Cherry Contact

Chapter 1

"Have you finished filing the paperwork, Amara?" The deep, velvety voice cuts through the air behind her. It is smooth, almost dark, with that inflection that always sends a shiver down her spine. Finally, he has stopped calling her Ms. Collins. Every time he used that title, it made her feel like some prim, uptight office worker—a title that couldn't be further from how she had ever felt, especially not around him. She hasn't wanted him to keep using it. The moment she hears his voice, she knows she's in trouble. She turns around slowly, letting her eyes settle on the man she knows all too well. Standing before her is Flynn Marshall, tall and imposing, his silhouette framed by the dim office light. His tailored gray suit clings to his form perfectly, hinting at the well-sculpted physique beneath, the kind of body that draws both admiration and envy. Every inch of him commands attention—from his broad shoulders to the sharp lines of his jaw, covered in a finely trimmed beard. His hair, styled with just enough care to look effortlessly polished, is likely held in place by mousse. Amara bites back a smile, knowing exactly how he'll react if she shows even a flicker of amusement. Instead, she lets the corners of her mouth curl up just slightly. "Of course, it's on the desk, Mr. Marshall," she teases, drawing out his title with mock formality. The playful tone in her voice is unmistakable.
His reaction is immediate. His eyes darken, but a faint smile tugs at his lips. He knows exactly what she's doing, and he enjoys it. "Oh, are we having an attitude today?" His voice drops lower, a teasing threat lacing his words. "Too bad, I was hoping for a smile. What a disappointment." Flynn steps closer, his large frame looming over her. The scent of his cologne—rich, woodsy, with a hint of spice—fills the air between them, creating a tension so thick it feels almost tangible. Each step he takes pulls her deeper into the moment, the unspoken electricity between them crackling with anticipation. When he leans down, his face just inches from hers, the intensity in his gaze makes her entire body react. Her breath catches, muscles tensing as if on instinct. There it is—the look that always gets to her. The thrill she feels whenever Flynn gets serious, the thrill that has her heart racing and her mind whirling with expectation. There's something about him that's so different from the others, something more primal, more magnetic. It's not just his looks or his charm, though both are undeniable. No, it's something deeper, something raw. "Now," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through her, "what shall I do about that? Maybe a kiss will make things right." His words barely leave his mouth before he closes the gap, capturing her lips in a sudden, heated kiss.
Amara's thoughts scatter, lost in the fire that ignites between them. She exhales softly, leaning into him, feeling the warmth of his body pressing against hers. The kiss is like a jolt of electricity, sending sparks through her veins, setting every nerve on fire. His lips move against hers with an urgency that matches the racing beat of her heart, and it feels like the world is fading away, leaving only the two of them in this moment. Every kiss with him feels like the first, full of intensity and passion, a sensation that never dulls, no matter how many times they come together like this. The way they move together is instinctual, like two pieces of a puzzle snapping into place. There's an undeniable chemistry between them, something that goes beyond the physical. Their very beings seem to sync, melting into each other effortlessly, their desires perfectly aligned. She hasn't even realized how deep into the haze she's fallen until her hands, almost acting on their own, start sliding down his chest, undoing the buttons of his shirt with hurried, feverish hands. It's only when the cool air hits her skin that she notices they've already begun undressing each other, clothes discarded haphazardly across the floor in their frantic need to get closer. The heat between them is overwhelming, an inferno consuming every thought and restraint. Hellfire could rain down upon them, and they wouldn't notice. They're too lost in each other, too wrapped up in the moment. The room around them—the office with its papers and files, the work they were supposed to be doing—has all but disappeared. All that exists now is the sensation of being consumed by one another as if nothing else matters.