Chapter 4- A Night I Don't Want to Forget

ALEXANDER

I look at her sprawled out on my bed.

Her legs are spread. Her face is flushed. Her chest is heaving. She's a mess. Beautiful and broken and desperate.

I feel sorry for her. I wonder what pushed her to such a desperate request. What kind of pain makes a woman walk up to a stranger and ask to be fucked?

Desperate or not, it doesn't matter. She wants to erase a memory. I'll simply install a new one.

This.

I tilt my head, studying her. She's not done. She did as she was told. Lying on her back. Legs spread. Waiting.

Good girl.

I stroke my dick as I make my way between her parted legs. She's still shaking from cumming. But I'm not going to let her breathe. Not going to let her think. For this night to be unforgettable, I have to fuck the memory out of her.

I tear another packet of condom with my teeth. Roll it on. It's a tight fit. My size makes it hard, the friction making me hiss. She's still panting, watching me through half-lidded eyes.

I lean over her. My hand traces a thin line from her cheek, over her breast. I roll her nipple between my fingers. She gasps.

Her lips are so beautiful. Full. Pink. I wish she could say my name as I fuck her. Or better yet, those lips wrapped around my dick. But that's not on the table. We're strangers. This is transactional.

My hand continues down. Over her stomach. Her navel. Down to her pussy. She jerks when I touch her.

I bring my lips to her ear. My voice is low. Rough.

"You're going to forget," I say. My thumb finds her clit. I stroke it slowly. She jerks. Arches off the bed.

"I want to," she breathes.

My other hand finds her hip. Pulls her closer. I align my dick. She tenses for a second. I stroke her clit again. She moans.

Good. She's responsive. Very responsive.

I push my dick in slowly. A moan tears out of her. She's so tight. So warm. I have to hold myself back from cumming instantly.

I begin to move. My thumb continues its work on her clit. Slow circles. Deep thrusts.

Fuck.

"Ah... don't... go... too fast," she gasps.

I increase my pace. My thumb moves faster.

"I... I can't..."

My other hand moves from her hip to cup her breast. I roll her nipple between my fingers.

"Can't what?" I ask. "Want to use the safe word?"

She shakes her head. "She says she can't..." Her eyes roll back. Then it happens.

She squirts.

The liquid covers my stomach. Drips down onto my dick.

Fuck.

I move faster. Harder. The headboard slams into the wall. My other hand moves to her throat. I lift one of her legs over my shoulder. Her moans get louder.

I'm moving fast and hard. My hand on her throat tightens. Depriving her of air. She doesn't use the safe word.

Wow. She's resilient.

I don't let up. Her pussy clenches around my dick. Her eyes roll into the back of her head. She gets wetter with her own cum. My hand tightens on her throat. My other hand strokes her clit. I'm asphyxiating her.

I slam my hips. Going deeper. She tries to moan but she can't. She uses her mouth to suck in air instead. Her body starts to go a little slack.

I release her throat.

By now, she should be feeling the pleasure of getting air into her lungs. She didn't use the safe word.

I feel my own balls tighten.

Fuck. I'm about to cum.

I stroke her clit again. Her body tenses at my touch. I slam into her over and over. Punishing rhythm.

"I'm going to... cum... fu...ck," she gasps.

Her body convulses. I feel her climax around me. It pushes me over the edge. I cum. Hard. Deep.

I pull out of her. I'm not done. But she looks spent. Her body is limp. Her eyes are closed. Her chest is heaving.

I roll over onto my back. Let her breathe. Let her recover.

We lie there in silence. Both of us panting. The room smells like sex. Like sweat. Like her.

I stare at the ceiling. My mind is blank. For the first time in a long time, I'm not thinking about my father. About the company. About the weight of my name.

I'm just here.

With her.

Whoever she is.

— — —

MIA

I open my eyes.

It's dawn. Pale light filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I don't know when I slept off. One minute we were lying there, panting, and the next... nothing.

I try to get up. My body screams in protest. Every muscle aches. Every joint feels loose. I'm sore in places I didn't know could be sore. Last night comes back in fragments. His hands. His mouth. The way he took me apart and put me back together.

I turn to the other side of the bed.

It's empty. Cold. Like he left the minute I fell asleep.

I don't know why that stings. He's a stranger. I asked him to fuck me. That's all this was. That's all it was supposed to be.

I sit up slowly. Wince. The sheets fall away from my naked body. I grab them, wrapping them around myself as I stand. Every step is a reminder of the size of the dick that sure as hell resized me.

I make my way to the bathroom. The floor is cold against my bare feet. I catch my reflection in the mirror. My hair is a disaster. My lips are swollen. There's a mark on my neck. A bruise. From his mouth.

I shower quickly. The hot water soothes some of the soreness. I use the expensive shampoo and body wash. They smell like him. That dark, woody scent.

When I come out, I put on my clothes from the day before. The bar uniform. Still smells like whiskey. I find my glasses on the nightstand and put them on.

There's no sign of the man from last night. Just the elderly housekeeper, who appears silently in the hallway.

"This way," she says softly.

She leads me to the elevator. Opens the door for me. I step inside.

"Thank you," I manage.

She nods. The doors close.

I pull out my phone. It's 9:47 AM. My screen is flooded with notifications.

3 missed calls from Charlotte.

2 missed calls from Gram.

23 missed calls from Justin.

4 voice mails.

I scoff. Twenty-three calls. Asshole. He didn't care enough not to cheat. But now he wants to talk.

I block his number. My thumb presses the button with satisfaction. Done. Gone. He doesn't exist anymore.

Now I just need to move out of his apartment. The thought makes my stomach drop. Where am I going to go? I can't afford my own place. Not with the bills. Not with Gram's medical costs.

I sigh. I'll stay at Charlotte's for a while. Just until I figure something out.

The elevator opens into the parking garage. I walk through it, past the expensive cars. A Ferrari. A Lamborghini. The Mercedes-Maybach from last night.

I step outside into the cold New York air. Fifth Avenue. The buildings tower above me. I flag down a taxi. A yellow cab pulls up.

"Westchester County," I tell the driver. "The Oakwood Elderly Home."

He nods and pulls away from the curb.

I dial Charlotte.

She picks up on the first ring.

"Mia! Oh my God, I thought you were dead! I thought the man was a serial killer and you were in a ditch somewhere! Why didn't you answer your phone?"

I laugh. It feels good. "I'm fine. I'm heading to see Gram."

"Okay, okay. But how was it? Tell me everything. Was he good? Was he bad? Was he—"

I glance at the driver. He's watching me in the rearview mirror. Probably thinks I'm some kind of whore.

"Charlotte, I'm in a cab. I'll tell you later. I promise."

"Fine. But you owe me details. Every single one."

"I'll see you later."

"Love you, babe."

"Love you too."

I end the call. The cab drives through the city, past Central Park, past the Upper East Side, onto the highway. I watch the buildings shrink. The sky opens up.

After a while, we reach Oakwood. It's a sprawling complex with manicured lawns and brick buildings. I pay the driver and get out.

The cold air hits me again. I walk inside. The lobby is warm. Smells like fresh flowers and floor polish.

I'm greeted by familiar faces.

"Angel!" Mr. Henderson calls from his wheelchair. He's always called me that. Since I was twelve. His granddaughter's name was Angel. She died years ago. He doesn't remember she's gone. "Angel, you came to see me!"

"Hi, Mr. Henderson," I say, patting his shoulder. "I'm here to see my grandmother today."

"Oh, of course. Of course. You're a good girl, Angel. A good girl."

I move past him. Past the bingo tables. Old Mr. Kowalski is winning again. He always wins. Mrs. Petrov is accusing him of cheating. She always does.

"Mia!" Mrs. Petrov waves. "Come sit. I need luck."

"Next time, Mrs. Petrov. I promise."

I make my way to Gram's room. The door is slightly ajar. I push it open.

She's in her bed. Reading a book. Her gray hair is pulled back. Her glasses are perched on her nose. She looks up when I enter.

"Mia! Baby girl!"

I cross the room and wrap her in a hug. She smells like lavender and old books. She holds me tight.

"I called you," she says, pulling back. "You didn't answer. I was worried."

I sit on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry, Gram. I was... I was busy. I didn't have my phone with me."

"How am I supposed to tell her I passed out after a stranger fucked reason out of me?"

I change the subject quickly. The guilt is already creeping in.

"Gram, I got in. Kingston Business School. I got in."

Her face transforms. A smile so bright it could light up the room. Tears glisten in her eyes.

"Oh, Mia. Baby. I knew you would. I always knew." She grabs my hand. Squeezes. "Your parents would be so proud. So incredibly proud."

I swallow the lump in my throat. "Thank you, Gram."

She tilts her head. "Did you tell Justin? He must be so happy for you."

My chest aches. The pain is sharp. Familiar.

"I left him, Gram."

She freezes. "What? Why? What happened?"

I take a breath. Let it out.

"I caught him cheating. I went home to tell him about Kingston. And I walked in on him. In our bed. With some blonde girl. He was fucking her, Gram. In our bed."

Her face goes red. Her eyes flash.

"Son of a bitch," she mutters. "If I were stronger, I would have beat his ass. I would have taken a broom and—"

"Gram."

"—I would have shown him exactly what happens to men who—"

"Gram!"

She stops. Looks at me. Her anger softens into concern.

"Where are you going to live? You can't stay with him."

I squeeze her hand. "I'll stay with Charlotte for a while. Just until I figure something out. Don't worry, Gram. I'll be fine."

She searches my eyes. Finds something there. She nods slowly.

"You're strong, Mia. Stronger than you know. You always have been."

The nurse knocks on the door. Pokes her head in.

"Gloria? Time for your check-up."

I stand up. Kiss her forehead.

"I'll see you later, Gram. I promise."

"Take care of yourself, baby."

"I will."

I walk out. The hallway is quiet. My footsteps echo.

I don't cry. I never cry.

But I feel something. Something I haven't felt in a long time.

Hope.