In which an old client resurfaces, and something unresolved begins to smolder.
Mika didn't recognize the number at first. It blinked on her screen late in the afternoon, right as the sun poured through the blinds of her apartment and bathed the floor in stripes of light. She almost didn't answer.
Almost.
But something in her gut pulled her thumb to the green icon. "Hello?"
The voice on the other end was low, unmistakable. "Mika."
A pause.
Then: "It's Jude."
Her heart didn't race, but it caught. A brief hitch. Like recognizing a song from years ago and remembering every lyric all at once.
"Wow," she said softly. "It's been… months."
"Seven," he said. "I counted."
Another pause.
"I'd like to see you again."
There was something in his voice — not desperation, but certainty. No hesitation, no nervous laugh. Just the weight of someone who knew exactly what he wanted.
And Mika… she didn't know what she wanted. Not yet. But she was curious.
She agreed.
The hotel was upscale but discreet. Mika liked that about him — Jude never chose flashy, obvious places. He preferred the kind of luxury that whispered instead of screamed.
When she stepped into the bar, she saw him before he saw her.
He was sitting alone at a booth, dressed in a dark grey jacket, black shirt open at the collar, a drink untouched in front of him. He looked… expensive. Brooding. Like he belonged in a slow-burn film.
His eyes lifted — and when they found her, something changed in his face. Not a smile, exactly. More like recognition mixed with something else.
Hunger, maybe.
"Mika," he said, standing.
"Jude," she replied, walking toward him in heels that made her hips sway with just enough grace to keep things dangerous.
They didn't hug. They didn't need to.
He gestured to the seat across from him. "You look…"
"I know." She slid into the booth with a slow exhale. "You clean up well too."
He watched her. Not in the usual client way — not just sizing her up, but remembering. Tracing her like a familiar shape he couldn't quite let go of.
"Why now?" she asked, folding her hands on the table.
Jude leaned back. "You disappeared."
"I was never yours to keep."
"No," he agreed. "But I thought about you."
"That happens," she said, almost kindly.
He smirked at her deflection. "Did you think about me?"
Mika tilted her head. "A little."
That wasn't a lie.
Their first night had been quick, sharp, unexpected. She remembered his intensity, the way he looked at her like she wasn't just a body but a threat — something he didn't quite know how to handle. It had been hot. Dangerous, even. But something had shifted afterward, and they'd never booked again. Until now.
"You still working alone?" he asked, lifting his glass to his lips.
"Yes."
"No agency?"
"I don't need one."
He looked at her for a long beat, then nodded. "That's good. You're… better than most."
Her brow lifted. "That supposed to be a compliment?"
"It's supposed to be honest."
The silence stretched. But it wasn't awkward. It was electric — thick with things unsaid.
"Let's not pretend this is just catching up," Mika said, finally.
Jude exhaled through his nose, amused. "No. Let's not."
He slid a card key across the table. Room 1108.
"Fifteen minutes?"
She held his gaze. "Ten."
Mika entered the suite alone. She liked the ritual — entering first, adjusting her pace, preparing herself in silence. The room was dimly lit, sleek, and softly perfumed with cedar and bergamot.
She slipped off her coat, checked her lipstick in the mirror, and waited.
The knock came exactly nine minutes later.
She opened the door.
Jude stood there, taller than she remembered. His eyes lingered on her frame — slowly, greedily — and when she stepped aside to let him in, their arms brushed.
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
He walked toward the center of the room, then turned to face her. "Still not nervous around me?"
"No," she said.
"Good." He unbuttoned his jacket. "Because I'm not nervous around you anymore either."
Mika stepped closer. "Is that why you called me?"
"I called because I couldn't stop imagining what I didn't get last time."
She smiled, slow and knowing. "What didn't you get?"
"You — unfiltered."
Mika raised a brow, tilting her head. "And you think tonight will be different?"
"I hope so."
She watched him.
Jude didn't want just sex. Not even just control. He wanted to know if she remembered what they were — and if it still had teeth.
She walked to him, closing the distance between them in slow, certain steps. "You're going to have to earn that."
"I plan to," he murmured.
Her fingers found the collar of his shirt. She tugged it gently, leaning up until her mouth hovered near his ear.
"Then let's see if you're better at remembering than forgetting."
Where old sparks turn into fire, and the line between control and connection begins to blur.
Mika didn't rush. She liked this moment — the one right before anything happened. It was the stillness that held all the possibilities: dominance, submission, tenderness, heat. Every combination existed in the air between them.
Jude had shed his jacket and rolled his sleeves halfway up his forearms. His body was angled slightly toward the bar tucked into the corner of the suite, but his eyes were fully on her.
"You want a drink?" he asked.
Mika shook her head. "Not yet."
"You still a tequila girl?"
"You still pretending you're not?"
That earned a short laugh from him. He poured anyway. Just one glass — for himself. His hand didn't shake as he brought it to his lips. She liked that. Men who wanted to seem cool often fumbled when they cared too much. But Jude didn't fumble. If anything, he was holding something in.
She moved toward the window and pulled back the curtain. A golden wash of the city spilled into the room, casting her body in a gentle silhouette. She didn't look back at him, but she could feel his eyes drinking her in.
"I've thought about this," he said, voice quiet.
"About me?"
"About how you felt. How you tasted. How you looked when you came."
Mika didn't smile — not exactly — but her lips twitched. "Memory is a funny thing."
"You remember it too," he said, more certain than questioning.
She turned. "I remember a man who liked control, but didn't know what to do with power once he had it."
That landed. His brow furrowed just slightly. Not insulted — intrigued.
"And you?" he asked.
"I let you take more of me than I planned," she said honestly. "That's rare."
Jude stepped closer, his drink forgotten on the bar.
"What if I don't want just a memory this time?"
"You want something else?"
His jaw flexed.
"I want you to want it, too."
She held his gaze.
"This isn't romance," she warned.
"No. But it doesn't have to be empty, either."
Their breath came slower. He reached for her hand — didn't grab it, just touched her fingertips.
"Let me earn it," he said.
Mika stepped in, brushing her mouth against his cheek — not a kiss, just a promise.
"You can try."
They didn't rush to the bed. Instead, the heat built in the living space, where the city lights threw shadows across their bodies and the air pulsed with unspoken tension.
Jude kissed her like he'd done it a hundred times in his head. His hands cupped her jaw first, as if memorizing her shape before diving deeper. When their mouths finally met, it wasn't soft. It was slow, but full of pressure — hungry and frustrated and somehow grateful.
Mika kissed back with just as much fire, letting him press her against the wall near the window, their bodies fitting together like locked gears.
His hand slid up her thigh, parting the slit of her dress. She let him explore, but only so far — her own hand moved to his chest, firm, pushing him back just enough to regain control.
"Not yet," she said, breath warm on his mouth.
"I've waited seven months."
"And now you'll wait seven minutes more."
She led him to the bed with a single glance — and he followed. She stood at the foot of it and began unfastening the tiny clasps at the back of her dress.
Jude didn't interrupt. He watched like a man hypnotized, letting her set the rhythm. When the dress fell, pooling at her feet, she stood bare but for heels and confidence.
Jude stepped closer, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, his breathing heavier now. He let it slide from his shoulders and stepped out of his shoes without breaking eye contact.
"You're more dangerous now," he murmured.
"I've had practice," she said.
He reached out, tracing her waist with a fingertip. "I want to feel all of it this time."
"You will," she said. "But this time, you'll feel it on my terms."
Jude didn't answer.
He just kissed her again — this time with less finesse, more need.
She pushed him gently onto the bed, straddling him before he could argue. His breath caught as her hips sank down against his jeans, the heat of her body soaking through the fabric.
"Let me guess," she whispered against his lips. "You imagined this part the most."
His hands slid up her thighs. "Every night."
She rocked against him, slow, deliberate. His head tilted back slightly, jaw clenched.
"You like giving up control?" she teased.
"With you?" he said hoarsely. "Yes."
That was new.
He hadn't said that before.
It hit her harder than she expected — that this man, so confident and composed, was willing to offer her something rare: not submission, exactly, but trust.
She leaned down and kissed him softer this time. Slower. Then bit his lip gently.
And he moaned — not loudly, but deep and involuntary.
The sound curled in her stomach like fire.
She shifted down his body, kissing her way along his chest, dragging her lips across skin she'd barely let herself taste before. She was getting drunk on him — and that scared her just a little.
Because she wanted this. Not the money. Not even the dominance.
She wanted him wanting her like this.
And that was dangerous.
Where heat boils over and bodies remember what words forgot.
Jude's breath was rough in his throat as Mika moved lower. Her mouth, her hands, the rhythm of her body — it all slowed time. He propped himself up on his elbows to watch her, eyes dark with need, hunger stretched taut across his face.
She took her time, fingers gliding down the line of his torso, nails grazing lightly over muscle and skin. It was touch with intent — not just to arouse, but to take. To reclaim. She reached the waistband of his jeans and paused, teasing the button open with maddening calm.
He shifted, hips rising slightly, desperate for friction.
"Still impatient," she murmured, unzipping him.
"I waited months."
"And now I want seconds to feel like hours."
She pulled his jeans and boxers down together, freeing him with a practiced motion. He was already hard, thick and pulsing in her hand, and the sound that left his lips when she wrapped her fingers around him was rough, almost guttural.
Mika met his eyes as she stroked him slowly. "Still remember how I feel?"
"Every fucking inch," he growled.
She bent down, her tongue tracing the underside of his shaft with a soft, wet glide that made his entire body jolt. He groaned, head falling back, fists clenching the sheets.
Her mouth closed over him — warm, wet, and demanding.
It wasn't just a blowjob.
It was ownership.
She moved with confidence, sucking him in deep, her tongue swirling, lips tight and slick. She paused only to glance up, watching him unravel. Jude's eyes were on her, heavy and wild, like a man lost in something bigger than lust.
He grunted when she deepened her rhythm, hips twitching involuntarily. "God, Mika—"
She took him deeper, until he hit the back of her throat. She moaned softly around him — vibrations that made him curse under his breath. Her hands gripped his thighs, steady and firm, keeping control of his body even as he threatened to lose it.
"Fuck," he hissed, voice strangled. "You're gonna make me—"
She pulled off suddenly with a pop, a trail of wetness glistening between her lips and the tip of him.
"Not yet," she said, voice low. "I'm not done remembering you."
Jude barely had time to respond before she straddled him again, her naked body sinking against his like fire to dry leaves. She kissed him hard this time — raw, wet, teeth and tongue and need.
He grabbed her hips, grinding her against him, feeling the slick heat of her against his length.
"Condom?" she whispered.
"Drawer."
She reached over, retrieved it without looking, tore the foil open with her teeth. He nearly lost it just watching her.
She rolled it on him with both hands, her movements firm and teasing. Then — without preamble — she guided him to her entrance and sank down, inch by inch, until he was buried deep inside her.
They both gasped.
He filled her perfectly, stretching her in a way that made her eyes flutter shut and her lips part in a soundless moan.
"Fuck," she whispered, riding the word out like a wave.
Jude grabbed her hips tighter, holding her in place. "Don't move yet."
She obeyed — for just a moment — then began to roll her hips, slow circles that made them both tremble.
Her hands braced against his chest as she rode him, not fast, but with precision. Every motion was a test — a way to push him to the edge and pull him back, over and over again.
"You feel better than I remember," he said, voice hoarse.
"You feel desperate," she said, smiling.
"I am."
She leaned forward, her breasts brushing his chest, her mouth finding his ear. "Then don't hold back."
Jude flipped them in one sudden motion, pressing her down onto the bed and thrusting into her with a force that made her cry out.
"Yes," she gasped. "Like that."
He pumped into her, deep and fast, hands gripping her wrists and pinning them above her head. His weight crushed her in the best way — primal, urgent, necessary.
She moaned, loud and shameless. "Don't stop."
He didn't.
He pounded into her, the bed creaking beneath them, her legs wrapping around his waist. Her eyes were wide open, staring at him, daring him to keep going.
Their bodies slapped together again and again, sweat slicking their skin, lips colliding between thrusts.
Then Jude slowed, eyes locked to hers, and pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in, deep and sharp.
Mika screamed.
It wasn't a sound of pain — it was raw pleasure. Years of memory melting into one devastating moment of sensation.
He kissed her through it, his mouth swallowing her moans, their hips never losing rhythm.
"You're mine right now," he whispered.
"I'm not yours," she gasped.
"But right now—"
He slammed into her again. "You are."
She didn't deny it.
Not with words.
Only with the way her body clung to his, pulling him in, taking him deeper.
Where bodies ache, wills clash, and surrender tastes like power.
Jude was breathing hard above her, chest heaving, arms trembling as he held himself up — still deep inside her, still throbbing with tension he hadn't released.
Mika pushed at his shoulder.
"On your back," she commanded, voice low but fierce.
He hesitated — just long enough for her to flip him again.
She straddled him in a slow glide, settling over him with a deep, breathy moan. His eyes rolled back slightly. She leaned in close, licking the sweat from his collarbone as she began to ride him again — not with the same rhythm as before, but with an intent to ruin.
Jude gripped her thighs like a man hanging on.
Mika was in full control now — every motion, every angle of her hips designed to grind the pleasure out of both of them. Her head fell back as she rolled her body in slow, punishing circles. He filled her completely, and each stroke brought her closer to that sharp, dizzy place between pain and pleasure.
"Oh, fuck, Mika—" His voice broke as she clenched around him deliberately.
"You missed this?" she whispered, breathless.
"I'll beg if I have to."
"You already are."
He grabbed her hips, tried to thrust up into her harder, but she slammed his wrists down and pinned them to the bed.
"No," she breathed. "You take it. You feel every second."
Then she began to grind again, leaning forward, breasts brushing his chest, lips barely grazing his. Her moans filled the room, getting louder as the heat climbed inside her. She could feel the orgasm building low in her spine, each bounce over his cock pulling her closer, her thighs quivering from the tension.
Jude looked up at her like she was something sacred and sinful at once.
"I'm close," he groaned. "Let me—"
She silenced him with a kiss — deep, slow, tongue pressing in as her body tensed around him.
Then she came.
Hard.
Her body trembled violently as waves rolled through her, cries muffled against his mouth, her nails digging into his shoulders as she rode it out. She didn't stop moving — kept grinding, riding the aftershocks, milking every drop of pleasure from the high.
Jude cursed beneath her, voice ragged. "Jesus. Mika—"
"Not yet," she gasped.
She slid off of him slowly and dropped to her knees between his legs, eyes dark with intent.
He barely had time to protest before her mouth was on him again — hot and wet, lips stretching around his still-hard cock. He groaned louder this time, one hand fisting in her hair.
"You're trying to kill me," he breathed.
She didn't reply. Just sucked him in deeper, bobbing her head faster now, hands stroking what her mouth couldn't reach. She moaned again, soft vibrations around him, as she looked up and locked eyes with him.
That was it.
Jude's body tensed, his hips jerking as the orgasm tore through him. He gasped, a broken sound, thighs shaking as he came hard — and Mika took every drop, swallowing him down without flinching.
When he finally went still, breathing ragged, she pulled back and wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb.
Then she climbed onto the bed, curled beside him, her body flushed and buzzing.
Neither of them spoke.
For a long time, it was just breath and skin and silence.
Where silence says more than bodies, and what lingers matters most.
The room smelled like sex and sweat and a little regret.
But not the kind either of them wanted to name out loud.
Jude lay sprawled on his back, arm thrown over his face, chest rising slowly. Mika sat up beside him, legs crossed, sheets tangled around her hips. The silence wasn't awkward — just weighty. Full.
She looked over at him. His lips were still parted, his jawline soft in the dim light. He looked younger somehow, or maybe just real. Human.
He spoke first.
"That wasn't a mistake, was it?"
She hesitated. "It wasn't planned."
"That's not the same thing."
"No," she admitted. "It wasn't a mistake."
He dropped his arm, turning his head to look at her. "So what is it?"
Mika stretched her legs out and rolled her shoulders. She felt deliciously used — sore between her thighs, tingling all over, but still alert. Like her body was awake in ways it hadn't been for a while.
"It's something that had to happen," she said.
He let out a quiet laugh. "I told myself it wouldn't. That I wouldn't touch you again."
"And yet…"
"I remembered everything." His voice was lower now. "The way you sound when you come. The way your thighs shake right before. How you taste."
Mika didn't respond. She couldn't. Her throat was tight — not with fear or shame, but with the realization that some connections didn't die just because you walked away from them.
He reached for her hand, fingers brushing her wrist.
"Mika."
"Don't," she said softly. "This… this was tonight. It doesn't mean anything beyond that."
"Doesn't it?"
She turned her gaze to the window. The city lights glittered like a thousand open mouths. Everything outside looked so far away — like the world had taken a step back so they could breathe for a moment.
"I care about you, Jude," she said eventually. "But I don't belong to anyone."
"I know," he said, though there was a pinch in his voice.
He sat up, rubbed a hand through his hair. "I don't want to confuse you. Or make this harder."
"You're not," she said. "We needed this. Maybe just to see if it was still there."
"And is it?"
She smiled faintly. "It's always been there. But I've changed."
"You're stronger."
"No," she said, pulling the sheet tighter. "Just more honest. About who I am. What I want."
"And what's that?"
She turned to face him. "Everything. On my terms."
Jude stared at her for a long time, then nodded.
He stood, began dressing slowly — not like someone fleeing, but like someone returning to himself. Mika watched him in silence, noting the curve of his back, the way his jeans hung low on his hips.
He was beautiful. Still.
When he was done, he leaned over the bed and pressed a kiss to her temple.
"No strings," he said.
"No regrets," she replied.
He left quietly.
The door clicked shut behind him.
And Mika lay back, letting the silence wash over her again — but this time, it felt different. Calmer. Not closure, exactly.
Just clarity.