Chapter 1: Midnight Reunion
The sultry Antalya night hung heavy with the scent of jasmine and the distant crash of waves against the shore. The wedding of their mutual friends had been a lavish affair, filled with laughter, music, and far too much raki. Yagmur, a striking woman with dark, cascading hair and eyes that could pierce through any façade, stood on the balcony of her hotel room at the luxurious seaside resort. Her crimson dress clung to her curves, a silent reminder of the power she wielded with every step. She sipped a glass of wine, her mind drifting to the past—specifically to Kenan, her ex-husband, whose presence at the wedding had been a storm she couldn’t ignore.
Inside, the room was dimly lit, the air thick with anticipation. She heard a commotion at the door—muffled voices and a familiar, drunken laugh. Her heart skipped, though she’d never admit it. The door swung open, and there stood Arda and Ismail, two of Kenan’s oldest friends, propping up a very intoxicated Kenan between them. His shirt was half-untucked, his tie long gone, and his dark eyes glazed over with the haze of too much alcohol.
“Seriously, Yagmur, we didn’t know where else to take him,” Arda said, scratching the back of his neck. “He’s a mess, and his room key’s missing. Can you… deal with him?”
Yagmur crossed her arms, her gaze flicking from Arda to Kenan, who was now grinning at her like a fool. “Deal with him? I’m not his babysitter anymore. You two are the ones who let him drown in raki.”
Ismail chuckled, shrugging. “Come on, Yag, for old times’ sake. He’s harmless like this. Just let him crash on the couch.”
She sighed, her lips curling into a smirk. “Fine. But if he pukes on my floor, you’re both cleaning it up.”
They dumped Kenan onto the plush couch, muttered their thanks, and scurried off, leaving Yagmur alone with the man who once knew every inch of her body. She turned to him, hands on her hips. “You’re a disaster, Kenan. How do you even function?”
Kenan’s head lolled back, his grin widening as he slurred, “Yagmur, my storm… you look like a damn goddess tonight. Always did. Why’d we ever stop this?” He gestured vaguely between them, his voice dripping with nostalgia and something dangerously close to desire.
She rolled her eyes, but a heat crept up her neck. “Because you’re an idiot, and I’m not here to stroke your ego—or anything else. Sleep it off.”
But Kenan wasn’t listening. He stumbled to his feet, swaying as he closed the distance between them. His hand reached out, brushing against her arm, and damn it, the touch sent a jolt through her. “Come on, Yag,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “One night. For old times. I can still feel you, you know. Every damn day.”
Yagmur’s breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away. Her eyes narrowed, sharp as a blade. “You’re drunk, Kenan. You don’t even know what you’re saying.”
“I know I want you,” he shot back, his gaze suddenly clearer, burning with intent. “I know you’re standing there, all fire and fight, and it’s making me hard just looking at you.”
Her lips parted, a mix of shock and undeniable arousal flickering across her face. She stepped closer, her voice a dangerous whisper. “You think you can just stumble in here and have me? I’m not some prize, Kenan. If I let you touch me, it’s because I want it. Not because you begged.”
His grin turned feral, and before she could say another word, his hands were on her waist, pulling her against him. She didn’t resist—instead, her fingers curled into his shirt, her nails digging into his chest. Their lips crashed together, a collision of pent-up frustration and raw, unfiltered need. The taste of raki on his tongue mingled with the wine on hers, and she felt herself melting into the heat of him, her body betraying every ounce of restraint she’d built over the years.
They stumbled backward, her back hitting the wall as his hands roamed, sliding down to grip her ass with a hunger that made her gasp. “Fuck, Yagmur,” he growled against her neck, his breath hot and ragged. “You’re still so damn wet for me, aren’t you?”
She smirked, her hand sliding down to palm him through his pants, feeling him already straining against the fabric. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just curious if you’ve still got it, or if the raki’s all you’ve got left.”
His laugh was dark, dangerous, and then he was kissing her again, harder, deeper, as they tore at each other’s clothes, the room filling with the sound of their panting and the promise of what was to come.
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