Amy's POV
For a heartbeat, silence wraps around us. I catch a flicker of something in Lucas's eyes-disappointment, guilt-but then he masks it with a half-smirk.
"So what?" he says, voice low and bitter. "She had her fun tonight. Maybe she's dancing with some guy… or maybe she's already in someone else's arms."
I swallow hard, torn between desire and conscience. "That's not you. Don't be this version of yourself."
He leans in, our foreheads nearly touching. "What if this version is the one you bring out in me?" His voice softens, raw and vulnerable.
"Lucas, don't say things like that… not when we both know we're standing on a cliff," I whisper, voice trembling as I look away, fingers curling into the blanket draped over us. The room feels too quiet, too intimate, holding its breath.
His hand lifts slowly, cupping my chin, coaxing me to meet his gaze. His touch is warm, almost reverent. When his thumb brushes my cheek, a wave of heat surges through me, skin tingling where he touches.
He leans closer, breath ghosting over my lips, voice husky. "Amy… I wish I never chose Anne in the first place."
The confession hits me like lightning-shocking, bold, undeniably real. My cheeks burn, heart thunderous. I try to steady my voice, fight the magnetic pull. "Lucas… you can't say that. You know if you keep, it'll ruin everything-the friendship, the trust."
But I don't pull away. I let his hand linger, fingers tracing my jaw, stirring goosebumps.
The closeness is dangerous. Every nerve screams how badly I want to lean in, feel his lips again, lose myself in that fire we keep denying. If Anne wasn't in the picture, if the world disappeared-I know we wouldn't stop. Not this time.
His eyes search mine, intense, filled with longing. "Amy… promise me one thing," he says, voice low and rough. "No matter what… we'll always be best friends."
I swallow hard, torn between tenderness and raw need humming between us. "You're asking for a promise I don't know I can keep," I murmur, eyes flicking to his lips.
He tilts his forehead to mine, noses brushing, tension thick like a storm. "I know," he whispers. "But I had to ask… before I do something I can't take back."
My breath catches.
Because part of me wants him to do it anyway.
Anne's POV
The music from the club pulses faintly behind the closed door, mixing with the sound of our ragged breaths and the soft rustle of clothes falling away. The dim light flickers, casting shadows that wrap around us like a secret, forbidden warmth.
John's hand cups my cheek gently, his thumb brushing over my skin as his eyes lock onto mine. When his lips meet mine, the kiss is desperate and heated, our bodies pressing together as if trying to erase every inch between us. Every touch, every sigh, is charged with a hunger neither of us dares to name.
A low groan rumbled from his throat as I arched into him, my breasts pressing against his chest. "God, you feel so fucking good," he murmured, his voice thick, raw, the words vibrating against my lips. His hands slid down, gripping my hips, fingers digging into my skin through the thin fabric of my dress, and I felt the hard length of him against me, undeniable, igniting a pulse of need low in my belly.
"Don't stop…" I whispered, my voice trembling, my eyes fluttering shut as I surrendered to the chaos roaring in my chest. The heat of his body, the taste of his mouth—it was overwhelming, a tidal wave of want that drowned every thought.
His forehead pressed against mine, our breaths tangling, hot and uneven, as we moved together, every heartbeat pounding in the charged silence. A sheen of sweat glistened on his skin, his tattoos peeking from under his rolled-up sleeves, and I traced one with my fingertip, feeling the muscle tense beneath. "I won't," he rasped, his voice rough but laced with a tenderness that made my heart stutter. "Not until you beg me to."
His lips found my neck, kissing, sucking, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below my ear. I gasped, my head tilting back, my hands sliding under his shirt, nails raking across the taut planes of his back. His groan was primal, vibrating against my throat as he pressed himself closer, his arousal evident, straining against me. My dress rode up, his hands slipping beneath, fingers brushing the bare skin of my thighs, teasing higher, closer to where I ached for him. I shivered, a soft moan escaping as his touch sent heat pooling between my legs, my body betraying every ounce of restraint.
But even in the haze of lust, a sharp pang of doubt sliced through me. My mind spun, not from the heat of the room or the rhythm of our bodies, but from the truth I was trying to bury. *What am I doing?* "John…" My voice was barely a whisper, trembling with guilt. "I have a boyfriend…"
He pauses, chest rising and falling fast, guilt flickering in his eyes, but the fire beneath it still burns. "I know," he says softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. "But tonight… just tonight… can it be about us?"
I hesitate, heart twisting painfully between right and wrong, between the thrill of this moment and the weight of what I'm risking. I look up at him, eyes wide and vulnerable. "It feels wrong… but it feels so real."
His lips curved into a soft, almost sad smile, his thumb tracing the swell of my lower lip. "Then don't think about tomorrow. Feel this. Right now. Just us." His voice was a low growl, laced with a hunger that made my resolve crumble.
I nodded, my breath hitching, and leaned into him, my lips crashing against his. The kiss was fevered, desperate, my hands tugging at his shirt, pulling it over his head to reveal the inked lines of his chest, the hard planes of muscle that made my mouth water. His hands were everywhere—sliding up my thighs, pushing my dress higher, fingers teasing the edge of my panties. I gasped into his mouth as he tugged them down, the cool air against my skin a sharp contrast to the heat of his touch.
"Fuck, Anne," he growled, his lips trailing down my jaw, my neck, kissing a path to the curve of my collarbone. His fingers found me, slick and ready, and I moaned, my hips bucking against his hand as he teased me, slow, deliberate, drawing out every shudder. "You're so wet for me," he whispered, his voice thick with awe, and I felt myself unraveling, my body begging for more.
I fumbled with his belt, my hands shaking with need, and when I finally freed him, his groan was raw, primal. He lifted me, pinning me against the wall, my legs wrapping around his waist as he kissed me again, deep and possessive. The blunt pressure of him against me made my head spin, and when he pushed inside, slow at first, then deeper, I cried out, my nails digging into his shoulders. The stretch, the fullness—it was too much, not enough, everything I craved.
We moved together, frantic, desperate, the rhythm of our bodies drowning out the world. His thrusts were relentless, each one driving me higher, his lips never leaving mine, swallowing my moans. "You're mine tonight," he murmured, his voice a rough whisper against my ear, and I shattered, my body clenching around him as pleasure crashed through me, wave after wave.
He followed moments later, his grip tightening, a low groan tearing from his throat as he buried himself deep, his forehead resting against mine. We stayed there, panting, tangled, the weight of what we'd done settling over us like a storm cloud.
But for now, I didn't care. Tonight, it was just us—lost in the heat, the lust, the reckless desire that burned brighter than any consequence. Tomorrow could wait.