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"Everyone wants to lose control sometimes," Ivy countered. "Especially people who grip it as tightly as you do."

Their faces were inches apart now, close enough that Ivy could feel the woman's breath on her lips. She was taller than Ivy by several inches, forcing Ivy to tilt her chin up to maintain eye contact. The height difference sent an unexpected thrill through her.

"Tell me to leave," the woman said, her voice rough at the edges, "and I will."

Ivy freed her wrist from the woman's grasp only to thread her fingers through theshort, silky strands of hair at the nape of her neck. "I want you to stay."

The kiss, when it finally came, was nothing like Ivy had imagined. She'd expected dominance, perhaps even aggression from someone who radiated such contained power. Instead, the woman's lips were gentle against hers, almost hesitant. The unexpected tenderness made something twist painfully in Ivy's chest.

She didn't want tenderness. Not tonight. Not from a stranger.

Ivy deepened the kiss, her tongue seeking entry, her free hand finding the woman's waist to pull her closer. She felt the exact moment the woman's control began to slip—a shudder that ran through her body, a small sound caught in the back of her throat.

They broke apart, both breathing hard, and Ivy took advantage of the moment to push the blazer from the woman's shoulders. It fell to the floor in a dark puddle around their feet. The white button-down beneath was crisp and professional, a barrier Ivy was suddenly desperate to breach.

"Are you always this impatient?" the woman asked, a hint of amusement in herbreathless voice as Ivy's fingers worked at the buttons.

"Only when something matters." Ivy pushed the shirt open to reveal a simple black bra against olive skin. A thin white scar traced a path just below the woman's collarbone. Without thinking, Ivy leaned forward to press her lips against it.

The woman's breath hitched, her hands finally—finally—coming up to cradle Ivy's face. "This matters?" she asked, something vulnerable flickering across her features.

"Tonight matters," Ivy clarified, reaching for the zipper of her own dress. "Not forever, not even tomorrow. Just tonight."

Understanding passed between them—an agreement, a boundary, a permission. The woman nodded, then helped Ivy with the zipper, her knuckles brushing against the bare skin of Ivy's back with deliberate slowness.

The dress slipped to the floor, pooling around Ivy's ankles. She stepped out of it and her heels in a single movement, suddenly several inches shorter but no less determined. Her honey-blonde hair, which she'd swept into an elegant updo earlier, wasbeginning to come loose, tendrils framing her face.

The woman's gaze traveled the length of Ivy's body, lingering on the black lace against pale skin, the gentle curve of her hips, the constellation of freckles across her sternum. There was appreciation in that look, but something else too—a kind of wondering, as if she were trying to memorize every detail.

"You're beautiful," she said simply.

Ivy wasn't prepared for how the words affected her—a warmth that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with being truly seen. She covered the moment of vulnerability by reaching for the woman's belt.

"So are you," she replied. "And significantly overdressed."

They moved toward the bedroom in a dance of advancing and retreating, shedding clothing and inhibitions with each step. By the time they reached the king-sized bed, they were down to undergarments, skin heated and flushed with anticipation.

The woman guided Ivy backward until her knees hit the mattress, but instead of following her down, she paused. In the dimlight filtering through the gauzy curtains, her expression was serious, almost solemn.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked.

Ivy reached up, tracing the sharp line of the woman's clavicle, the curve of her shoulder, the toned muscles of her arms. She could feel the restrained power there, the careful control even now. But she could also feel the slight tremor beneath the surface, the vulnerability behind the strength.

For the first time all evening, Ivy found herself wondering who this woman really was—what she did when she wasn't in hotel bars, what had put that scar on her collarbone, whether she always hesitated like this at the edge of intimacy.

But those weren't questions for tonight. Tonight wasn't about knowing; it was about forgetting.

"I'm sure," Ivy said, pulling the woman down onto the bed beside her. "No names, no past, no future. Just us, right now."

Ivy crashed her lips against the woman’s and ran her hand up the woman’s thigh and snaked it across til she felt the cotton fabric. Already a little damp, Ivy noticed with a slight smile.

She reached across and slipped her hand down the woman’s panties and ran her fingers through her wetness in exploration.

Ivy heard and felt, rather than saw, the woman’s breath hitch and her body tighten in response, and Ivy responded back by pressing down on her clit with a little more pressure.

“Right there, just like that,” the woman moaned between the kiss as she gripped Ivy’s waist hard.

Ivy broke their contact then bit down on the woman’s lower lip, grazing her teeth along it. “You like that?”