One Night with A Stranger：He's My Boss After All

The tequila burns going down, cheap and vicious, but I don't fucking care. Three shots deep and the bar lights blur into halos, everything soft around the edges except for the laughter spilling out of me. I did it. I actually fucking did it.

"To Ava Monroe," Chloe shouts, raising her glass, "future corporate badass at Apex Corporation!"

Mia joins in, her voice cutting through the bass thumping from the speakers. "Who's going to rule the fucking world!"

I knock back shot number four. The table's littered with empties, and my face hurts from grinning. This internship...it's everything. Top company in the city. Competitive as hell. And they picked me.

"Truth or dare, Ava." Chloe's eyes glitter with mischief.

I should know better. I really should. But the alcohol's buzzing in my veins, warm and reckless, and I'm riding the high of being untouchable tonight.

"Dare," I say.

Chloe leans in, and Mia mirrors her, both of them wearing matching grins that spell trouble.

"See that guy at the bar?" Chloe tilts her head toward the far end. "Suit. Looks like he's never smiled in his life. Go get his number."

I follow her gaze. He's impossible to miss...tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a charcoal suit that probably costs more than my rent. Dark hair pushed back, strong jaw tight like he's clenching it. He's nursing something amber in a tumbler, and even from here, the don't fuck with me energy radiates off him in waves.

"Jesus, Chloe. Him?"

"Unless you're scared?" Mia singsongs.

The challenge hits exactly where she knows it will. I down the rest of my drink and stand, the room tilting just slightly. Not scared. Never scared. Not tonight.

I'm halfway across the bar before my brain catches up to my legs, but I don't slow down. The crowd parts, and then I'm there, sliding onto the stool next to him like I belong.

Up close, he's devastating. Sharp cheekbones. A mouth that looks like it's forgotten how to soften. But it's his eyes that stop me cold...dark, so dark they're almost black, and when they cut to me, they pin me in place like a specimen.

"Hi." My voice comes out breathier than I want, but I push through. "I'm Ava."

He doesn't respond. Just looks at me, one eyebrow lifting a fraction. Not interested. Not even remotely.

Heat crawls up my neck. Shit. "Can I...could I get your number?"

His jaw shifts. For a moment, I think he's going to laugh at me, but when he speaks, his voice is low, rough like gravel. "No."

"No?" I blink. Okay. Rejection noted. I should walk away. Go back to my table. Laugh it off.

But then he leans in, just an inch, and the air between us charges like static. "Ask for a night instead."

My heart slams against my ribs. "What?"

"You heard me." His gaze drops to my mouth, then back up. Slow. Deliberate. "One night. That's what I'm offering."

This is insane. He's a stranger. I don't even know his name. But my pulse is racing, and something reckless and dangerous unfurls in my chest. Maybe it's the tequila. Maybe it's the high of the internship. Maybe it's just him...the way he looks at me like I'm already his decision to make.

"Okay," I whisper.

His eyes flare, surprise flickering for just a second before it's buried. Then he stands, and God, he's tall. He doesn't touch me, doesn't smile. Just jerks his head toward the exit.

"Let's go."

The hotel room is sleek, modern, all dark wood and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. The lights glitter below, distant and cold, but the room itself is dim, intimate. My heart won't stop pounding.

He closes the door behind us, and the lock clicks loud in the silence. I turn to face him, trying to look confident, trying to look like I do this all the time.

I don't.

He steps closer, his presence swallowing the space between us. One hand comes up, fingers brushing my jaw, tilting my face up. His thumb traces my lower lip, and I shiver.

"Last chance." His voice is barely above a whisper. "You walk out now, and I won't follow."

I should leave. Every rational part of my brain is screaming at me to leave. But the heat in his eyes, the way his touch feels like a brand...I can't.

"I'm staying."

Something in his expression shifts. Darkens. His hand drops from my face, and he steps back. "Turn around."

"What?"

"Turn. Around."

I do it. My breath shaky, hands trembling. Behind me, I hear the rustle of fabric, the clink of a belt. Then his hands are on my hips, rough, possessive, spinning me back to face the window.

"Don't regret this." His breath is hot against my ear. "You have no idea who I am."

"That's the point," I manage, my voice barely steady.

He makes a sound...low, guttural...and then his mouth is on my neck, teeth scraping, and any coherent thought I had shatters. His hands slide up my sides, pulling at my dress, and I let him. I let him take everything.

He doesn't kiss me. Not once. His mouth moves over my throat, my shoulder, everywhere except my lips. It should bother me, but I'm too far gone to care. His fingers find the zipper of my dress, dragging it down, and the fabric pools at my feet.

"Say it," he growls against my skin. "Say I'm huge."

My face burns, but the command in his voice leaves no room for defiance. "You're..." I gasp as his hand slides between my thighs. "You're huge."

"Good girl."

The praise shoots straight through me, and I arch back against him. He spins me again, hands firm on my waist, guiding me to the bed. I fall forward, hands catching on the mattress, and he's right behind me, one hand pressing between my shoulder blades, keeping me down.

"Don't look at me," he says, voice rough. "Don't. Just feel."

I close my eyes, surrendering. His hands are everywhere, possessive and demanding, and when he finally pushes inside me, the stretch is almost too much. I cry out, fingers digging into the sheets.

"That's it." His voice is strained, control fraying at the edges. "Take it. All of it."

He doesn't go slow. Doesn't ask if I'm okay. He takes, and I give, and somewhere in the blur of sensation...pain, pleasure, heat...I forget where I end and he begins.

When I come, it's violent, ripping through me like a storm. He follows seconds later, his grip bruising, his breath ragged against my spine.

I wake to cold sheets.

The room is gray with early morning light, and I'm alone. I sit up slowly, my body aching in places I've never ached before. The other side of the bed is empty, perfectly made, like he was never there.

But he was. I can still smell him...something dark and expensive, leather and cedar.

On the nightstand, there's a note. My hands shake as I pick it up.

Thank you for tonight. Don't look for me. ... D.

Next to it, folded neatly, are my panties.

I stare at the note, the single letter signature burning into my brain. D. That's all I get. No name. No number. No explanation for why he didn't kiss me, why he left, why any of this happened.

I should be relieved. This is what I signed up for...one night, no strings. But instead, there's a hollow ache in my chest that has nothing to do with being sore.

I fold the note carefully and slip it into my purse. My fingers trace the sharp edge of the paper, and I know, with a certainty that terrifies me, that I won't be able to forget him.

Not his voice. Not his hands. Not the way he looked at me like I was something dangerous.

Not him.