The Reunion

The high school reunion hummed with laughter, clinking glasses, and the faint nostalgia of a decade gone by. I sipped my wine, scanning the room with the practiced eye of a real estate agent used to assessing value. My gaze snagged on him - Conrad Monet. The class geek, the quiet boy who used to blush when I walked past.

Only now, he was not blushing.

Broad-shouldered and confident, he commanded attention in a fitted navy button-down that clung to his arms. A physical trainer, apparently. The way he moved - loose, effortless - sent a slow curl of heat through me. He was surrounded by women, most of them divorced or perpetually single, all of them shamelessly vying for his attention. And why wouldn’t they? The boy who had once hidden behind textbooks now had the kind of body that made you think of tangled sheets and sweat.

I, who had spent high school chasing rugby players with more brawn than brains, felt an unfamiliar twist of frustration. He had not even glanced my way.

When he finally broke away to refill his drink, I pounced.

“Conrad Monet,” I purred, leaning against the bar. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

He turned, his dark eyes flickering over me - assessing, unreadable. “Erica Mitchell. Still selling dreams?”

The tease in his voice sent a shiver down my spine. I smirked. “And you? Still running calculations, or do you just lift weights now?”

He chuckled, low and smooth. “Among other things.”

I stepped closer, letting my fingers brush his forearm. “Care to elaborate?”

For a second, his gaze darkened, but then - infuriatingly - he pulled back. “Better get back to the group.”

What the hell?

I was not used to being dismissed. In my world, I closed deals. I won. And yet, Conrad - once the boy who had stared at me like I was the sun - was acting like I was just another face in the crowd.

I needed some dutch courage...perhaps some mexican pep me ups. Three tequila shots later, my patience was gone.

I watched him sway on the dance floor with Melissa fucking Harper, her hands all over him. No. Mine.

I strode over, grabbed his wrist, and yanked him away before he could protest.

“Erica - what the hell?”

“Shut up,” I hissed, dragging him toward the dimly lit disabled toilet. The second the door locked behind us, I pushed him against the wall and kissed him - hard.

For a breathless moment, he resisted. Then his hands were in my hair, his tongue tangling with mine, his body pinning me in place.

“You ignored me,” I accused between kisses, my fingers working his belt.

“You ignored me for years,” he growled back, his hands sliding under my dress.

The thrill of his touch - rough, demanding - made me gasp. His fingers hooked into my lace panties, tugging them aside as he dragged two fingers through my slick heat.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he muttered against my throat, his breath warm.

I moaned, grinding against his hand as his fingers circled my clit, teasing before plunging deep inside me. My back arched, my nails digging into his shoulders.

Then - a sharp knock.

“Conrad? You in there?” Melissa.

I cursed under my breath, but Conrad’s smirk told me he was not done.

“Follow me,” I whispered, pulling him out the back exit. The cool night air hit my flushed skin as I led him into the dark alleyway behind the venue.

No hesitation. I hiked up my dress, tugged my lace panties down to my knees, and bent over the hood of a parked car.

Conrad’s breath hitched. “Fuck, Erica.”

His belt clinked, his zipper rasped, and then he was pressing against me, hot and thick.

“Still think I’m out of your league?” I taunted, glancing over my shoulder.

His grip on my hips tightened. “Shut up and take it.”

And I did.

He slammed into me with a groan, his cock stretching me deep, filling me in a way that made my thighs shake. The rough brick of the wall scraped my palms as he fucked me hard, each thrust driving me closer to the edge.

“You wanted this,” he gritted out, his hand tangling in my hair, yanking my head back. “You wanted me to chase you.”

I whimpered, my body clenching around him as pleasure coiled tight in my stomach.

“Come for me,” he ordered, his voice rough.

I tried to stay in control as I am the one who barks out the orders here and turned to give stare him down.

At that precise moment, I watched him drop a gob of spit from his mouth to space between us. Just as my mind tried to comprehend that action, he took my breath away when I felt something stubby invade my ass. It was his thumb. That sensation alone pushed me over the edge.

And just like that, I shattered, my orgasm crashing through me as he pounded into me, his own release following with a groan against my neck.

High school was long gone - but this? This was a reunion worth remembering.