I saw him before he saw me.

Tall, dark-skinned, and devastating in a tailored navy suit, he looked even better than I remembered. Daniel. My best friend’s older brother. The boy I used to daydream about when I was seventeen and hopelessly shy.

Back then, I couldn’t form a full sentence around him. Just giggles and nervous glances. He barely noticed me. I was his sister’s quiet little friend who always disappeared into the background.

But I’m not seventeen anymore.

I walked into the wedding reception in a fitted red dress, confidence on my lips and sway in my hips. And when his eyes finally landed on me from across the room, he paused mid-conversation. The way his gaze travelled down my body and back up made something deep inside me tighten.

“Amara?” he asked when we finally stood face to face.

“Hi, Daniel,” I smiled, bold and unbothered, like I hadn’t fantasised about this exact moment for years.

“Wow. You look… different.”

“I grew up.”

He looked at me like he was trying to remember why he had never seen me before. And honestly? I let him stare. I wanted him to.

We danced. We talked. We caught up. The reception faded into a blur of music and laughter around us. Every brush of his hand on my lower back, every glance that lingered a little too long, lit a fire in me. I didn’t want to go back to my hotel room alone. And when he offered to walk me out, I knew he didn’t want that either.

The elevator ride was quiet, thick with tension. When the doors closed behind us, I turned to face him. My heart raced, but my voice didn’t shake.

“I used to have the biggest crush on you,” I said.

His eyes darkened, voice low. “Used to?”

I stepped closer, closing the small gap between us. “Maybe not.”

The air snapped between us. He moved fast, one hand at my waist, the other cradling the back of my head, and he kissed me like he’d been holding back for years. Heat surged through me. I clung to his shirt, lips parting, tongues tasting, heart pounding.

The hotel room door slammed shut behind us. Clothes scattered on the ground like confetti; his jacket, my dress, my bra. He kissed down my neck, hands learning my curves like a man starved. When his mouth found my breast, I moaned, fingers digging into his shoulders.

“God, Amara,” he breathed. “You’re driving me crazy.”

“Good,” I whispered, pulling him down with me onto the bed.

His hands were everywhere; rough and gentle, greedy and reverent. He kissed my thighs, my stomach, then lower, tongue teasing me until my back arched and I cried out his name. My legs trembled as he brought me to the edge, then over it.

Then he slid inside me, slow, deep, and delicious. I gasped, clutching him as he moved. Every thrust sent sparks through me. Every kiss stole my breath. He held me like I was something precious, something he didn’t want to break, but couldn’t stop devouring.

“You feel so good,” he groaned against my ear, and I melted.

We moved together like we were made for this. For each other. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t just sex. It was everything I had imagined and more.

When it was over, we lay tangled in the sheets, skin to skin, breath slowing.

Downtown
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