The One He Couldn’t Resist

She thought she’d been ghosted. Three nights of unanswered texts, her tongue left dry from the things she’d said but he never replied to. She tried to let it go — locked her door, swore she’d forget his scent, his crooked grin that made her thighs press tight together under her sheets.

Midnight crept in like a thief. She heard the elevator. Heard footsteps down her hallway. Then — the soft knock, twice. Her breath tangled in her throat.

When she opened the door, his eyes were already dark with want. He didn’t say sorry. Didn’t explain. His mouth was on her before she could taste her own excuses. She felt the rough scrape of his jaw, the sweetness of his tongue forcing hers open. Her back hit the wall. Her hands slid under his shirt, felt the heat of a chest that hadn’t cooled since the last time he’d touched her.

He lifted her, lips wet, fingers digging into her thighs. Her moan slipped past the door into the corridor — if the neighbors heard, let them. She wanted him to press her harder. To hush her with his mouth. To leave her dripping so she’d remember in the morning when the silence returned.

When he pulled away, his teeth found her neck — a promise he’d vanish again, maybe. But tonight, she wouldn’t care. Tonight, she was the secret he couldn’t resist.

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