When his finger slipped past the fabric and into her, her body arched involuntarily. She bit her lip, breath catching in her throat. "We shouldn't be doing this," she whispered.
"Shouldn't we?" he replied with a lazy smile, locking eyes with her through the mirror. "And yet…" His fingers moved with practiced confidence, sending tremors through her. "You're already wet for me."
Eva groaned softly, cheeks flushed. "I hate how cocky you are," she breathed.
"You love how cocky I am," he said smugly. Then he stepped back just long enough to pull her underwear down, the lacy material falling silently to the tiled floor. In one fluid motion, he undid his zipper, freeing himself.
"Alex…"
Before she could think, he pushed into her with one hard thrust that stole the breath from her lungs.
"Oh God," she cried out, hands flattening against the mirror for support as the full pressure of him filled her completely.
Alex groaned low, his eyes locked on her face through the reflection. "You like that, uhn?" His hips moved, hitting deep, dragging a guttural moan from her. "Say you like it."
Her mind spiraled with the force of pleasure and the danger of being caught, of letting herself fall for this man.
"Fuck! I like it," she gasped louder, biting her lip as her head fell back slightly. "I like it."
"There she is," he said, "my good girl."
Their bodies moved in sync, the pounding music outside muted by the rush of blood in her ears, the slap of skin, the occasional desperate whimper she couldn't contain. Eva watched herself in the mirror—the wildness in her eyes, the flush on her skin, the man behind her claiming her.
"I hate that other men get to look at you dressed like that," Alex growled, each word dripping with possessiveness as his body moved against hers with deep, unrelenting rhythm. His breath was hot at her ear, and his hands gripped her hips. "I own that pussy."
Eva wanted to protest. To tell him she wasn't some object to be owned, not a trophy for any man to possess. But the way he moved inside her, the way her body responded, made it impossible to speak. The words tangled in her throat, replaced by another needy moan.
Then came the sting—a sharp, playful smack on her bare ass that made her cry out in surprise and arousal.
"Who owns this pussy?" he demanded. He was serious, but he was also playing. With her body, with her mind.
"You do!" she gasped, the words tumbling out of her as though her body spoke them for her.
"Louder!"
"You do!" she cried again. God, if her past self could see her now.
He growled low in approval, gripping her tighter, and the tempo increased. Their skin collided in a rhythm that was primal, desperate, full of everything they'd both been pretending not to want. His grunts mingled with her moans, each beat of their bodies louder, wilder, until—
"Fuck!" he hissed, eyes clenched. "Come with me, Honey."
Eva didn't need to be told twice. Her release hit her. Her legs gave out beneath her, but Alex's grip didn't falter. He held her steady, grounding her as she cried out, body trembling. A second later, he followed, fingers digging into her hips as he groaned her name and buried his face in her neck.
And for a moment, there was silence. Heavy breathing. Racing hearts. The soft thud of reality starting to return.
Eva blinked at their reflection in the mirror. She looked ruined—in the best way. Her cheeks flushed, hair tousled, eyes a little dazed. She hadn't looked this alive in years.
"What are you doing to me?" she whispered, almost afraid of the answer. There was humor in her voice, yes—but also vulnerability.
Alex looked at her, his lips curving in that half-wicked, half-tender smile that undid her.
"Getting you in tune with your body," he said casually, turning her to face him. "And, well… getting me off." Then he kissed her lightly on the lips, as if the heat they'd just shared was the most natural thing in the world.
"You are magnificent," he added, brushing his nose against hers.
With a smirk, Alex bent, picked up her underwear from the floor and casually slid it into his suit pocket and zipped up his pants. She stared at him in disbelief.
"Hey!" she protested, laughing breathlessly.
"Consider it a souvenir," he said, already zipping up his pants. "Something to remember you by."
"I am literally standing right here," she said, trying not to smile too much.
"Exactly," he said, leaning in close again, brushing her lips one last time. "I am tempted to drag you home with me."
"Am I going to get that back?" Eva asked, one brow arched.
Alex grinned, leaned in, and gave her lips one final, smug kiss. "No."
Then he was gone.
Eva turned to the mirror, flushed and still catching her breath. Her hair was slightly mussed, her lipstick a memory. She placed her palms on the sink and leaned in close to her reflection.
"You are such a slut," she said, half-whispering, half-laughing, as if her reflection might reach out and slap her. Then she straightened her hair, smoothed down her dress, squared her shoulders—and strutted out.
When she got back to their sofa, Brian was already there, sipping champagne with the smuggest look in all of human history plastered across his face. He didn't say a word. Just smiled slowly.
"What?" she said, sliding into the seat beside him and failing to look as nonchalant as she'd hoped.
"Nothing," Brian replied innocently, which made it all worse. He was fighting a laugh with every molecule in his well-moisturized body.
She signaled a nearby waitress and grabbed the glass of champagne offered to her. She downed it, her eyes scanning the room for one particular man with a smirk and a pocketed pair of panties.
"He's gone," Brian said casually. "Left with the bimbo."