The air conditioning in the Meridian Tower ballroom was arctic, but Mark felt sweat prickling under his arms anyway. It wasn't just the cheap suit jacket, clinging uncomfortably to his shoulders. It was the whole damn situation. Another corporate schmooze-fest, another night spent trying to look important while feeling utterly insignificant, another evening praying Mr. Henderson might actually remember his name long enough to consider him for the Senior Analyst position. And it was Sarah. Always Sarah.
She walked a few steps ahead of him, navigating the threshold between the bland beige hallway and the cavernous room buzzing with forced laughter and the clinking of glasses. Mark’s eyes were glued to her. Fucking glued.
Sarah wore red. A shade so deep and vibrant it seemed to suck the light out of the room and hold it captive. The dress wasn't just tight; it was a second skin, molded over every curve, every swell, every indentation of her body. She was late twenties, younger than him by almost a decade, and built like something sculpted from pure temptation. Lush, Mark always thought. That was the word. Her breasts were full, heavy, straining against the thin, unforgiving fabric. He could see the distinct outline of her nipples, hard little points pushing through the material, daring anyone to look. And everyone did look. Mark saw the sideways glances, the lingering stares. He felt a surge of possessive pride mixed with a gut-deep clench of anxiety.
The dress plunged low in the back, revealing the smooth expanse of her skin down to the shadowed cleft just above her ass. And that ass… Jesus. Round, high, defiant. The thin red fabric clung to the swell of each cheek, dipping into the crease between them with every step she took. Mark watched the hypnotic sway, the subtle shift of muscle beneath the fabric. It made his mouth go dry. He knew every inch of that body, had mapped it with his hands, his mouth. But seeing her like this, poured into that dress, k
