Chapter 1: Reunion in Manhattan
I hadn’t seen Soran in over a decade, not since our parents tore us apart with their cryptic lies and sudden silences. Back then, we were just kids, running wild between sandy beaches and humid nights, our hazel eyes glinting with mischief under the sun of the Dominican Republic and Brazil. Now, standing in the sleek, mirrored hallway of a Manhattan high-rise for a joint editorial shoot, I barely recognized the towering figure before me. At 6’7, Soran was a goddamn sculpture of muscle and bronze skin, his curly dark brown hair falling just right over those piercing eyes. The scent of YSL Tuxedo cologne wafted off him, intoxicating and seductive, pulling at something primal in me.
I adjusted the strap of my black lace lingerie set beneath a sheer blouse, paired with a tailored blazer and thigh-high slit skirt—seductive, powerful, untouchable. My own scent, Juliette Has a Gun’s Stairway to Heaven, wrapped around me like a sensual veil, daring anyone to come closer. At 5’7, I knew I didn’t have the height, but my slim frame and sharp confidence made up for it. My small boobs were perked just right under the fabric, and I caught Soran’s gaze lingering before he smirked, stepping forward.
“Well, damn, Novaella,” he drawled, his voice a smooth blend of Brazilian and Filipino accents, rich and teasing. “You grew up fine as hell. Still got that fire in your eyes, or am I just imagining things?”
I arched a brow, crossing my arms, my bronze skin catching the light. “And you grew up cocky, Soran. What, you think a few inches and some muscle make you irresistible? I’ve walked runways that’d eat you alive.”
He chuckled, low and dangerous, stepping closer until the heat of him was undeniable. “Oh, I don’t think, darlin’. I *know*. But tell me, why the cold shoulder? You actin’ like you don’t remember me at all.”
I tilted my chin up, meeting his gaze head-on, my curls brushing my shoulders. “Maybe I don’t. Maybe I chose to forget a past that got ripped away without explanation. Or maybe I just don’t care to play nice with someone who waltzed back in like nothing happened.”
His smirk faltered, something darker flickering in his eyes, but he masked it quick. “Fair enough. But you can’t deny the heat, Nova. It’s still there, simmerin’ under all that ice. Bet I could melt it if you let me.”
I scoffed, but my pulse quickened, a traitor to my resolve. “Keep dreaming, pretty boy. I don’t melt for anyone.”
Our banter was cut short by the click of heels—our parents, all four of them, striding in with that polished, calculating air of modeling moguls. My mother’s eyes gleamed with unspoken plans as she gestured us closer. “Novaella, Soran, you’ll be working together on this shoot. Chemistry is key. Make it… unforgettable.”
Soran shot me a sidelong glance, his lips twitching. “Unforgettable, huh? I can work with that. Can you, princess?”
I rolled my eyes but felt the challenge spark something in me. “Watch me.”
Hours later, after the shoot wrapped, we found ourselves alone in the shared private elevator to our penthouses. The tension was a living thing, thick and pulsing. I leaned against the mirrored wall, watching him watch me. His tailored suit hugged every hard line of his body, and I couldn’t help but imagine what lay beneath.
“You gonna keep starin’, or you gonna say somethin’?” I taunted, my voice dripping with honeyed venom.
He stepped closer, caging me with one arm against the wall, his scent overwhelming. “I’m sayin’ I want to know if that mouth of yours is as sharp in other ways, Nova. ‘Cause I’m fuckin’ hard just thinkin’ about it.”
My breath hitched, but I didn’t back down, my hazel eyes blazing into his. “Careful, Soran. You might not handle what you’re askin’ for. I don’t play soft.”
His free hand brushed my hip, nudging the fabric of my skirt, and I felt the heat of him through the thin lace below. “Good. I don’t want soft. I want you wet, dripping, ridin’ me until we’re both a mess. Bet that tight pussy of yours could take me apart.”
I smirked, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling just hard enough to make him whimper softly. “Oh, I’d wreck you, baby. But you’d have to beg for it first.”
The elevator dinged, doors sliding open, but neither of us moved, the promise of more hanging heavy between us. I could feel my own heat, the ache building, knowing this was just the start of something dangerously explosive.
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