7. Leslie Giving In
Leslie: Giving In
I don’t look back.
My heels click against the marble floor, echoing through the hallway. My heart races and my lips still tingle from Kyle’s kiss. I shouldn’t want him. I shouldn’t crave his touch. But I do.
His car waits at the curb, sleek and powerful under the streetlights. I slip inside. The leather is cool against my thighs. I close my eyes, his taste still lingering on my lips, my pulse pounding in my ears.
The door opens, and he slides in beside me. He doesn’t say a word. His presence fills the space, his scent wrapping around me—rich and masculine. I inhale, and my body tightens, heat spreading under my skin.
I press my hands to my lap, hoping they will stop shaking.
“Home,” he tells the driver. His voice is low, rough. It sends a shiver down my spine.
The car glides through the night. I feel his eyes on me, heavy and unrelenting. I stare straight ahead, fighting the urge to look back.
His fingers brush mine. It’s light. Almost accidental. But my body jolts, heat rushing to the surface. I glance at him. His jaw is tight. His eyes are dark, locked on me.
The air between us crackles with tension. I can feel his restraint, see the struggle etched on his face.
The car stops in the underground garage. He steps out first, shoulders tense, movements controlled. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself before he opens my door.
His hand reaches out. Firm and steady. Grounding me even as my heart threatens to burst from my chest. I take his hand, my body swaying toward him before I catch myself.
His fingers tighten around mine for a beat too long—just enough to make my breath hitch. Then, slowly, he releases me, his jaw clenching like he's forcing himself to let go.
He doesn’t say a word, just turns and leads the way to the elevator, his presence commanding.
My fingers tingle where they touched his. Each step feels heavy, the space between us shrinking.
As the elevator doors slide shut, sealing us inside, the air becomes thick and suffocating.
He doesn’t wait. He pulls me to him, his mouth crashing into mine.
I gasp, my back hitting the cold metal wall. His body presses against mine, hard and unyielding. His kiss is fierce and hungry. His lips are demanding. I melt against him, my hands in his hair, pulling him closer.
His mouth moves to my neck, his teeth grazing my skin. His breath is hot and ragged. I shiver, my head falling back, needing more. His fingers dig into my hips, his body pressing harder against mine.
The elevator dings and the doors slide open.
He grabs my hand, pulling me into his penthouse. The door closes behind us, the city lights casting a soft glow.
“Drink?” His voice is rough, his eyes blazing.
I nod, my throat dry as my body buzzes with anticipation. He pours two glasses, his movements smooth and controlled. But his hands tremble.
I take the glass, my fingers brushing his. Electricity shoots up my arm. I down the drink in one go, the liquid burning a path down my throat.
He watches me, his eyes never leaving mine. Then he turns, walking down the hallway. He doesn’t look back. Doesn’t say a word.
I hesitate. Just for a second. Then my feet move on their own, following him. My heels click softly against the floor, each step echoing in my chest.
He stops at a door, his hand on the knob. He looks at me, his face unreadable. My heart races, every fiber of my being screaming at me to turn back.
But I can’t. I don’t want to.
I walk in and he follows, closing the door behind us.
His eyes burn into mine as he steps closer, his fingers reaching for the glass in my hand. He takes it, setting it aside. His fingers find the slit of my gown.
His touch is light, teasing, as he trails his fingers up my leg, his mouth following, his lips brushing my skin.
I gasp, my body arching. My hands find his shoulders, clinging to him as his mouth moves higher. My dress slides up, revealing more of me to him. But he takes his time, his lips gentle, his hands firm as he holds me still.
His fingers find my zipper. His eyes lock with mine as he pulls it down slowly. The fabric slips off my shoulders, pooling at my feet. I reach for his suit jacket, my hands trembling.
He catches my wrists, stopping me. “Let me,” he whispers, his voice low, commanding.
His jacket falls away. His fingers move to his shirt buttons, unfastening them one by one. His eyes never leave mine. The shirt falls to the floor, revealing his broad chest. His muscles flex as he steps closer, his heat washing over me.
His hands find my waist, his touch exploring every inch of me. His mouth follows, his lips tracing my collarbone, his tongue flicking over my skin.
I shiver, my body arching into him. My fingers dig into his shoulders as I gasp his name. His touch is firm, deliberate, driving me to the edge, holding me there.
I can’t take it anymore. My body aches, my heart racing. “Kyle,” I breathe, my voice breaking. “I need you.”
His eyes darken, his grip tightening as he lifts me effortlessly. He carries me to his bed, his movements controlled, deliberate.
He lays me down, his body covering mine. His weight presses me into the mattress, grounding me, anchoring me to him.
He slides inside me, slow, purposeful. His gaze locks on mine, intense and unyielding, watching every reaction as he fills me, stretches me, and completes me.
I shatter around him, my body tightening, convulsing as he moves. His pace is steady, each thrust taking me deeper, pushing me to the edge.
I cry out, my fingers clawing at his back, desperate to hold on. My hips lift to meet his, matching his rhythm, needing him closer.
His movements grow wild, his restraint slipping. His hold on me tightens. A deep, rough sound escapes his lips as he reaches his peak, his body shaking, his weight pressing me down, keeping me grounded, keeping me close.
We collapse together, tangled and breathless. Our hearts pound in sync, our bodies trembling from the intensity.
He wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. His warmth surrounds me, his scent lingering, his presence overwhelming.
I curl into him, my body fitting perfectly against his. My head rests on his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear. His breathing slows, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along my spine.
He presses a kiss to my hair, his lips soft, tender. His arms tighten around me, holding me close, refusing to let go.
We drift off together, naked and vulnerable, tangled in each other. No words are needed. At this moment, nothing else matters.
I’m his. And tonight, he’s mine.
***
I wake up to sunlight streaming through the windows. For a moment, I don’t remember where I am. Then it hits me. Kyle’s bed. Kyle’s room. Last night.
My heart races as the memories flood back—his touch, his kisses, the way he looked at me like I was the only one that mattered. My body tingles just thinking about it.
I shouldn’t have stayed. I shouldn’t have let it happen. What was I thinking?
The other side of the bed is empty and cold. My dress is neatly folded on the armchair. My phone is on a small shelf by the door. Next to it, there’s a note.
I pick it up, my fingers trembling. His handwriting is bold and neat.
“Morning, Leslie. Didn’t want to wake you. Last night was . . . unforgettable. There’s breakfast in the kitchen. Make yourself at home. — Kyle”
My heart flips.
Unforgettable?
I trace the word with my finger, my lips curving into a smile. But the smile fades as guilt creeps in. This was a mistake. It has to be. I’m supposed to be fixing Theo’s reputation, not ruining mine by sleeping with my boss.
I find one of Kyle’s shirts on a chair and slip it on. It’s soft and smells like him. I close my eyes, breathing him in, before shaking myself out of it.
I follow the smell of breakfast down the hall. As I step into the kitchen, I freeze.
A teenage boy sits at the table, staring at his phone. His hair is dark and messy, his face serious. He looks so much like Kyle that my heart stops.
He looks up, his eyes locking on me. His expression turns cold, his jaw tightening. I feel exposed, standing there in his father’s shirt.
Before I can say anything, Chloe’s voice cuts through the silence. “Leslie?”
She’s at the kitchen island, her eyes wide. Then she grins. “I knew it! I knew there was something going on between you and Dad!”
My face burns. “I . . . I just . . . I mean . . .” There’s no good excuse for standing in Kyle’s kitchen half-dressed.
Chloe’s grin widens. “This is awesome. I knew you were cool, but this? This is epic.” Her eyes flick to the shirt I’m wearing. “That’s his shirt, isn’t it?”
I want to disappear. “I should . . . I should get dressed.” I turn to leave, but my feet feel heavy.
Chloe’s voice softens. “I like that you’re here,” she says. “He looked happier this morning.”
My chest tightens. But before I can respond, the boy stands up. His chair scrapes against the floor. He walks past me without a word, his shoulders stiff, his eyes hard.
My heart sinks. He hates me.
Chloe sighs. “Ignore him. Ethan is always grumpy.” She pauses, then smirks. “But seriously, this is huge. Dad hasn’t had anyone over since . . . well, ever.”
My heart sinks. I feel like I’ve crossed a line I can’t uncross.
I rush back to the bedroom, my mind spinning. I change quickly, smoothing out my dress, trying to compose myself.
I catch sight of Kyle’s note again, my heart aching. I want to see him, to talk to him. But I can’t. I need to get out of here before I make things worse.
I leave quietly, my chest tight, my head a mess of emotions.
***
The weekend drags on as I replay every moment in my head, over and over. I don’t hear from Kyle, and I don’t dare text him. I convince myself that it’s better this way. It was a mistake. One night that never should have happened.
But I can’t stop thinking about him.
By Monday morning, I’m exhausted from the sleepless night and constant overthinking. But I put on my professional smile and head to the office, determined to act normal, to pretend nothing happened.
The moment I step into the lobby of Starz Management Group, I sense it. Conversations stop. Heads turn. People stare.
I force myself to keep walking, my shoulders back, my expression calm. But my heart races. Why are they looking at me like that?
As I pass a group near the elevator, I catch bits of their whispers. “Did you see her?” . . . “Leaving in his car after the awards.” . . . “I knew it. She slept her way in.”
My stomach drops. How do they know? Did someone see me?
I hurry toward my office, but the whispers follow me. “Someone caught her kissing him.”
My face burns. I replay the night, trying to remember every detail. We were careful . . . weren’t we? But doubt creeps in. Did someone see us? Was there a camera?
Panic tightens my chest. I push open my office door and close it behind me, leaning against it for support. My heart races as the whispers echo in my head. They think I’m sleeping my way to the top.
I sink into my chair, my hands trembling. I did this. I crossed a line, and now I’m paying the price.
A tear slips down my cheek.