The evening crept in slowly, painting the sky with streaks of amber and fading gold. The air inside Sparkle Cleaners was warm, thick with the scent of detergent and steam. Amara stood by the ironing table, her hands moving swiftly over a pile of shirts. The hiss of the pressing iron filled the room, mixing with the hum of her thoughts. She had spent the entire day trying to forget the feeling of his skin, his touch, his breath but it kept replaying in her head like a song she couldn't turn off.
By the time the last customer left, she was exhausted. Her blouse clung lightly to her back, her bun slightly loosened from the day's work. She was about to unplug the iron when she noticed a faint reflection on the glass door a dark silhouette outside.
Then, a black SUV rolled to a slow stop in front of the shop. Its headlights cut through the dim light, washing over her for a moment. Amara froze. Her heart thudded. She didn't have to guess it was him.
The car door opened, and from the shadows stepped Lucas. His tall frame moved with a slow, confident grace. The streetlights cast sharp lines across his face, outlining his jaw, his dark eyes, and that cold yet captivating expression that always made her forget how to breathe. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up, his hair tousled as if he'd run his hands through it a thousand times. There was something dangerously magnetic about him an aura that filled the air before he even reached the door.
Amara's breath caught when their eyes met through the glass. For a second, she thought about running to the back room, pretending she hadn't seen him. But it was too late. Lucas was already pushing the door open, the small bell above it ringing softly.
He didn't say a word at first. The air between them thickened. His cold gaze locked on her, searching her face, her trembling hands still clutching the iron.
"Lucas…" she started, her voice barely above a whisper.
But before she could say more, he moved. In two long strides, he was standing right in front of her. His hand slid around her waist, pulling her closer until she could feel his heartbeat against her chest. His touch was firm, almost commanding. Her breath hitched as his other hand tilted her chin upward, forcing her to meet his eyes.
"Why did you leave this morning?" His voice was low, rough, yet steady filled with something that sounded like frustration and longing all at once.
"I I had to get ready for work…" she stammered, her words stumbling out, her eyes darting anywhere but his.
He didn't let her finish. His thumb brushed the side of her face, tracing her lower lip. Her heart skipped again, beating too fast for her to hide. He leaned closer, close enough that she could smell his cologne, clean and masculine, mixed with the faint scent of the evening breeze.
"I couldn't wait for you to come home," he murmured, his voice sending shivers through her. "I'm sorry."
Amara blinked, caught between surprise and the soft pull of his words. He wasn't angry not really. His tone carried something deeper, rawer. His eyes softened, though the intensity in them didn't fade.
She opened her mouth to speak, but his fingers pressed gently against her lips, silencing her. Then, he brushed his thumb across her cheek again, slower this time. The world outside seemed to fade the hum of passing cars, the buzzing streetlights all gone. It was just them, the sound of their breathing, and the quiet electricity hanging in the air.
Lucas's forehead touched hers lightly, his breath warm against her skin. "You shouldn't run from me, Amara," he whispered.
Her knees almost gave way, and she found herself clutching the edge of his shirt. Every word from him sounded like both a warning and a promise.
He tilted her face again, studying her with that same steady gaze before placing a soft, deliberate kiss on her forehead. Then another on her cheek slow, claiming, leaving her completely undone.
Her heart raced wildly, every inch of her skin alive under his touch. The silence between them spoke louder than words.
For a moment, she didn't care where they were. The shop, the night, the world it all blurred around them. The only thing she could feel was him.
The air in the laundry shop was thick with the humid scent of steam and detergent. A pile of freshly pressed shirts sat forgotten on the counter. It was in this mundane, public space that the careful distance between them finally shattered.
Lucas cornered her between the washing machines and a shelf stacked with cleaning supplies. His eyes, usually so controlled, were dark with a hunger that made her breath catch.
"How he drew up her skirt..."
It wasn't a romantic, slow reveal. His movement was swift, almost frantic.
"The rawness in his voice..."
His voice was a low, guttural rasp, stripped of all its billionaire polish. It was the voice of a man, not a CEO. When he spoke, his breath was hot against her ear.
"I kept thinking of doing this over and over again with you at work," he moaned out, the confession torn from him. Every word was ragged, charged with the frustration of weeks of stolen glances and suppressed desire. It was an admission that she had invaded his professional composure, that even in his world of boardrooms, the thought of her in this very shop had haunted him.
"Next his hands met his mouth and he entrust his hands inside of her..."
Before she could form a thought, his mouth was on hers a claiming, desperate kiss that tasted of coffee and unrestrained lust. At the same time, his hands-those capable, commanding hands-didn't just touch her. He entrusted himself to her warmth. His fingers hooked into the waistband of her underwear, pulling them down just enough. Then his fingers were inside her, a deep, searching thrust that made her back arch off the vibrating metal of the washing machine behind her.
"She moaned out..."
A sharp, unbidden cry escaped her lips, echoing off the tiled walls. It was a sound of pure, shocked pleasure, too loud for the confined space. She tried to stifle it, biting her lip, but it was useless. The pleasure was a current, and he was the source.
"He entered inside of her ...the rawness and moan could be heard all over the laundry store..."
With a final, frantic fumble of his own clothing, he was there. He entered her in one smooth, desperate stroke, burying himself to the hilt.
The force of it slammed her body gently against the machine, making the metal groan in protest.
Ohhhh Amara he moaned our loudly ….,,
The evening crept in slowly, painting the sky with streaks of amber and fading gold. The air inside Sparkle Cleaners was warm, thick with the scent of detergent and steam. Amara stood by the ironing table, her hands moving swiftly over a pile of shirts. The hiss of the pressing iron filled the room, mixing with the hum of her thoughts. She had spent the entire day trying to forget the feeling of his skin, his touch, his breath but it kept replaying in her head like a song she couldn't turn off.
By the time the last customer left, she was exhausted. Her blouse clung lightly to her back, her bun slightly loosened from the day's work. She was about to unplug the iron when she noticed a faint reflection on the glass door a dark silhouette outside.
Then, a black SUV rolled to a slow stop in front of the shop. Its headlights cut through the dim light, washing over her for a moment. Amara froze. Her heart thudded. She didn't have to guess it was him.
The car door opened, and from the shadows stepped Lucas. His tall frame moved with a slow, confident grace. The streetlights cast sharp lines across his face, outlining his jaw, his dark eyes, and that cold yet captivating expression that always made her forget how to breathe. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up, his hair tousled as if he'd run his hands through it a thousand times. There was something dangerously magnetic about him an aura that filled the air before he even reached the door.
Amara's breath caught when their eyes met through the glass. For a second, she thought about running to the back room, pretending she hadn't seen him. But it was too late. Lucas was already pushing the door open, the small bell above it ringing softly.
He didn't say a word at first. The air between them thickened. His cold gaze locked on her, searching her face, her trembling hands still clutching the iron.
"Lucas…" she started, her voice barely above a whisper.
But before she could say more, he moved. In two long strides, he was standing right in front of her. His hand slid around her waist, pulling her closer until she could feel his heartbeat against her chest. His touch was firm, almost commanding. Her breath hitched as his other hand tilted her chin upward, forcing her to meet his eyes.
"Why did you leave this morning?" His voice was low, rough, yet steady filled with something that sounded like frustration and longing all at once.
"I I had to get ready for work…" she stammered, her words stumbling out, her eyes darting anywhere but his.
He didn't let her finish. His thumb brushed the side of her face, tracing her lower lip. Her heart skipped again, beating too fast for her to hide. He leaned closer, close enough that she could smell his cologne, clean and masculine, mixed with the faint scent of the evening breeze.
"I couldn't wait for you to come home," he murmured, his voice sending shivers through her. "I'm sorry."
Amara blinked, caught between surprise and the soft pull of his words. He wasn't angry not really. His tone carried something deeper, rawer. His eyes softened, though the intensity in them didn't fade.
She opened her mouth to speak, but his fingers pressed gently against her lips, silencing her. Then, he brushed his thumb across her cheek again, slower this time. The world outside seemed to fade the hum of passing cars, the buzzing streetlights all gone. It was just them, the sound of their breathing, and the quiet electricity hanging in the air.
Lucas's forehead touched hers lightly, his breath warm against her skin. "You shouldn't run from me, Amara," he whispered.
Her knees almost gave way, and she found herself clutching the edge of his shirt. Every word from him sounded like both a warning and a promise.
He tilted her face again, studying her with that same steady gaze before placing a soft, deliberate kiss on her forehead. Then another on her cheek slow, claiming, leaving her completely undone.
Her heart raced wildly, every inch of her skin alive under his touch. The silence between them spoke louder than words.
For a moment, she didn't care where they were. The shop, the night, the world it all blurred around them. The only thing she could feel was him.
The air in the laundry shop was thick with the humid scent of steam and detergent. A pile of freshly pressed shirts sat forgotten on the counter. It was in this mundane, public space that the careful distance between them finally shattered.
Lucas cornered her between the washing machines and a shelf stacked with cleaning supplies. His eyes, usually so controlled, were dark with a hunger that made her breath catch.
"How he drew up her skirt..."
It wasn't a romantic, slow reveal. His movement was swift, almost frantic.
"The rawness in his voice..."
His voice was a low, guttural rasp, stripped of all its billionaire polish. It was the voice of a man, not a CEO. When he spoke, his breath was hot against her ear.
"I kept thinking of doing this over and over again with you at work," he moaned out, the confession torn from him. Every word was ragged, charged with the frustration of weeks of stolen glances and suppressed desire. It was an admission that she had invaded his professional composure, that even in his world of boardrooms, the thought of her in this very shop had haunted him.
"Next his hands met his mouth and he entrust his hands inside of her..."
Before she could form a thought, his mouth was on hers a claiming, desperate kiss that tasted of coffee and unrestrained lust. At the same time, his hands-those capable, commanding hands-didn't just touch her. He entrusted himself to her warmth. His fingers hooked into the waistband of her underwear, pulling them down just enough. Then his fingers were inside her, a deep, searching thrust that made her back arch off the vibrating metal of the washing machine behind her.
"She moaned out..."
A sharp, unbidden cry escaped her lips, echoing off the tiled walls. It was a sound of pure, shocked pleasure, too loud for the confined space. She tried to stifle it, biting her lip, but it was useless. The pleasure was a current, and he was the source.
"He entered inside of her ...the rawness and moan could be heard all over the laundry store..."
With a final, frantic fumble of his own clothing, he was there. He entered her in one smooth, desperate stroke, burying himself to the hilt.
The force of it slammed her body gently against the machine, making the metal groan in protest.
Ohhhh Amara he moaned our loudly ….,,