Chapter 3- The night with the stranger

ALEXANDER

My bath is long. Necessary.

The hot water washes away some of the tension from the day. From the week. From my entire life. I let my head fall back against the edge of the tub and close my eyes.

What am I doing?

I don't bring strangers to my home. I don't bring anyone to my home. My penthouse is my sanctuary. My fortress. The one place where I don't have to perform. Where I don't have to be Alexander Morreti, heir to a fortune.

But tonight, I brought a woman home. A woman I don't even know. A woman who walked up to me in a bar and asked me to have sex with her.

She's broken. I recognized it the moment I looked at her. The same emptiness I see in the mirror every morning. She's running from something. Trying to erase something.

Just like me.

I step out of the bath. Wrap a towel around my waist. Pull on my shirt and shorts. My hair is still damp, falling across my forehead.

My phone is on the counter. Already on speaker. Dean's voice fills the bathroom.

"So anyway, I was thinking of coming by tonight. I need to run something by you."

I pick up the phone. "It's late. You're too old to show up at people's houses uninvited."

He laughs. "I don't need an invitation to visit you. I'm your best friend."

"Well, you're not welcome tonight. I'm busy."

I walk out of the bathroom and down the hallway toward the guest room. My feet are silent on the marble floor.

"Busy? What could you possibly be busy doing at night? Staring at spreadsheets? Reading your books?"

"None of your business."

"Wait." Dean's voice sharpens. "Do you have a woman over?"

"Shut up."

"Wow. Who would have thought? Who is she?"

"The persistent fuck," I mutter under my breath. "None of your fucking business."

"You know what I think? I think—"

I end the call. Drop the phone in my pocket.

The guest room door is in front of me. I open it without knocking. It's my house after all.

The room is empty. The bed is still made. But the bathroom door is open. Light spills out. I can hear water running. She's having a bath.

I sink into the armchair by the window. Cross one leg over the other. Wait.

My phone buzzes. A text.

It's Dean. The persistent fuck. He's sent me a voice note. I press play. His voice crackles through the speaker.

"I was going to say, maybe you finally found someone who doesn't care about your money. Or maybe she's just another gold digger. Either way, you're going to mess it up. You always do. Remember what happened with—"

I delete the message. Fuck him.

My phone buzzes again. Another text. Dean again. This time it's written.

"Or maybe she's just desperate enough to let you do all those dark, filthy things you never let anyone see. Just like I know you want to."

My jaw tightens. I type back.

"Fuck off."

I throw the phone on the table next to the chair. Lean back. Run a hand through my damp hair.

I need to check my emails. Something to pass the time.

I reach for my phone again. My thumb hovers over the screen.

Then I lift my head.

She's standing there.

Walking out of the bathroom in just a towel. Her brown hair is wet, dripping down her bare shoulders. Her skin is flushed from the heat. Her glasses are back on her face. She's humming something under her breath, a tune I don't recognize.

She hasn't noticed me yet.

She's beautiful. I knew she was beautiful. But this—this is different. Vulnerable. Unaware. Her fingers are running through her wet hair, combing out the tangles.

She looks up. Sees me.

She startles. Her hand flies to her chest, clutching the towel tighter like it's a barrier. A shield.

"Jesus Christ!"

A useless endeavor given why she's in my house.

"You took your sweet time in the bath," I say.

She stares at me. Her eyes are wide. Her cheeks flush.

"Well," she says, her voice shaky, "I didn't want to smell like whiskey and regret before the regret after. It's a poor combination."

I look at her. Intrigued.

She's clever. Even when she's caught off guard. Even when she's standing in front of a stranger in a towel.

"What are you trying to erase?" I ask. "What memory is so bad that you need a stranger to fuck it out of you?"

She swallows. Her fingers tighten on the towel.

"Two years' worth of memories," she says quietly.

I study her. Ex-lover. Probably a cheating ex-lover. The kind of betrayal that leaves you empty.

I stand up.

She steps back. One inch. That's all.

I almost laugh. She's intimidated by my height. Good. She should be.

I drop my phone onto the chair and walk toward her. She steps back again. Toward the bed. Her knees hit the edge. She falls back, sitting on the mattress.

I reach her. Brace both hands on either side of her. Lean in close. I can smell her. The bathing oil. Something floral and warm. Underneath it, her scent. Something uniquely hers.

She looks at me. Unflinching. The fear suddenly disappears. Replaced by something else. Something I don't want to name.

"Two years' worth of memories," I repeat.

She nods.

I don't waste time.

I kiss her.

Hard. Unforgiving. My hand finds the edge of her towel and pulls it away. It falls to the floor.

Her arms wrap around my neck. Her fingers tangle in my damp hair. I grab her thighs, forcing her back onto the bed.

— — —

MIA

My hand comes to rest on his shoulder as he grabs my thighs, forcing me to fall back onto the bed.

The kiss is demanding. Unlike any kiss Justin ever gave me. Justin kissed like he was asking for permission. This man kisses like he's taking what he wants. His hand traces up my thigh, and I feel myself getting wet. A gasp escapes my lips at his touch.

He pulls back just enough to look at me. His ice blue eyes darken. He stands up and pulls his shirt over his head.

My breath catches.

His body is lean muscle. No bulk. Just sinew and definition. Every line of him is carved like marble. His shoulders are broad. His chest is smooth. A trail of dark hair leads down his stomach, disappearing into his shorts. He's not a gym rat. He's something else. Something dangerous. Something that makes my mouth water.

He pulls out a condom from his shorts. Then he pushes his shorts down. I can see his erection straining against his boxers. Thick. Long. I bite my lip.

"Enjoying the view?" he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Shut up."

He pulls his boxers down. His dick springs free.

It's hard. Veiny. A little bead of precum glistens on the cap.

Fuck.

He grabs the condom, tears the packet with his teeth, and rolls it on. Smooth. Efficient. Like he's done this a thousand times.

He's naked. He's probably the sexiest man I've ever seen.

"Turn around," he says. "On all fours."

I didn't expect that. But I don't argue. I turn over, pushing myself up on my hands and knees. My heart is pounding. My skin is hot.

"Good girl," he says behind me. "Now listen. I'll help you erase the memory. But I need to make sure you can handle it."

His hand touches my lower back. Traces down my spine. I shiver.

"Tell me," he says, his voice low, "do you have a safe word?"

I swallow. "Honeycomb."

"Honeycomb it is."

I feel him behind me. The head of his dick presses against the entrance of my pussy. He's huge. I can already feel how much he's going to stretch me.

He pushes in.

I gasp. Grip the bedsheets. My eyes squeeze shut. He's so much bigger than Justin. So much thicker. I feel every inch of him as he slides inside me.

"Fu...ck," I breathe.

He pauses. Leans forward. His lips brush my ear.

"Don't swear yet," he says. "I haven't even moved."

I take a shaky breath. He moves.

One of his hands grips my waist. The other forces my back to arch. My stomach rests flat on the mattress. My ass is in the air. He's in control. He's in complete control.

He moves in and out. Picks up a rhythm that has nothing to do with normal. It's deep. Hard. Relentless.

"Ah... fuck," I moan.

He laughs. Low. Dark. "You asked for this. You have to take it."

He slams his hips forward. A moan tears out of me. Loud. Uncontrollable.

"Fuck... not that... spot."

He pauses. "Want to use the safe word?"

"No," I gasp. "No safe word... yet."

He continues slamming into me. His hand holds me down. His dick rearranges my insides. Every thrust hits that spot. The one that makes me see stars.

"I'm going to... fuck..." I gasp. "I'm cumming..."

He increases his pace. His breathing is ragged. His grip on my waist tightens.

"Cum on my dick, baby girl," he groans.

My body tenses. Every muscle locks. Then I shatter. Waves of pleasure crash through me. I go limp. My arms give out. My face presses into the mattress.

He moves a few more times. Then he groans. His hips still. He pulls out.

The condom comes off. He's still hard. I collapse onto my side, breathing hard. My body is trembling.

He tilts his head. A hint of a smirk plays on his lips. He strokes his dick slowly. Watching me.

"Done?" he asks.

I look at him. I'm tired. But I want to keep going. I want to feel more. I want to forget everything.

"No," I say.

He nods. "Then lie on your back. Spread your legs for me.”