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️️ ㅤ Either way, he figured, the night had already paid for itself. ️️ ㅤ

️️ ㅤ Mario didn’t sleep much. He lay there instead, listening to the city outside and the woman breathing beside him. When the sky started to turn gray he still hadn’t decided whether he wanted her to be gone when he woke up, or still there. ️️ ㅤ

️️ ㅤ They didn’t talk much after that. She traced idle patterns on his stomach with one fingertip while he stared at the ceiling, feeling the pleasant ache settling into his muscles. ️️ ㅤ

️️ ㅤ For a minute afterward neither moved. Just chests rising and falling, skin cooling, the room quiet except for their breathing and the faint city hum through the window. ️️ ㅤ

️️ ㅤ it pulled him over the edge right after. He held her hips down hard as he spilled inside her, breath punched out of him in short, ragged bursts. ️️ ㅤ

️️ ㅤ She came first—sudden, quiet at first, then a broken moan she tried to muffle against his shoulder. The sound, the way her thighs trembled, the slick heat pulsing around him— ️️ ㅤ

️️ ㅤ He matched her, hands roaming on her waist, her breasts, the small of her back when she arched. Every time she clenched around him he felt it in his spine. ️️ ㅤ

️️ ㅤ They found a rhythm quickly, instinctive, no choreography needed. She rode him with slow, deliberate rolls at first, then faster, chasing something specific. ️️ ㅤ

️️ ㅤ He gripped her thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft hollow where leg meets hip, and pulled her closer until there was no space left. When he slid inside her she exhaled a sound that was half sigh, half curse—low and unguarded. ️️ ㅤ

️️ ㅤ Clothes scattered like evidence. She pushed him down onto the mattress, straddled his hips, and for a long minute they just looked—breathing hard, taking inventory. Her nails dragged lightly down his chest, raising faint red lines he knew would fade by morning. ️️ ㅤ

️️ ㅤ She smelled faintly of gin, leather, and something warmer, like skin after sun. When she bit his lower lip he groaned into her mouth and felt her smile against him. They made it to the bedroom eventually. ️️ ㅤ

️️ ㅤ He backed her against the living-room wall first—hands sliding under her shirt, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts while she tugged at his belt with practiced impatience. ️️ ㅤ

️️ ㅤ Inside his apartment the hallway light was burnt out again. Shoes kicked off in the entryway, jackets dropped on the couch arm. No awkward pause, no performance of hesitation. Just mouths finding each other like they’d rehearsed it somewhere else. ️️ ㅤ

️️ ㅤ When the bar began its slow blink toward closing, she looked at him straight on. “Your place close?” He nodded once. “Ten minutes if we walk fast.” They walked faster than ten minutes. ️️ ㅤ

️️ ㅤ They talked the way people do when neither has anything to lose: lightly, no stakes, no résumés. Her name was Lena. She was in the city for three days, something about a conference she had already decided to skip tomorrow’s keynote of. ️️ ㅤ

️️ ㅤ “You always sit in the dark corner like you’re waiting for a noir film to start?” He smiled into his glass. “Only on Tuesdays. Wednesday I’m brooding in better lighting.” She laughed—short, real, surprised at herself. “Fair.” ️️ ㅤ

️️ ㅤ The bartender who knew Mario’s order by muscle memory—set a gin & tonic in front of the stranger without being asked. The woman thanked her with a small nod, took one sip, then turned her head slightly toward him. ️️ ㅤ

️️ ㅤ She scanned the room once, eyes moving fast but calm, then chose the stool two seats down from him. Close enough to speak, far enough to pretend it was accidental. ️️ ㅤ

️️ ㅤ She walked in alone just after eleven. Dark hair pulled into a loose knot, leather jacket open over a black top, jeans that looked lived-in. Not trying to be noticed, and therefore impossible not to notice. ️️ ㅤ