Her kiss was messy, desperate, tasting of vodka and heartbreak. He should have stopped. He didn't.
Instead, he pressed her gently against the wall, his lips moving against hers with a hunger that startled even him. She melted into him, fingers curling into his damp shirt, clinging like he was the only solid thing in her spinning world.
For hours, the storm of pain and desire blurred into one unforgettable night. Words weren't needed—their bodies spoke enough. She wanted to forget, he wanted to feel, and together they drowned in each other.
When dawn crept through the curtains, Anya's eyes fluttered open. Her head throbbed, her throat dry. Reality crashed in.
What had she done?
The man lay beside her, breathing evenly, his face softened in sleep. And God, he was handsome—too handsome.
Her heart pounded as panic seized her. Quietly, she slipped out of bed, gathered her scattered clothes, and fled the room without looking back.
Moments later, he stirred, reaching out instinctively to the space beside him. Empty. His eyes snapped open.
She was gone.
"Who was she?" he muttered, already knowing he wouldn't rest until he found her.