It had only been a few days since the attempt on my life, yet I couldn't shake the suffocating feeling of vulnerability. It felt like I was digging myself into a bigger mess than I ever prepared for.
My apartment wasn't safe, so the next best thing was a motel—one that was slowly swallowing my savings whole. I couldn't quit my job, and I wouldn't get paid while dealing with all this. I needed answers, needed to close this chapter and return to my boring, predictable life.
I thought alcohol would help numb things, but it only made everything worse—more emotional, more raw.
"It seems we're destined to keep crossing paths, girl."
I recognized that accented tone instantly. Turning, I found him leaning against the bar with that cocky grin plastered on his face. He wore cargo pants and a matching jacket—something military-like, rugged. He looked bored, as always.
"What do you want?" I asked, my voice flat and irritated.
"Just saw you sitting here alone and decided to say hi," he shrugged.
I rolled my eyes. "Sure."
He checked his wristwatch, scanned the crowd, then looked back at me.
"Do you want to get out of here?" he asked, leaning closer so I could hear him.
Normally I would have said no. But nothing about my life was normal anymore.
"Okay," I said, paying for my drink and following him outside.
The air bit into my skin, raising goosebumps in its wake. I trailed behind him as he took long, confident strides across the street toward a modest hotel—not a five-star place, but definitely on the pricier side. We rode the elevator to the top floor. It dinged, and he stepped out, heading to the second door on the left.
I walked in after him and closed the door.
"You want a drink?" he asked, already behind the mini bar.
"No." I scanned the room: a queen-sized bed, a couch, two closed doors—probably the bathroom and closet—a TV, and glass panel doors leading to the balcony.
He poured himself a drink and sat on the couch.
"Come here," he said—deep, commanding, laced with something darker.
My feet moved before I realized it. I sat close, and he pulled me into his side, one hand gripping my forearm while the other swirled the brown liquid in his glass.
"Do you want this to stop? Because if we start… I can't promise myself I'll stop."
I didn't normally do this. I didn't go out of my way to sleep with a man I'd met only three times—one of which was when I was almost killed. I usually waited weeks, months, until there was something official.
But this… this was new.
"Yes," I whispered. "I want you."
He downed his entire drink, set the glass aside, and then he pounced.
His mouth descended on my neck, kissing and biting, marking me. I could already tell I'd have a hickey in the morning.
He pulled off my shirt, his touch leaving a warm, sensual trail across my skin. My bra followed, and his hands explored my torso before moving up to cup my breasts. He kneaded them slowly, firmly, like he was savoring every second. A gasp tore out of me.
He dragged me fully into his lap, sucking one nipple into his mouth. He devoured it—hungry, focused, relentless. My fingers tangled in his hair, guiding him as he switched sides, giving equal attention to both soft mounds before releasing my nipple with a soft, wet pop.
"Hang on," he murmured, lifting me in his arms and carrying me to the bed.
He laid me down gently, then continued marking my skin with his mouth—kisses, teeth, heat—descending slowly until he reached my sex.
"Lie down for me, lovie," he said, voice dipped in lust and something almost reverent.
I obeyed, lying flat, exposed in a way that felt both terrifying and exhilarating. He kissed down my thighs, inching toward my center.
Concentration was impossible.
His mouth brushed so close I stopped breathing. Then his lips pressed to my folds—soft, purposeful—before his tongue followed.
The moment he slid between my folds, my back arched violently. The sudden pleasure punched through me, sharp and consuming.
He devoured me like a starved man. His tongue worked me over while his thumb circled my clitoris with ruthless precision. All I could do was lie there and take it—my mind blank, body trembling, pleasure swallowing every coherent thought.
"God, you taste so f-cking good," he groaned into me, the vibration shooting through my core.
I was already close—too close.
That familiar tightening coiled low in my belly, pulling me closer to the edge. My fingers gripped the sheets as a wave rolled through me, violent and overwhelming. My entire body shattered around the release. He didn't stop—didn't even slow—drinking in every last bit of me.
With one final open-mouthed kiss against my swollen heat, he stood and stretched, joints cracking.
He walked to the bedside drawer, pulled something out, then began stripping.
First, his Harrington jacket.
Then his compression shirt.
His body was everything I imagined and worse—cut, sculpted, tattooed. My mouth went dry.
His pecs, his abs, the tattoos winding around his arms—my eyes traveled shamelessly, stopping at his v-line.
A cough snapped my attention upward.
He wore a mischievous smirk, eyes sparkling with the same wicked intent.
"Do you like what you see?" he asked, voice playful.
I immediately looked away, cheeks burning. He laughed—a deep, satisfied sound—as he stripped off the rest.
Something on my peripheral vision nearly made me choke.
He was… big. Bigger than I expected. Bigger than I thought I could handle.
My stomach flipped.
The bed dipped with his weight. I heard a packet tear—a condom, thank God.
His arms boxed me in, caging me. His hand cupped my jaw, turning my face toward his. His honey-brown eyes locked onto mine—warm, intense, harboring something hidden beneath the surface.
The air crackled.
"Is this your first time?" he asked.
I froze. Silence hung between us before he asked again.
I shook my head, but he nudged me until I met his gaze again.
"Use your words, love."
"No… I'm not," I whispered. "Can we continue?"
He chuckled, chest rumbling against mine. I was painfully aware of our closeness.
"Eager, aren't we?" he breathed. His fingers tilted my chin up again.
"Eyes on me, love. Eyes on me as I take you."
That command nearly melted me.
I felt the broad head of him press against my entrance. He eased in slowly—so slowly I could barely breathe.
A moan escaped me.
He wasn't even halfway in, and I already felt full.
"You're gonna have to bear with me, love. This is gonna be a tight fit," he grunted.
He continued inching deeper, stretching me open, filling me completely. When he bottomed out, a helpless moan pulled from my throat. He brushed my hair back, voice soft as he asked if he could move.
I nodded weakly.
Words would have failed me.
He started slow—deep, sensual thrusts that hit the right spot every single time. Then he shifted to deeper, harder strokes that had me seeing stars. My breath stuttered, my body trembling as he worked me open, relentless and steady.
Skin against skin.
His grunts.
My moans.
Heat, friction, sound.
The knot formed again, fast and tight. I came twice before he finally released into the condom with a deep groan, collapsing onto his forearms above me. We were both breathless, trying to steady ourselves.
My bones felt like jelly. I could barely move. My eyes drifted shut—
A gentle tap on my cheek pulled me back.
He was opening another wrapper, wearing that same cocky grin.
"We're not done yet, love."
And so began the longest night of my life.