Jessie -
His hand found the small of my back, his fingers spreading wide before sliding down to cup my ass, pulling me against him. The familiar gesture felt different now - more desperate, more possessive, as if he too had grown tired of restraint.
The kiss, when it came, was hard, claiming- stealing my breath and my thoughts in equal measure.
I felt every inch of him pressed against me - his chest, his hips, the unmistakable evidence of his desire. In one fluid motion, he lifted me, carrying me to the bed like I weighed nothing.
Then his face was between my legs - his breath hot, his inhale deep, like a man starving. The ache built inside me, desperate and demanding. He tore at my faja, the hooks giving way under his impatience. My underwear slid down my legs, and then his tongue was there, exactly where I needed him.
I remembered this - how he could never get enough of me, how he'd lose himself in my taste, my scent. But tonight I wanted more. Needed more.
I pulled him up, kissed him hard, tasting myself on his lips. With a surge of strength, I flipped him onto his back, straddling his hips, owning him. His knowing, pleased smile told me he was letting me take control. For now.
"Someone's impatient," he murmured, his hands tightening around my hips.
"Shut up," I breathed against his mouth. "Just let me have this."
My fingers made quick work of his belt, his zipper, his pants. And then he was free, hot, thick, already pulsing against me. I sank down onto him slowly, so wet, so ready. The deep moan that escaped him sent triumph singing through my veins.
"Dios mío, Jessie," he groaned.
He could have any woman he wanted - why me? I never understood.
I moved at my own pace, teasing, testing, keeping him at the edge but never letting him fall. Again and again. He hated being teased, but I couldn't resist the power of watching him struggle for control.
"You're killing me," he rasped, his accent thick with desire.
"Good," I whispered. "I want you to remember this."
Until he'd had enough.
The world spun. A sharp gasp left my lips before I found myself face down, his hand pressing my head into the mattress.
He thrust into me hard, claiming, dominating. I let him. He was the only man I'd ever let dominate me like this.
"Is this what you want?" he growled against my ear. "You want me to lose control?"
"Yes," I gasped. "Please."
"Dime que me necesitas," he demanded, his breath ragged, his control slipping.
"Te necesito," I breathed, the Spanish falling from my lips like a confession. "I need you."
His control slipped at my words. "Mi amor,” he whispered, the endearment escaping like a confession.
We moved faster, harder, deeper. Our bodies finding that perfect rhythm we'd never lost. His breathing quickened - I knew he was close. But he wouldn't let go until I was there with him. He knew my body too well, could read the tightening of my thighs, the deepening of my moans, the wetness dripping down his legs.
"Come for me, mi amor," he commanded softly. "Let me feel you."
When it happened, it was together. My release triggering his, his body jerking, pulsing inside me - warm, sticky, perfect. I wanted all of him. Every drop.
We stayed like that - connected, breathing hard, bodies still fused - for what felt like forever. Finally, he broke the silence with words that were so perfectly him: "You still hungry?"
MJ -
We stayed connected, catching our breath. Her skin was damp with sweat, golden in the dim light, flushed from pleasure. I wanted to tell her how beautiful she was. How she haunted my dreams. How no other woman compared.
Instead, I said, "You still hungry?"
Some things were better left unsaid. Some truths weren’t meant for the space between midnight and morning.
But as I lay there, still inside her, still unwilling to let go, I wondered if she knew. If she could feel the words I never spoke in the way I touched her.
In the way I always found my way back to her.
In the way I could never stay away.
MJ -
The room service cart arrived with the kind of silent discretion only a hotel of this caliber could guarantee. I sat at the desk scrolling through her presentation slides, the words blurring in front of me.Yesenia moved around the room, wearing nothing but my dress shirt, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs. When she passed close enough, I caught her by the waist, pulling her into my lap.
"Tell me about the tumor microenvironment modifications," I murmured against her neck, my hands already slipping beneath the fabric.
She started explaining the breakthrough, her voice smooth, professional, steady. Until my fingers found that sensitive spot.
"The T-cells showed remarkable persistence in the - oh!" She gasped as I circled slowly.
"Go on," I encouraged, my other hand tracing patterns on her inner thigh. "You were saying about the persistence rates?"
She tried to focus, tried to keep control But her hips were moving, pressing into my hand, seeking more."I thought you wanted to understand the science behind your hundred-million-dollar investment," she managed, her breath catching.
"I'm very interested," I replied, increasing the pressure. "Particularly in your response rates." The double meaning made her laugh, then gasp, then moan as I slipped two fingers inside her.
Her head fell back against my shoulder, all pretense melting away.
The sight of her like this - brilliant mind undone by pleasure I was giving her - sent a fresh wave of heat rolling through me. Even after all these years, I could still reduce her to incoherence with nothing but my touch.
"MJ, I'm going to..." The words dissolved into a moan as she came apart once again.
We both knew these moments had to last. They would need to sustain us through years of distance, of separate lives. She never said it, but I knew she thought of me when we were apart. Just as I knew how every woman since her had been a pale substitute for this connection.
I pressed my face into her hair, breathing her in, memorizing everything about this moment.
Because tonight, she was mine completely.
Jessie -
I woke to the sensation of his lips trailing down my arm, his morning stubble scratching gently against my skin. Even half-asleep, my body recognized his touch, responding with a hunger that never seemed to dim over time.
I ached in the most delicious way, my skin still sticky from last night. Usually, I craved space in the mornings – years of motherhood had taught me to cherish those rare moments of solitude, when no small bodies were climbing over me, no one needed anything from me. Even the accidental brush of a hand could feel like too much some days.
But with MJ, solitude felt wrong. There was no space between us, our bodies pressed together as if trying to melt into one.
The ease of it should have scared me - instead, it felt like the only place I could truly be myself.
I wanted to feel him everywhere. To memorize every point of contact, every press of skin on skin. His chest against my back, his thighs tangled with mine, his arm draped possessively over my waist. Each touch filled an emptiness I never let myself acknowledge.
He must have sensed me wake because his hand began tracing slow, lazy patterns on my hip, fingers dipping into the hollow there.
"Tell me what you're thinking," he murmured against my shoulder, his voice still rough with sleep. The gentleness in his tone - something so few people ever heard from him - tightened my chest.
I turned to face him, studying the strong lines of his jaw, the flecks of silver in his stubble catching the morning light. My finger traced his features, mapping what I'd have to forget. He watched me with those dark, knowing eyes - the ones that could always see through me, the ones that could read my thoughts.
Most people only saw the polished CEO I'd become, the version of me carefully curated for the world. But under MJ's gaze, all those layers peeled away. He stripped me bare without even touching me.
He saw through the confidence, past the careful masks. He saw my insecurities, my fears, the depths of my wanting. He understood me in ways I barely understood myself.
"I'm thinking about you," I whispered, forcing a smile. "About last night."
It wasn't a lie. But it wasn't the whole truth either.
He accepted it though, like he always did. Leaning in, he kissed me - soft at first, reverent. But then it deepened, heat flaring between us as if sleep had only paused our hunger, not sated it. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer, needing to feel his weight on me. He slipped inside me with a groan that vibrated through my whole body. I pressed my hands against his warm, solid chest needing some small distance, some way to maintain a piece of myself separate from the overwhelming connection between us.
He moved slowly, deliberately, each thrust a declaration saying what we couldn't voice.
"Tell me what you need," he breathed against my neck.
"I need more," I gasped. "I need all of you."
"Todo tuyo," he whispered, accent thickening with desire. "Always yours."
I'd heard the stories about MJ – we all had. The legendary lover. The man who pleased women and discarded them, leaving a trail of broken hearts across continents. Part of me had always feared becoming just another conquest. Another name on the list. But here, with his eyes locked to mine, with his hands branding every inch of me, with his eyes dark with something deeper than lust - those fears felt foolish.
This was real. As real as the sunlight streaming through the windows. As real as the steady thump of his heart against my palm. As real as the undeniable, insatiable pull between us.
The mattress springs creaked beneath us. Our breathing grew ragged as we moved together. His pace quickened, and I felt myself climbing higher, chasing that peak only he had ever brought me to. When I came, I called out his name, my body clenching around him as pleasure overtook me.
He followed moments later, my name escaping his lips in a whisper, rough against my neck. We lay there afterward, still joined, still tangled in each other, neither willing to be the first to move, the first to acknowledge the ticking clock.
My phone sat on the nightstand, silent for now. We both knew it would start buzzing soon, demanding attention, dragging me back to my other life.
For now though, I just pressed closer, breathing him in, savoring these final moments.
He was perfect for me. That was the cruel joke of it all. Sometimes, lying in his arms like this, I'd let myself imagine the alternate universe where we'd met in college.
Where timing hadn't been our enemy.
"You would've been such a nerd," he'd teased me once, early in our relationship, when I'd first admitted this fantasy. "All those books, those study sessions..."
"And you would've been the guy sneaking into my dorm room," I'd shot back, blushing as he detailed exactly what he would've done to me in the dark, while my roommate slept across the room.
Now, I pushed those thoughts aside - the eternal dance of pleasure and pain that defined us. The pain of knowing this couldn't last. The inevitable goodbyes. The arguments that led nowhere - because there was nowhere for them to go. The rejection we both felt when reality intruded. The yearning that never fully faded. The tears I'd shed that he didn't know about. The secret I carried that he could never know.
Instead, I focused on the present. On how his chest felt under my cheek. On how small and safeI felt in his arms, as if the world couldn’t reach me here. On how his heartbeat had the power to lull me toward sleep, even as I fought against it.
MJ -
I held her against my chest, feeling the slow, steady rise and fall of her breath. She always felt so damn perfect here, tucked into my side like she was made to fit here. The TV cast a blue glow across her warm, brown skin, highlighting the curves I couldn't stop touching. Seven years, and I still couldn't get enough.
We'd played this game before - imagining a different timeline. One where I'd met her in college, before life had carved its path. Before marriage. Before kids. Before all the complications that kept us in this limbo of stolen moments and unspoken truths.
"You would've been such a nerd," I'd tease her, picturing her young and fresh-faced, buried in science textbooks. But really, I was imagining all the time we could have had. All the mornings I could have woken up to her face. All the simple moments we never had.
She stirred against me, and I instinctively tightened my hold. These were the dangerous moments - when the sex was done and reality hadn't quite crashed in yet. When I could pretend she was mine completely.
Something had changed in her after that last time. Years ago there was a shift in her eyes, the way she looked at me sometimes, like she was searching for something in my face. But we didn't do that. We didn't speak about the weight of what this was.
I glanced at the clock. 2 AM. I should send her to shower. Her talk was early, and she needed to get ready. "What time's your talk this morning?”
The moment I said it, I regretted it. Reality settled back onto her shoulders like an unwelcome weight. But then she turned to me and kissed me with that fire that had undone me from the start. That brilliant mind, that untamed spirit that she tried so hard to control everywhere else, but here.
Who was I to deny her? To deny us? We were like teenagers together - hungry, reckless, insatiable. Each touch a question, each kiss an answer to something we never dared to say aloud. I traced the paths on her skin I'd memorized years ago, discovering them anew each time.
The time passed in a blur of skin and sighs, whispered words and unspoken truths. I matched her desperation with my own, knowing each moment was borrowed time. Knowing morning would come too soon, bringing its responsibilities, its realities.
She'd go back to her family, her life. I'd return to my empty penthouse, my successful but hollow existence. We'd pretend this never happened until the next time our paths crossed and gravity pulled us back together.
But for now, in these dark hours before dawn, I could hold her. Could pretend this was normal. Could imagine the life where I'd met her sooner. Loved her first. Kept her always.
Jessie -
I spent the day in a daze, my body still sore, exhaustion clinging to my skin, anxiety crawling beneath it. This morning, while I was in the shower getting ready, he'd popped his head in to say goodbye - casual, effortless.
I hadn't seen him since.
During my presentation, I kept scanning the room, hoping to catch his face, his smile. Nothing. Just another turn in our endless cycle - moments of pleasure, happiness, ecstasy, followed by crushing disappointment.
He was probably somewhere networking. That was his thing. Everyone here wanted a piece of his time, their own side conversation with the great MJ.
At events like this, I always ended up feeling alone. Forgotten in the spaces between his handshakes and effortless charm. He was such an expert at this - gliding through crowds with a natural ease that made people gravitate toward him.
He didn't really understand how hard it was for me. How much energy it took to make small talk about nothing and everything at the same time. As a CEO, I'd learned to do it, trained myself to perfect the art of meaningful conversations with strangers.
But today, all those carefully honed skills had abandoned me.