Welcome to

The fluorescent hum of the office had finally been replaced by the amber glow of the lounge. It was his last night in a standard business trip. Stale air, PowerPoint slides, and the dull ache of a life lived in middle management. Arthur swirled the ice in his scotch, feeling the weight of the gold band on his left finger.

Then he saw her.

She was sitting at the far end of the bar, a shock of crimson hair against a backless emerald dress. Her silhouette was a perfect hourglass, a literal curve in an otherwise linear world. When she looked up, her piercing and predatory green eyes locked onto his. She didn’t smile, but she didn’t look away.

Arthur felt a surge of adrenaline he hadn't felt in a decade. She’s way out of your league, he thought. Then she winked.

Calculated and quick, Arthur slipped his wedding ring into his coin pocket. He stood up, smoothed his suit, and walked over.

The conversation was effortless. Her name was Elena. She laughed at his tired jokes as if they were comedic gold, leaning in close enough for him to smell jasmine. He felt invincible. He felt like a king.

"This place is a bit... public," he whispered, emboldened by the third drink. "I have a suite upstairs."

Elena’s gaze dropped to his lips. "I thought you’d never ask."

The elevator ride was a blur of heavy breathing and frantic hands. By the time the door to Room 412 clicked shut, clothes were hitting the carpet. In the dim light of the city skyline, Elena was a masterpiece. Arthur felt like he’d won the lottery, his pulse hammering against his ribs as they moved together.

Her skin was cool silk against his, and when her mouth found his again, the taste of scotch and her was overwhelming. She was not passive. She guided his hands to the zipper of her dress, letting it fall in a whisper of emerald to the floor. The city lights through the window painted stripes of gold across her body, highlighting the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the incredible flare of her hips.

She pushed him back onto the bed, following him down, her crimson hair a curtain that smelled of jasmine. There was nothing tentative in her touch. Her nails …