Capturing My Amnesiac CEO Ex-Husband

Sofia

"You shouldn't be here, Sofia." Blake's voice was low and raspy, carrying a hint of warning, but his eyes burned red as if they were on fire, staring at me like he wanted to devour me.

He leaned against the hotel bar stool, his suit jacket open, tie hanging loose, swirling a whiskey glass in his hand, emanating that intoxicating scent of tobacco and leather that made my heart race.

I knew he was drunk—unexpectedly so after just one glass. Leon had texted me twenty minutes earlier: Something's wrong with Blake. He's acting strange after barely finishing his drink.

This reunion dinner was Leon and Lisa's idea. "He needs to remember, Sofia," Lisa had insisted when she called me yesterday. "We were all best friends at Harvard. Seeing all of us together might trigger something." But now, the carefully planned evening had derailed entirely.

"Blake," I whispered his name, my voice trembling like an idiot, my fingers lightly touching his face, tracing the rough stubble on his jaw. "Do you really not remember me?"

I leaned forward, my dress pressing against his leg, close enough to feel the heat of his breath. I knew I was playing with fire, but I couldn't control myself, desperate to see if his eyes might flash with some recognition of our past.

He didn't speak, his gaze like that of a trapped animal, hiding something in the fog. He grabbed my wrist, not roughly, but like he was afraid letting go would make him sink.

The next second, his lips crashed into mine, kissing me with a fierceness that threatened to tear me apart.

Time stopped. His kiss transformed from wild to tender, his tongue exploring mine, igniting a heat that spread through my entire body like gasoline catching fire.

My hands slipped under his shirt, feeling his warm skin, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with my heartbeat. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me hard against him, and through the thin fabric, I could feel his intimidating erection pressing against me, thick and hard, making my core throb with anticipation.

"Fuck, Sofia..." he growled, his lips sliding to my neck, biting with perfect pressure, drawing a gasp from me. We stumbled into the hotel room, and as soon as the door closed, I tore open his shirt, buttons scattering everywhere, exposing his sculpted chest that I desperately wanted to taste.

He pushed my dress up to my waist, tore my stockings to shreds, his fingers sliding into my panties, finding me already wet and swollen. He groaned at the discovery, his fingers circling my entrance before plunging inside, making me gasp.

"Blake..." I gasped, my voice low and pleading, while my body arched toward him. His fingers worked inside me, stretching, curling to find that spot that made stars explode behind my eyelids. His thumb circled my clit, torturously slow then quickly enough to blank out my mind. I reached down and pulled at his belt, desperate to feel him. When I finally freed his cock, I wrapped my fingers around the thick, veined shaft, feeling it pulse hot and heavy in my palm.

He lifted me like I weighed nothing, tossing me onto the bed. My dress bunched around my waist, and he ripped my already torn underwear completely off, tossing the shreds aside.

His mouth traveled hungrily from my collarbone to my breasts, pushing the cups of my bra down without bothering to remove it. His tongue flicked over my nipples, circling the hardened peaks before sucking one into his mouth, teeth grazing just enough to make me cry out.

For a fleeting moment, I thought about Lisa's hopeful face when she arranged tonight's dinner at the bar. "The four of us together again," she'd said. "Like old times." If only she knew how those words had cut through me—there was no "old times" for Blake anymore, just a void where our shared past should be.

His mouth continued its descent, trailing hot kisses down my stomach. He spread my thighs wide, his shoulders wedging between them, and then his tongue was on me, licking a long stripe from my entrance to my clit. I bucked against him, fingers threading through his hair, holding him there as he devoured me like a starving man.

"God, you taste exactly how I..." he mumbled against my wet flesh, then paused, confusion flickering across his face before desire overtook him again. He sucked my clit between his lips, his fingers pumping inside me, curling to hit that perfect spot that made me see stars.

"Blake, please," I begged, my body trembling on the edge. "I need you."

His eyes, dark with lust, locked with mine. "Turn over," he commanded, his voice rough with desire. "On your hands and knees."

My heart stuttered. That position—it had always been his favorite. The way he could go deeper, the way he could grab my hips and control the pace. Had some part of him remembered?

I rolled over, positioning myself as he'd ordered, my ass in the air, face pressed against the sheets. I felt him move behind me, his hands gripping my hips, fingers digging into my flesh hard enough to leave marks. The blunt head of his cock pressed against my entrance, teasing, circling, gathering my wetness.

"Fuck, you're so tight..." he growled, his voice carrying a hint of familiar tenderness as he slowly pushed inside, stretching me inch by excruciating inch until I could barely breathe. My body remembered him even if his mind didn't remember me, yielding to his intrusion, welcoming him home.

When he was fully seated inside me, he paused, his breath coming in harsh pants. One hand slid up my spine to tangle in my hair, pulling just hard enough to arch my back further. "So fucking perfect," he murmured, almost to himself.

Then he began to move, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. The rhythm was punishing, each thrust reaching deeper than the last, his pelvis slapping against my ass with every movement. His fingers dug into my hip with one hand while the other maintained its grip in my hair, controlling my every movement.

"Blake!" I cried out as he hit that spot deep inside me that made my vision blur. "Right there, please don't stop!"

He responded by increasing his pace, his cock driving into me relentlessly. The obscene sounds of our bodies meeting filled the room—the wet slide of him entering me, the slap of skin against skin, the creaking protest of the bed beneath us. One of his hands snaked around to find my clit, rubbing it in tight circles that matched the rhythm of his thrusts.

"Come for me," he demanded, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release. "I want to feel you come around my cock."

My fingers clutched desperately at the sheets, my body tightening around him as pleasure built to an unbearable peak. When it crashed over me, I screamed his name, my inner walls clenching and pulsing around him as wave after wave of ecstasy washed through me.

He continued thrusting through my orgasm, prolonging it, drawing out every last shudder. Then his rhythm faltered, becoming erratic as his own climax approached. With a primal groan, he pushed deep one final time, his cock pulsing inside me as he came, filling me with his warmth.

In that moment, we were like two stars about to burn out, colliding to create blinding light. I could feel his struggle, desire and resistance battling within him, but his body's response couldn't lie. I foolishly thought that this time, he would remember us.

He collapsed beside me, pulling me against his chest, his arms wrapping around me in an embrace that felt achingly familiar. For just a moment, as his breathing slowed and his fingers traced lazy patterns on my skin, I allowed myself to believe that something had broken through—that somewhere in his mind, the wall blocking his memories had begun to crumble.

But in the morning, sunlight shattered everything. He woke up, his eyes no longer tender as they had been the night before, but angry and suspicious.

He sat up, his back to me, cold as a stranger: "What the fuck did you do to me, Sofia?"

He put on his clothes, his back cold as stone. I thought that night was a breakthrough, a reunion, but to him, it was just a trap I had set.