Catherine you shouldn't have come.
She told herself that the second she stepped into the ballroom of the Belvoir Grand Hotel. But when your client insists on bringing your "freelance genius" to a five star charity gala, you throw in your black dress, tuck your curls into a bun and pretend you belong, where the chandeliers glittered like bottled stars and every woman looked like she belonged in a magazine spread. She tugged at the strap of her sleek black dress — borrowed — and tried not to look like she was choking in heels that didn't belong to her.
A designer gala. Corporate elites.Champagne that tasted like privilege.She kept to the edges of the ballroom, eyeing the glittering crowd. Diamond necklaces, tailored tuxes, high end whispers. All of it screams power, wealth , untouchable, luxury. And she wasn't one of them. She knew she wasn't one of them. She planned to keep a low profile, not to be noticed.She wasn't supposed to be noticed — just another plus-one to a client who'd bragged too loudly about his "incredible freelance designer" and dragged her along to show her off like a portfolio.
But then he walked in.
Jason Smith.
Even if she didn't know his name — she'd feel him enter.
He had the kind of presence that pulled gravity in a room already full of power. Dark suit tailored to perfection, five o'clock shadow like it was sculpted to stay. His jaw was sharp, his eyes sharper, scanning the room with bored detachment. Like he'd rather be anywhere else.
Their eyes met — just once.
Just a flicker. A pause but her pulse jumped.
But it was like he saw something in her that didn't belong here either.
She looked away first. But he didn't. Jason moved through the crowd like he owned it. And maybe he did. When he stopped in front of her she was too stunned to breath. He was standing in front of her, close enough that she caught the scent of him — expensive, clean, dangerous.
"You're either lost," he said, "or hiding."
Catherine blinked up at him, heart already thudding. "Can't I be both?" She felt like smacking herself because of how cringe her response was .
That made him smile. A slow, deliberate smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"I'm Jason."
She didn't tell him her name. I didn't want to. The anonymity felt safer. Safer than the way her pulse tripped under his gaze.
She should've walked away. But she didn't.
Instead, she let him buy her a drink — something darker, stronger than champagne. "Shouldn't you be out there charming investors or something?"
He chuckled softly "Already did that, now I am looking for a real conversation". "With a stranger?" She asked, a bit amused. "Strangers keep the best secrets" he said, his deep dark eyes never leaving hers.
Something about it sounded genuine and sincere, making her heart flutter. They talked. Not about work. Not about art. Not about anything that mattered.Just little nothings, shared like warm breaths between two people pretending the world didn't exist around them. He never asked her name.
And somewhere between the second drink and the stolen laughter, the air between them changed.
He touched her hand. Just briefly. His thumb grazed her wrist like a whisper. And something in her shivered.
He leaned in. His voice low, smoky, commanding.
"Come with me."
Catherine swallowed. Her head said no. Her body, her lonely heart, her broken edges — they all said something else. But she knew better than to refuse him, plus she was curious about his next move.
She didn't ask where. She just follow as if controlled by a force.Jason stood tall, calm, confident. But his eyes held a kind of restlessness that mirrored her own — like he was searching for something he didn't know how to ask for. When she placed her hand in his it made her feel better and more alive.
She should have said no but she didn't.
The hallway to the elevator was quiet, carpeted floors, she heels clicked beside him with low strides, the hallway of the elevator quiet and endless. Low light. His hand never left hers. But he wasn't rushing her either. He was steady. Like he wanted to be sure of something. Neither of them spoke but the air was thick with something unsaid, tension and curiosity.
The door opened to a penthouse floor. The suite was breath taking. The floor to ceiling window let in the moonlight, the arts but Catherine barely noticed any of it. The way he shut the door behind them. Inside the suite, the silence was louder with everything unsaid.
Jason turned to her. Looking at her like a question, he didn't expect to ask but desperately wanted answer. Catherine stood there, in a daze. Jason walked up to her and cupped her cheeckes his lips brushed hers. But he didn't do anything. He stopped and went back. "You can stop this if you want". Jason said his voice rougher. "Just say no. I'll walk away. No pressure". Catherine's throat tightned. Her breathe hitched. She leaned in closer leaving almost covering all the space between them "I want this. I don't want to stop and I don't want to walk away". Jason exhaled and closed the space between them. He suddenly crashed his lips, onto hers. It came unfolding mouth to mouth, breath to breath. He has been longing for this the moment they met. His lips moved over hers slowly like he was trying to memorize the shape of her mouth. His hands cradled her faced the other hand settled on her waist drawing her close to his body. Her hands came to his chest, her soft fingers brushing over the crisp white shirt stretched across strong muscle. He smelled expensive, like cinnamon and mint, something expensive.
His mouth moved down her throat, brushing fire along her skin. She gasped as his hands slid down her waist, gripping her hips like he'd been starving for her.
The straps of her dress fell, her bare skin shivering beneath his touch.
"God, you're perfect," he murmured, his voice rough, reverent. His hands trailed over her like he was learning her memorizing every dip, every reaction.
She tugged at his shirt, needing him closer. Buttons popped. Skin met skin. His chest was warm, hard, and hers arched into him instinctively.
He backed her toward the bed, eyes burning into hers, daring her to stop him. She didn't.
When he laid her down, he took his time. His mouth explored her body with aching precision — lips, teeth, tongue — teasing her until she was gasping, her fingers tangled in the sheets, every nerve alive.
Jason groaned softly when he felt her react beneath him — responsive, needy, undone. He slid his fingers slowly between her thighs, watching her fall apart beneath his touch. He wanted to see her lose control. He wanted to be the reason.
When she cried out softly, he kissed her again — swallowing the sound like a secret.
"You drive me crazy," he whispered against her lips. "I've never wanted anyone like this."
He entered her slowly, pushing in inch by inch until he was buried deep. She arched into him with a soft moan, clutching his back, trembling.
They moved together in a rhythm that started slow… then deeper… then desperate.
His name left her lips in a breathless moan, and he answered it with a curse, holding her tighter, thrusting harder. Every sound. Every movement. It was pure, carnal electricity.
He kissed her again, this time with fire. Teeth. Tongue. Lust burning between them like wildfire.
"Don't stop," she whispered.
"I couldn't," he growled. "Even if I wanted to."
The tension snapped, her body shook, pleasure crashing over her in waves as he followed, groaning into her shoulder as he let go, completely.
They collapsed, breathless, tangled, flushed.
And for a long moment, neither of them spoke. They didn't need to. The silence was thick with what had just happened, raw, real, and utterly unforgettable.
She closed her eyes, heart still racing.
Because she knew… something about tonight had changed her.
And tomorrow, she'd never be the same