Stuck in the Lift with My Ex

He was already in the elevator when I stepped in. Leaning against the back wall like he hadn’t aged a day. Same suit cut sharp around the shoulders. Same watch I used to steal just to feel its weight on my wrist.

His eyes flicked up from his phone. Then paused.

“Of course,” he said. No smile.

I pressed the button for eighteen. Same floor as his. Of course.

“I heard you’re on the Fontaine case,” I said.

“Client meeting. Eleven o’clock.” His voice stayed even, but the air had already shifted. Warmer. Heavier.

“Me too.” I didn’t need to say which side I was on. We’d known that before the doors even shut.

Silence stretched between us.

We hadn’t seen each other since the night I left his keys on the nightstand, shaking with anger and regret. Two years. Enough time to meet new people. Enough time to forget how he tasted. At least, I thought so.

The lift hummed softly as it climbed.

“You still jealous?” he asked, not looking at me.

“You still impossible to trust?”

He laughed once. Low and bitter.

“I heard you’re dating a surgeon.”

“I heard yours works in tech and wears yoga pants to brunch.”

“So we’re both slumming it.”

His eyes locked on mine. Nothing about him had softened. If anything, he looked sharper now.

“You still think about it?” he asked.

I knew what he meant. Not the fights. Not the screaming.
The other part. The nights we couldn’t stop touching. The mornings we couldn’t stop hurting each other.

I didn’t answer.

His gaze dropped. He noticed the slight shift in how I stood.

“You’re wet,” he said.

I swallowed. My voice came out thin. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It used to mean everything.”

The lift jolted. Lights flickered. Then stopped.

We weren’t moving.

He didn’t step closer. He didn’t have to.

I could already feel him. Every nerve remembered.

“I won’t touch you,” he said. “Not unless you beg me.”

I let my hand drift down, just enough to feel the heat there.

He stared. Watching. Waiting.

The lights above flickered again, then dimmed to a low glow. Emergency mode.

My fingers slipped inside my waistband. Just a little. Just to see if I could still come thinking about his mouth. His hands. The way he used to talk when he got like this.

His jaw clenched.

“You always did like being watched.”

“I always liked being yours.”

He stepped forward, slowly.

The speaker crackled overhead. A voice broke through.

“Lift 3, do you copy? We see an alert on your panel.”

I froze.

His mouth brushed my ear. His voice was quiet, careful.

“You’ve got two minutes, tops” he said. “Make it worth it.”