Chapter 1: His Cock Was Already Out When I Walked In

Arc 1: The Wrong Room

I was not supposed to be in this room.

My keycard said 412. The elevator button I pressed said four. So whatever cosmic catastrophe led to this moment, it was not on me.

The door swings open and the first thing I see is his back.

Broad. Bare. Water still trailing down the groove of his spine like it can't decide where to stop. Tattoos scattered across his shoulders, dark ink against white skin, and a towel hanging so low on his hips it's basically a joke. He's on the phone, one hand braced against the window, voice low and private, the kind of low that means he doesn't want whoever's listening to hear too clearly.

I should leave.

Close the door, walk away, call the front desk, be a normal functioning adult about this.

He turns around.

The towel doesn't survive it.

Everything he has goes on full display and God, there is a lot of it. Thick and heavy even half-soft and my brain just... stops processing language for a solid three seconds.

"Uh." I blink. "Hi."

He He looks down. Looks at me. Looks down again, completely unbothered, and pulls the phone from his ear mid-sentence. He stares at me the way you stare at something unexpected but not unwelcome, his eyes dragging down my body slow and shameless before coming back up to my face.

"Wrong room?"

"My card opened it," I say, which is not an answer and we both know it.

The corner of his mouth moves. Not quite a smile. The suggestion of one. He wraps the towel back around his waist, unhurried, and I absolutely watch his hands do it. I'm not even pretending.

"Front desk gave you a duplicate," he says. "Happens sometimes."

"Great system." I lean against the doorframe. "Very secure."

"Mm." His eyes stay on me. Dark. Steady. The kind of eyes that make you feel like you already said yes to something. "You planning on leaving or are you just going to stand there?"

My bag slides off my shoulder.

Not on purpose. It just slips, and when I crouch down to grab it he's already moving, crossing the room, dropping into a crouch right in front of me, and suddenly we are very close. Close enough that I can smell hotel soap on his skin and something warmer underneath it, something that makes my thighs press together without my permission.

He picks up my bag. Holds it out.

Our fingers brush taking it and it's four seconds of contact that does more damage than it should.

"I'm Dara."

He looks at me. Reading something written small in my face.

"Garry," he says.

He stands when I stand and we're too close and neither of us steps back. Those dark eyes stay on me, reading something written small in my face, and the silence between us has a pulse.

"I should go find the front desk," I manage. "Get this whole thing sorted out."

"Mm." He's not moving.

"Because this is your room. And I'm a stranger, and..."

"Dara." The way he says my name does something catastrophic to my stomach. His voice drops lower, rougher, and his eyes fall to my mouth for just a beat before coming back up. "Do you actually want to leave?"

My pulse is an embarrassment.

"I don't know what I want," I say honestly.

His hand reaches past me, slow, giving me every chance to move and step aside, and he pushes the door shut.

The click of the latch is the loudest sound I've ever heard in recent times. 

The towel drops for the second time.

This time he lets it stay on the floor.

My eyes travel down. All the way down. My mouth goes dry.

He's getting hard already, thickening while I watch, and he doesn't move toward me, just stands there and lets me look, lets me take in exactly what's on offer, and my underwear is embarrassingly wet and we haven't even touched yet.

"Come here." Quiet. Certain.

My feet move before my brain signs off on it.

His hand curls around the back of my neck the second I'm within reach, tilting my face up, and he kisses me and I feel it in places that have no business reacting this fast. Deep and slow and certain, like he already knows exactly what I need and he's in absolutely no rush to give it to me all at once.

The sound I make against his mouth is going to haunt me at three in the morning for weeks.

His other hand finds my waist, slides lower, squeezes, and I push up onto my toes trying to get closer and he makes a low approving sound that goes straight between my legs.

"Mm." He pulls back just enough to look at me, lips wet, eyes dark. "How much trouble are you trying to get into tonight?"

I reach down and wrap my hand around him.

He's thick and hot and already fully hard and when my fingers close around him, he sucks in a sharp breath and his jaw goes tight, and a sharp breath hisses between his teeth.

"That much," I tell him.

Something shifts in his expression. Hunger, raw and unhidden, and he backs me toward the bed with one hand splayed hot against my lower back. His eyes go dark in a way that makes my knees genuinely unreliable.

"Good girl. Get on the bed."

My zipper is already moving before he finishes the sentence.

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Arc 1: The Wrong Room continues in Chapter 2...