People said Claire was untouchable. Forty-five, a corporate lawyer with the kind of confidence that made men stammer, she carried herself like nothing could shake her. She had the sharp tongue, the tailored suits, the reputation of being impossible to seduce. Men whispered about her but rarely tried. She intimidated them.
But intimidation isn’t immunity. Even steel melts when the fire is hot enough.
Her fire came in the form of Jason—thirty, a contractor hired to renovate her townhouse. He was younger, rough around the edges, his hands scarred and strong from years of work. Claire told herself he was just a worker. But the first time he bent to measure a cabinet and his shirt rode up to reveal the lines of his stomach, she looked too long. He noticed.
It began with stolen glances, then small accidents. His arm brushing hers when he passed behind her. The way she leaned too close while pointing at blueprints. Their silences grew heavier than their conversations.
One late afternoon, after hours of pretending not to stare, Jason set his tools down and said, “You ever let yourself relax?”
She scoffed, crossing her arms. “I don’t break, Jason.”
He stepped closer, slow and deliberate. The sound of his boots on her hardwood echoed in the quiet house. When he stopped just inches away, his eyes locked on hers, she didn’t move.
Her breath hitched when his fingers grazed the back of her hand. Not firm—just the lightest touch, enough to send heat rushing under her skin. She didn’t pull away. She couldn’t.
Jason leaned in, his voice low. “Everyone’s got a weak point. Even you.”
Her lips parted, ready to argue, but his hand slid lower—her wrist, her forearm—drawing circles on her skin like he was testing her pulse. The tension tightened around her chest. She hated that he was right. She hated more that she wanted him to find it.
The first kiss didn’t happen fast. His mouth hovered close, letting her feel his breath before daring to close the distance. It was a slow burn, his lips grazing hers once, retreating, then pressing harder. Her knees softened.
Claire thought her weakness had always been her heart, her tendency to want too much from men who gave too little. But when Jason’s palm pressed against her hip, sliding down to the curve beneath, she realized the truth was far lower. Her body betrayed her, arching, asking, needing.
She grabbed his shirt like she was angry, pulling him harder against her. The kiss deepened, messy, desperate. His hands explored with confidence she didn’t expect from a man younger than her. When his fingers traced the inside of her thigh, slow as if savoring her surrender, she gasped into his mouth.
“Not here,” she whispered, half-command, half-plea.
“Here,” he answered, pushing her gently back against the wall. His roughness met her control, and for once she let go. Buttons slipped free, her blouse opening enough to bare lace. His mouth traced down her neck, each kiss slower than the last, teasing, waiting for her to beg without words.
And she did—her nails digging into his shoulders, her thighs parting instinctively, betraying her power. She wasn’t the iron-willed attorney now. She was a woman undone by a man who had found her weakness, lower than her heart, exactly where she feared he’d discover it.
When it was over, her hair was wild, lipstick smeared, blouse ruined. Jason smirked, chest heaving. “Told you.”
She laughed, breathless, shaking her head. “Cocky bastard.”
But later, as she lay alone in her bed, every nerve still alive with his touch, she admitted the forbidden truth to herself: he hadn’t just found her weakness. He had claimed it.
And she knew she’d let him again.