Jesse met Rae through work not in any dramatic, life-altering way. They weren’t seatmates on a flight or partners on a tense project. She was on a different floor, in a different role, barely a ripple in the ocean of his day-to-day. But her name popped up once on a shared email thread, and a month later, she accepted his friend request like it meant nothing.

For a while, that’s what it was nothing. Likes here, a comment there. Occasionally he’d reply to a story with something flirty but safe, the kind of thing you could backpedal from with a smile if needed. Rae always responded kindly, never cold, but never crossing a line. She was smart, articulate, a little guarded and beautiful in a way that made Jesse save her pictures for no good reason, just to look again later.

Years passed. He got married. She did too. Life swallowed them, then spat them out different.

His marriage ended in resentment and long silences. Hers, from what she hinted, died from distance and a loss of self. They both carried the same scars, just arranged in different patterns.

The messages faded into memes. Funny reels. A shared love of dark sarcasm and well-timed gifs. He stopped flirting not bitterly, just quietly. As if he’d finally accepted the way some people only ever pass close enough to touch, but never close enough to hold.

Until she shifted.

It was small at first. A comment on a photo: “You’ve aged really, really well. Like, unfairly so.”

He stared at it for three minutes before replying.

He replied cool, casual. She replied faster.

Over the next few weeks, her words lingered a little longer. Jokes came with an edge, a wink hidden in the punchline. She started asking more about his workouts, his mornings, what he was wearing. The messages were still playful, but the air between them changed. Crackled.

Then one night, Rae sent a voice note.

She was tipsy, laughing at herself. “You ever have that moment where you realize someone you’ve known forever might be exactly your type, and you’ve just been too polite to say it?”

He played it five times before replying.

From there, it was wildfire.

They started talking every night. About kinks. Desires. Unspoken things that lived behind the curated posts and professional smiles. Jesse found himself confessing things he hadn’t said aloud in years. Rae admitted fantasies she’d never voiced about being dominated, about surrender, about wanting to be craved like oxygen.

The first photo came a week later.

Not nude. Not even close.

Just Rae in a silky tank top, braless, her hand in her hair, a hint of a smirk. “Thought you’d appreciate this,” she wrote. He stared at it like it held the secrets of the universe.

Then more came.

Lingerie. Lips. Poses that made his jaw clench and his breath catch. And they weren’t careless. They were artful, intentional sent not to tease, but to destroy. And they did.

He told her what it did to him. How hard he got. How he stroked himself, whispering her name. How he’d bend her over and make her forget the last five years.

She told him what she’d let him do. How wet she got. How she wanted to kneel for him, mark herself as his, come undone in his hands.

They were on the edge now. Of something real. Or at least something undeniable.

Neither had touched the other. Not yet. But their worlds had already shifted. And they both knew it.

The next move wasn’t a message. It wasn’t a photo.

It was a meeting.

And it was coming.

Rae was in town for a work event. Just three nights. She didn’t mention it at first, not until the second morning when she casually sent him a photo of the hotel view city lights still blinking, the sky barely awake.

He stared at the message for a long time.

You’re near the office, he wrote.

She replied with a smirking emoji and a “Maybe.”

He waited until the afternoon to ask, pretending it wasn’t circling his mind like a hawk. Dinner? Nothing fancy. Just food and a face-to-face finally.

She took almost two hours to reply.

When she did, it was short. I’d like that.

His heart kicked.

That night, he picked a bar not far from her hotel. Stylish but discreet. The kind of place where people didn’t eavesdrop and candlelight made everything feel warmer than it really was. When Rae walked in, Jesse forgot how to breathe. She wore something simple black top, jeans, boots but it clung in all the right places. Her lips glossed, her eyes locked on his from across the room like they’d rehearsed this moment a hundred times.

And maybe they had. In every message. Every fantasy. Every photo she’d sent at midnight with that single line: This one’s just for you.

Dinner was easy. Too easy. They laughed, sipped wine, pretended they weren’t thinking about what would happen if they crossed the street and stepped into her hotel instead of their separate cars.

But it was there. Under every look. Every bite. Every shared silence.

At one point, she leaned forward, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, her voice low and smooth like whiskey. “You’re not what I expected.”

Jesse’s voice dropped. “No?”

“You’re worse.” Her eyes held his. “Better. I don’t know. You’re dangerous.”

He wanted to reach across the table and pull her into his lap. Instead, he smirked, fingers tapping slowly against his glass. “Only if you want me to be.”

She flushed. Not much, just a subtle shift in her cheeks, but he caught it. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips and he nearly groaned.

When they stepped outside, the wind was cool and the city buzzed with the kind of quiet that made everything feel suspended in time. She paused on the sidewalk, her hand brushing his as if by accident. Her hotel loomed behind her. Close. Inviting.

“Walk me back?” she asked.

He nodded once. A heartbeat. Nothing more.

The walk took less than two minutes. They didn’t speak. Their hands never touched again. But the electricity was a living thing between them. When they reached the doors, she turned to face him.

No goodbye. No thank you.

Just a look that said everything.

Jesse took one small step closer. Close enough to feel her breath on his jaw. Close enough to smell the warmth of her skin. He leaned in, brushing his lips against her cheek, barely touching. Barely there.

She trembled.

“I’m going to think about you tonight,” she whispered, breath hitching.

His hand found her hip, anchoring her for one precious second. “I hope you make a mess for me.”

Rae bit her bottom lip, her eyes going heavy-lidded, and walked inside without another word.

She sent a photo less than thirty minutes later.

Just her thighs. Knees bent. One hand resting between them, panties pulled to the side, soaked.

The caption read: I came thinking about your voice in my ear. I’d have let you do anything.

Jesse didn’t sleep. Not really.

And neither of them would ever be the same.

Part Two: “The Hotel Room”

Rae’s message hadn’t even cooled on his phone before Jesse was out of bed. His body already tight, his cock hard and aching, straining against fabric. He didn’t bother with a reply. Not yet.

She’d sent him a photo that blurred the line between invitation and demand.

And he had every intention of accepting.

Ten minutes later, he was knocking on her door, heart hammering, mind racing. He half expected her not to answer. Maybe she’d tease him. Maybe she wanted to draw it out.

But then the door opened — and she was standing there barefoot, wearing nothing but a soft robe that barely clung to her shoulders. Hair tousled, lips swollen from biting them, eyes dark with heat.

No words. Just breath.

She stepped aside, and he walked in.

The moment the door shut, the tension snapped. He had her against the wall before she could speak, his mouth crashing into hers. She melted into him, fingers fisting in his shirt, her hips arching against the hardness straining beneath his jeans.

“You waited too long,” she whispered, dragging her mouth along his jaw. “I’ve been soaking for you for hours.”

He groaned, lifting her effortlessly. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her heat pressing against him through the thin fabric of her robe and his jeans. She was panting, grinding on him like she was starving for it.

“You want to be fucked, Rae?” he growled into her neck.

She bit his earlobe, breathless. “I want to be ruined.”

Jesse laid her on the bed like she was both a gift and a weapon. Her robe fell open. No bra. No panties. Just soft skin, glistening and exposed. His mouth moved over her thighs, her stomach, her breasts leaving heat and teeth and filthy promises.

When he finally slid two fingers into her, she gasped, arching off the bed. “God, yes.”

“Already dripping. You needed this, didn’t you?”

She nodded, lost in it. “I thought about your hands. Your mouth. Your cock. I touched myself thinking about you talking me through it. Telling me I’m your good girl.”

He growled low and dangerous. “You are.”

He pulled her to the edge of the bed, knelt down, and buried his face between her thighs. Licked her like he was starved. She tasted like sex and sin and everything he’d ever wanted. Her thighs trembled against his shoulders, her moans raw and real.

“Jesse, fuck, I’m gonna”

“Let go. I want to feel how much you need me.”

She came hard, gripping his hair, crying out his name like a prayer.

And he wasn’t done.

He stripped in seconds. Her eyes went wide when he dropped his boxers, and he saw the hunger flicker across her face.

“Ride me,” he said, lying back.

She didn’t hesitate.

She climbed over him, sinking down slowly, inch by inch, until he was buried deep inside her. Her mouth fell open. His hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise. She rocked her hips with slow, filthy intent, using him to chase her second orgasm.

“Look at you,” he said, voice thick. “You love how full you are.”

“I love being used,” she whispered, grinding harder. “You make me feel like I belong like this.”

He flipped them fast, pinning her wrists above her head. Thrusting deep, over and over, until she was a mess beneath him begging, cursing, moaning into his mouth.

When she came again, he followed. Buried deep, hips jerking, spilling inside her with a groan that shook her bones.

They collapsed together, skin slick, hearts racing.

And Jesse whispered into her ear, lips brushing her skin.

“You’re not a tease. You’re mine.”