🔥STEAMY ALERT—a handful of moments & blush-worthy comments ;) 🔥

♫ We've been waiting on this moment for so long
You wanna be reckless, restless, right until tomorrow
Wait ♪
(Maroon 5—Lips on you)

I am so screwed.

Waking entangled in Ryan's arms, in Ryan's bed, and in Ryan's apartment, didn't deter Coralie from thinking of anything other than Ryan. And specifically; from thinking of Chester.

She'd escaped the rooftop bar in time to preserve herself from engaging in a conversation she didn't want to have... and yet she replayed the evening in her mind as if she'd stayed, as if she'd made plans with Chester. She replayed the evening as if she wasn't already wrapped up in a relationship and an affair, and had the liberty to enter whatever new liaisons she wanted. And this liaison... oh, she wanted it. She hated that she did, but the desire was there.

A threesome. And it offered an opportunity to fix the one she'd had in the past, to re-do it with more coordination and less fumbling, to make it more memorable. And who better to have such an illicit adventure with than the man who had no attachments, no jealousy issues, not a care in the world?

Chester was wild, and his proposal had reanimated the wild sides of Coralie, including the attraction she'd always had towards him. In those years, she'd never needed to hide it. He'd indulged in her admiration, basked in it, loved it. But now, she had to keep such feelings to herself. Now, she wasn't allowed to exude that nature—that hungry, uncaring, do-whatever-you-want demeanor that she'd adopted in her party days. Because these were no longer her party days—she was a grown-up with big responsibilities. She had serious things at stake; a career, a relationship, another relationship, and of course, her own sanity.

But said sanity had slid halfway out her body as she'd climbed into Ryan's car that night and let him squeeze her thigh. She'd changed out of her dress and wiped her face clean of all makeup seconds after she'd made it home, and did her best to look tired, as if she'd been fighting to sleep. He'd believed it—or if he hadn't, he didn't mention it—and devoured her whole with his gaze whenever they were at a stop-light, and when he parked in his spot.

But in his apartment, while he'd undressed her, she'd imagined someone else removing her leggings and sweatshirt. While he'd traced timid kisses along her jawline, she'd envisioned someone else pressing their lips to her skin. And while he'd entered her, thrusting, filling her, pleasing her, she'd pictured someone else's member inside her instead. Someone whose naked body was still a bit blurry to her, and yet who she seemed to feel as if their last tirade together had been hours ago.

She left Ryan's place quickly the next day, unable to look into his eyes without experiencing guilt. Never, since they'd started sleeping together, had she thought of someone else while they had sex. Not enough to mess with her brain... not like that night. She'd never needed to envision anyone else; he always fulfilled her every want and left her panting, pleading for more. So why, why couldn't she quit seeing Chester instead of him? And why not Michael, the man she was actually dating?

Michael. Whenever he slithered into her consciousness, she cringed, and her temples ached. What a bitch she was to him; and the longer she dwelled on what to do with him, on how to approach the situation, the longer she left him to stew and rendered him more vulnerable to pain. Because of her. Not only was she cheating on him, but now she visualized herself cheating on the man she was cheating on him with. It was a vicious path to consider, a treacherous idea... and yet her lower half animated at the simplest flash of Chester in her mind. Her lower lips contracted and pulsed and grew wet whenever she heard his voice in her brain, offering her that threesome—

"No."

She was too intimidated by women, anyway, to contemplate something so daring. Yes, she found the same sex attractive, sexy, alluring... but she wouldn't know what to do if left alone and naked with another woman. She wouldn't know how to please her, to pleasure her, and how to help her enjoy herself. It didn't matter how many X-rated videos Coralie had seen; Delilah had often told her a real sexual encounter between two women looked nothing like what one might see on a screen.

While getting dressed for work, Coralie convinced herself Chester had been joking. Of course, he'd been trying to ease her tension, to make her comfortable in the luxurious rooftop setting she wasn't used to. It made no sense for him to suggest such a stupid solution to her issues. A threesome, really? A distraction instead of a fix? He hadn't meant it. Surely he was more mature than that, after so many years. If she spoke with him a few days later, he'd chuckle about what he'd said and promise he'd been jesting. Right?

On the road to the office, she wondered if he was even still attracted to her; if he ever was. Hadn't he called himself an asshole for using her, back in the day? Did that mean he'd never had feelings, never been that interested except for a quick roll in the sheets to keep his spirits up? Maybe she was only a good time to him, and other than that, he had no fascination towards her whatsoever. They were friends, they spent awesome nights together partying and drinking and chatting, but the sex meant nothing. If that was the case, who was she to judge? She didn't even remember their escapades, anyway.

Chester had always been friendly, flirtatious, even towards those he wasn't attracted to. For all Coralie knew, she fit into that category—those he pitied, those he flirted with for no reason, those he didn't find to his taste. Those he uplifted to showcase his kindness, but didn't truly care for in that way.

Unsure of his hours at the building, Coralie scanned the lobby before rushing to the elevator. The last thing she wanted was to bump into him so soon after their evening together, and before she'd had a chance to sort through her thoughts. The image of his hot physique and the sound of his sultry voice were still too raw, too vivid in her imagination. If she saw him that day, she'd melt, she'd crumble, she'd cave.

And that, she wouldn't, and couldn't do.

So, for several days after their encounter, she avoided him. He'd sent her messages to check on her, but she'd ignored them. More than once she'd had an inkling he was wandering down the halls of the label's offices, searching for her, and she'd hidden under her desk in case he passed her door. She screened her calls and snuck around like a thief in the night.

But soon enough, and against her beliefs, being away from him and not speaking to him further anchored her craving to be around him, and to take him up on his offer. The farther they were, the more she wanted him close. The quieter she was, the more desperate she was to hear him talk.

His scent, his seductive words, the way he flipped his hair, the way his eyes glistened when he looked at her, the way his lips twitched whenever he spoke, urging her to touch them, tease them... none of it was fuzzy in her imagination anymore. It was tormenting, playing on repeat to where her desirous dreams became nightmares, and her sheets and pillows were damp with sweat when she woke.

Three days prior to the bar meet up, she entered the building distracted, answering a text from Michael. They'd had a steamy video-chat the night before, that she'd somehow managed to focus on long enough to cum from Michael's voice and what he was doing to himself on screen.

He'd wished her a good day, and she was replying when she slammed into something so hard, so immobile, that she didn't apologize, assuming it was a wall.

But as she peered up, and her eyes met with that luscious, lovable emerald gaze that belonged to Chester, she froze.

"I, uh..." She gulped, preparing to pinch herself, fearing she was stuck in another nightmare. "Chester."

"Cora." He was standing before the elevator, either waiting for it or coming out of it, she couldn't tell. But she hoped for the latter. "Good to see you." He ogled her from head to toe, drinking in her curves, and the plunging drop between her breasts—displayed in her low-cut top. He gawked at her exposed neck as if about to bite it. "Can't hide from me forever, can you?"

"I..." She gritted her teeth and pursed her lips, loathing how he took the breaths from her, how he knocked her off balance. "I wasn't hiding. Busy, that's all." She whipped a stray strand of hair from her mouth, trying not to spit it out in ungracious fashion.

"Uh huh." He jammed his elbow into the up button, meaning he'd been arriving, not leaving.

Shit.

"You're still all flustered because of the threesome," he said under his breath, smirking as he stood beside her.

"Chester!" She hesitated to nudge him, worried if she established any physical contact, he'd shock through her, infusing his lust into her. "Stop that."

"No, I won't, because it's true." He crossed his arms and glanced at the inactive light above the elevator, waiting for it to turn on, to signal the machine's arrival. "You rushed out the other night because I caught you off guard, and you've spent days thinking I was joking, being an idiot, not serious. But," he straightened up as the elevator dinged, "I've spent days thinking about it with interest. And thinking about you, too."

The doors parted, and once the individuals within had exited, he and Coralie entered.

She tensed, keeping to the opposite end of the confined space, desperate to steer clear of Chester's toxic tenderness. "I rushed out because you're insane."

"Am I?" He spun to her, but maintained a decent distance as he stood against the wall, gripping the white-wood side-rails. The doors squeaked and shut. "Insane to think about wanting a threesome with you? Nah, that's logical, actually. Normal." He eyed her from head to toe again, this time licking his lips without remorse as the elevator shot upwards. "You were quite the catch back when we had our first one; clumsily cute and eager to please. Now... you're all grown up, Cora. You're a sexy, confident singer, and you're much more in touch with yourself and your body, I can tell. That dress you wore the other night... oof." He wiped his forehead with one hand and fanned himself with his other. "A knock-out."

"Stop." Coralie's cheeks inflamed, and she averted her gaze to her shoes. "You're flattering me to get into my pants, but it won't work anymore. Plus," she scoffed, "I'm not drunk."

"You don't need to be. Something has... changed, about you." He was too swift; before Coralie could move out of his way, he had her pinned to her end of the elevator. He blocked her, arms on either side of hers, feet locking her in place, paralyzing her with his brusque movement. Yet he didn't push into her, only prevented her from escaping. "And I'm not flattering you for fun, Cora. This is... fate. You and me, bumping into each other, you displaying your dilemma to me, and me coming up with a solution... it's no coincidence. And the threesome—"

"—cannot happen," she said, shoving her hands onto his torso... and instantly regretting it. Despite his lack of large, defined pectoral muscles like Ryan's, he was firm to the touch, and his shirt was warm, comforting. "I'm..." she removed her hands and flinched, "taken. Sleeping with you and some chick won't solve anything."

"You don't know that." Instead of moving away, he came closer. Their noses grazed, and his mouth was on the verge of molding against hers. She could have sworn she felt his lips and tasted his tongue. "Maybe sleeping with me and some hot chick will give you a different perspective. It'll broaden your horizons, help you realize what you really want, and which of those dudes can provide it. If either of them is worthy."

He wasn't much taller than her, yet he dominated her, breathing down on her like a lion that had pounced onto its prey and was ready to eat. His breath was coffee-scented, not tainted with cigarette smoke as usual, and a faint whiff of cologne protruded from beneath his shirt.

If she'd wanted to, Coralie could have pushed him off, could have overpowered him. And yet... her curiosity kept her stuck, glued to the wall, lost in time. She knew if she connected their gazes for more than a few seconds, he'd kiss her. And she knew if she touched him again she'd no longer have control over herself or her cravings.

And she craved him. Right there, in the deserted elevator soaring skywards, its trek never-ending, allowing Chester ample time to seduce her, convince her, draw her into a new—and much worse—predicament. Despite his near-forcefulness, she needed him. He was hypnotic without speaking; charming without being in contact with her. He was dangerous, and she had no means to cease the damage he'd caused by opening her mind and filling it with bad, bad ideas.

Something pulsated between her legs, and she couldn't tell if it was her body reacting... or his swelling as it pressed against her.

The elevator dinged again, popping the bubble they'd been in. In seconds, he removed himself from her space, brushing himself off as if nothing had ever happened. As if she'd imagined his lips about to slide over hers, as if she'd been dreaming when he complimented her. Had he kissed her? Had his fingers fluttered under her waistband and toyed with her? She was so dizzy, so nauseous from his proximity that she struggled to differentiate reality and fantasy.

The doors opened, and Chester strolled out backwards—much like she had that night at the rooftop bar. "I mean it, Cora. I might have been a jokester in the past, and still am sometimes, but this I'm serious about. Mull it over. Let me know."

He dipped out and disappeared before Coralie could respond, and the doors shut. The floor moved beneath her as the elevator jerked upwards, sending her to her label's offices.

She walked, zombie-like and drunk, and squeezed inside her office. She dimmed the lights and locked the door, and fumbled over to her chair. Once seated, without hesitation, she slid her fingers into her pants, to see if Chester had had an effect on her. And the wetness that welcomed her said that yes, yes, she still wanted Chester. And yes, it was a massive, monstrous problem.

♥♥♥