Crossing The Line (Part II)
The First Night -- St. Regis Hotel, SF
The elevator ride up to his suite felt heavy.
Maybe it was exhaustion from my double shift, or maybe it was the weight of what I was getting myself into.
I could've turned around. I could've left, gone home, and pretended this night never happened.
But I didn't.
Because I couldn't ignore what my body had been screaming for months.
Temptation wasn't temptation anymore. It was inevitable.
My heart pounded as I walked down the hall, counting the room numbers until I reached his door. Each step forward was another opportunity to turn back--another chance I deliberately ignored.
Ryan greeted me with that signature schoolboy smirk--the kind that carried quiet confidence, like he already knew what was going to happen. Like he'd been waiting for this moment since he first asked for my number five months ago.
I stepped inside, and immediately felt enveloped by luxury. The St. Regis suite was elegant yet understated--floor-to-ceiling windows offering a stunning view of the San Francisco skyline, city lights twinkling against the evening fog. A king-sized bed sat against one wall, pristine white duvet catching the soft glow from the bedside lamps.
"Long day?" he asked, his voice smooth, low. He moved to the minibar with practiced ease, pouring two fingers of whiskey into a tumbler.
"Brutal," I sighed, slipping off my flat heels. The ache in my feet was nothing compared to the tension gripping my shoulders. I ran a hand through my hair, and exhaled, hesitantly before adding.. "and I won't lie, I am a little nervous."
His eyes lingered on mine, reading between the lines.
Nervous, because I knew exactly what I was doing here. Nervous, because I was about to cross a line that I couldn't take back.
Ryan stepped closer, his fingertips grazing my wrist--a touch so subtle yet deliberate, it sent a quiet jolt through me.
"Then let me help you unwind."
"How?" I asked, even though I already knew.
"A massage." His cheeky smirk deepened. "You're tense--I can feel it from here. Let me sort you out!"
I hesitated. A beat, maybe two.
Then, fuck it.
I had walked into this room fully dressed--tight black leggings that hugged my curves, a fitted ribbed tank top that clung to my body just right, and a cropped leather jacket that still held the faint scent of my perfume.
But Ryan had other plans.
"Come here," he murmured, reaching for my jacket.
He slipped it from my shoulders with slow, intentional movements, letting his fingertips trail down my arms as he did. His touch was light, teasing, making my breath hitch. The jacket dropped to the floor, and then his hands were at the hem of my tank top, tugging it up just enough to expose a sliver of skin.
"Lift your arms," he instructed, his voice steady, controlled.
I obeyed without thinking, allowing him to pull my top over my head, leaving me in just my black lace bra--sheer enough to see my nipples pressing through the delicate fabric.
The air-conditioned room kissed my exposed skin, but the heat of his body standing so close to mine replaced any chill.
His hands moved lower, to the waistband of my leggings. My stomach tightened as he flicked it open, his fingers grazing my waistline before slowly dragging the fabric down.
He wasn't rushing--he was taking his time, like he was unwrapping something he'd been waiting to get his hands on.
And then, for a split second, everything paused.
In that instant, my mind drifted, caught between the urge to surrender to temptation and the need to contain the storm of emotions it stirred. The inner turmoil was impossible to ignore.
I really shouldn't be here.
I shouldn't want this so bad.
But I did, I needed this so bad.
I wanted the way Ryan looked at me--only me. The way his hands moved like he had all night to explore, the way he made me feel like I was the only thing in the world worth focusing on. The only thing that mattered.
When was the last time I felt that? When was the last time I wasn't competing with his families needs, a packed work schedule, five hundred miles of distance?
A deep breath. A choice.
My phone buzzed in my discarded jacket--once, twice. Probably my boyfriend, checking in like he always did around this time. Five hundred miles away, he was probably settling in with his daughter, completely unaware of what I was about to do. The thought should have stopped me cold.
It didn't.
"Still nervous?" Ryan asked, his breath warm against my cheek. I caught the faint scent of mint and expensive liquor. His eyes weren't just looking at me--they were cataloging, analyzing, finding every vulnerability.
I swallowed hard, shaking my head. Not anymore.
A smile ghosted across his lips--not warm like my boyfriend's, but calculating. Victorious. Like he'd just conquered something he'd been planning to take all along.
He knelt in front of me, fingers brushing against my hip bones before gripping the waistband of my leggings. The fabric slid down with agonizing slowness, his palms gliding over my thighs. The cool air raised goosebumps across my newly exposed skin, but the heat radiating from his body quickly chased the chill away.
I was left in nothing but my black lace bra and panties. Ryan's eyes traveled up my body with deliberate patience--from ankles to calves, lingering on the curve of my thighs, the lace between my legs, the dip of my waist--dark with something raw and undeniable. Not love. Not affection. Pure, unapologetic want.
"God, you're so fucking beautiful," he breathed, his voice lower than before. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this."
The confession hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. He hadn't just messaged me on a whim. He'd been planning this, waiting for his moment.
"On the bed," he murmured.
I climbed onto the mattress, lying face-down, my body sinking into the plush comforter. The vulnerability of the moment hit me all at once. I was here, half-naked, in a luxury suite with a man who wasn't my boyfriend--a man who was friends with my boyfriend--but who, at this moment, was solely focused on me.
No distractions. No divided attention. Just me, laid out before him, about to receive undivided attention from a man who clearly wanted to fuck me.
