eyes, the tiniest of twitches of his lips. He was intrigued, but trying to hide it. "You shouldn't be here. It's not your style to show up uninvited."

"Oh?" She bent over to unbuckle her shoes, purposely arching her back. She watched him, wondering if he'd break down and give in to her, or if she'd have to spell it all out for him. If she'd have to coerce him as he'd once coerced her. "And are you going to kick me out, since I was uninvited? Or will you listen to my proposition?"

"Proposition?" He set a hand to his hip and sure enough, he focused on her as she removed her shoes and set them near his own, to the side of the entryway. "I'll listen, but I don't know if I'll accept it." He sounded half-convinced, his timbre no longer as choked, returning to its smooth, sensual vibrato.

She gulped; she hadn't prepared for rejection. Ryan had never said no to her before, but then again, she'd never been the one to initiate anything. He'd always been the spontaneous one, the one craving her, the one whispering sweet nothings in her ear to convince her to take her clothes off. She consented, of course; and tonight, she needed his consent.

I won't do this if he doesn't want to; but why wouldn't he?

"Look," she gave up the luscious act for a second, "in all seriousness, I did come here with an idea to run by you."

"And it has to do with your decision?" Ryan fiddled with his belt, as if considering whether to remove it in front of her, or to leave it, and by default leave her hanging.

"It does." She sucked her lower lip between her teeth as she approached him. Without her heels on, she was so much smaller, and her nose was level with his nipples. "It'll help me finalize my feelings. I need... a night with you."

He scoffed, and she thought he might recoil, but he didn't move as she came closer. "A night with me? I thought you needed space from me?"

"I did." She shrugged a hand through her hair. "But now I need... you. I hate how we left things the other night. Yelling, you storming off—it's been bothering me."

"Right." Ryan's fists had been bunched at his sides, but he loosened them to rub the back of his neck. "Me too, obviously. But to fix that, you want to... what, have sex? Then wake up and return to Michael, huh?"

Coralie stifled a growl. "Don't bring him up. This has nothing to do with him." His nostrils wrinkled, and she saw the wheels working, expecting the insults about to hurl out his mouth. She placed her hand over his lips. "This has to do with me and my feelings. And spending the night with you, having sex, yes... that'll help me decide what I want."

It was a lie—she already knew she wanted him. She'd blown everything with Michael, and figured out Chester was bad for her; Ryan was all she had left, and it wasn't a disappointment to her. A part of her had wished for this, from the start. To be with him, the one who kept her guessing, whose love-making skills curled her toes, whose kisses were like heavenly chocolate. He was passionate, confusing, frustrating—and she loved him.

"What was your plan?" He removed her hand from his mouth and put it against one of his pectorals. It was firm, impossible to resist. She squeezed it once, and shivered. With his other hand, he caressed the length of her neck, his earlier discomfort seeming to fade, leaving place to intrigue. "To show up here and disrobe and seduce me with your nakedness?"

She tore away from him and blinked. "I didn't have a plan."

She grabbed the edges of her shirt and pulled it over her head, revealing the bra she'd worn for him. Lacy, low-cut, lavish—one he'd often requested her to wear.

He didn't budge, but he licked his lips and ogled the curves of her breasts, as if fighting the urge to rip the fabric off and twirl his tongue around her nipples.

Ignoring the moisture pooling in her underwear, she traced a circle over her bra, over her nipples, then dragged her finger down to her jeans waistband. She unbuttoned, and let the pants fall to her ankles. Stepping out of them, she batted her lashes, standing half dressed in front of Ryan, internally begging him to take her now.

But he was enjoying the show—his thumb was toying with his lip, and he passed a hand briefly over his growing bulge, as if trying to conceal its sudden interest.

"But," she spun from him and started to stroll towards his bedroom, "would it work?" She unfastened her bra and let its straps tickle down her arms, then tumble to the floor. She remained turned away from him, and hugged herself to cover her breasts. Sensing her nipples hardening against her skin, she held in a gasp of pleasure. Goosebumps prickled from her shoulders to her wrists. "If I were to get naked now, would that seduce you?"

He took one step towards her, then thought better of it. "Depends." He grabbed one end of his belt and tugged it off, tossing it across the room. "What will you do once you're naked?"

She twirled on her heels, keeping her boobs covered with one arm, nearly spilling over. With her free hand, she gripped her panties' waistband and tugged suggestively. "I'll actually need you naked, first, so I can plot my next move."

Though she'd expected him to refuse, at this point, she saw that she'd already breached his facade of uncertainty. Whatever his feelings had been before her arrival, whatever had ruined his day, it was no longer of importance. He undid his pants and stepped out of them, leaving him in a tight pair of boxers. His erection was there, throbbing, thirsting for her, and he did nothing to avoid it.

"And once I'm naked?" He left only a few feet between them, and she smelled the lust on him, viewed it in those tropical eyes. They were stormy, racked with desire, trying to see through her arm.

She dropped the arm, allowing her breasts to roam freely. The surge of air on her nipples caused them to harden further, and Ryan's gaze switched to them at once. He opened his mouth and showed his tongue, rubbing it to and fro over his teeth.

"Once you're naked," she said, slowly taking off her underwear, "then I want to feel you inside me. I want you to hold me until I shatter, to fuck me until I break. Don't stop. Don't ever stop."

He shuddered, and shook his head as he reached out and grabbed her ass, pulling her against him. "God, you've never been so sexy, Cora."

The lights were dimmed, but they saw each other clearly. He was still wearing his boxers, but his enormous penis pulsated against her, desperate to get inside. She was in the nude, sensing the wetness between her legs, her own desperation growing more and more difficult to ignore.

He squeezed her buttocks, and took hold of her chin, drawing her face to his. "You're going to feel me, Cora. And I'll hold you, and I'll fuck you until you can no longer breathe. You're mine; do you hear me? I'm taking over your body and soul and heart. If we do this, there's no going back."

Her breaths caught in her lungs as she peered up at him, yearning for his lips, for the taste of him, for the feel of him. "Yes," she said, barely loud enough for him to hear.

Her heart thumped in her rib-cage—in fear or excitement, she couldn't tell. This was what she'd come for, what she'd decided; and yet a feeble voice in the back of her mind told her to take a step back, to think things over. Was this what she wanted? Her magical vagina to control her, to make decisions for her?

No, this wasn't her vagina's decision—it was her heart's. And her heart wasn't wrong, it couldn't be. It was beating, strong, sincere—for Ryan.

The doubt stemmed from something else. Yes, she believed he had her heart... but what if she woke in the morning and realized she'd made a mistake? What if she'd been confused about her lust for Chester, and it was in fact, love? Or what if her heart wanted her to fight for Michael?

By the time her senses started to regroup in her, it was too late to pull back. Ryan's lips found hers, and his tongue snuck its way into her mouth, taking it hostage, making it his. The swaying of her hips against him was automatic, and the lifting of her legs was uncontrolled. The spot between her legs was so slippery that when he slid a finger there, she squeaked, she crumbled, she gave in.

After playing around with her clit for a few minutes, keeping her hungry, he heaved her up and carried her to the bedroom, where he deposited her on the bed.

This was what I wanted, and I'm going to enjoy it—even if that means one of us will be heartbroken tomorrow.

♥♥♥