Room 212 (3)

~ Tyler ~

I haven’t been able to think straight since that night. Her laugh, soft and teasing, keeps echoing in my head. The way she writhed under me, hands tangled in my hair—it wasn’t just sex. It was… her, entirely, and it’s driving me insane.

I’ve been with lots of women, but none ever hit like her. None of them ever stuck.

Hayley fits like a drug I didn’t know I needed. That sweet, filthy girl who used to write me letters she never thought I’d read twice, let alone memorize.

And now, I’m standing in a navy-blue suit, drink in hand, watching her walk into the reception like a fucking fever dream.

I'd seen her earlier, briefly, during the ceremony. But now she’s changed into a red dress. Again. A different one this time, but just as tight and deadly. And I don't need to be told to know she meant it.

The ceremony has just wrapped, and we’re in that in-between moment where people are wandering around, champagne flutes half-empty, as the DJ tests the sound while the real party waits to begin.

My fingers twitch around my glass.

She sees me and smiles sheepishly, like she’s already imagining what I might do to her once I get her alone again. I swear the air leaves my lungs for a second when I see her cheeks start to redden.

Damon leans in beside me. “You good?” He teases.

“Fine,” I respond, eyes still locked on Hayley.

She’s talking to someone now and nodding politely. But she keeps glancing at me like we have our own language. As if she remembers exactly how it felt when I had my mouth between her thighs and made her scream my name.

I adjust my collar.

God, I need a fucking minute.

I find her near the terrace later, half-hidden in the shadows, sipping from a glass of champagne and watching the sunset like she’s not the most dangerous thing out here.

“Thought you might not show,” I say, stepping beside her.

Her lips lift in a faint smile, but she doesn't meet my eyes. “You kidding? Damon’s practically family. And I wasn’t about to miss the chance to see if you meant what you said about that rematch."

She knows exactly what she’s doing, and the fact that she won’t look at me makes it worse.

I lean closer, lowering my voice. “I always mean what I say.”

She glances at me, eyes glittering with mischief and a flash of doubt. "So what’s the plan, Benson? Gonna drag me into the coat closet before the cake’s cut?"

Just the image of that makes my pulse spike. “That depends,” I murmur. “You still soaked for me, huh? Still thinking about how I made you come so hard you nearly shook apart?”

Her breath hitches.

Bullseye.

I step behind her, real close, just enough to make her body brush mine. My lips graze her ear.

“Because I haven’t stopped thinking about your taste,” I whisper. “Or the way you begged me. That sweet little voice, all wrecked and desperate.”

She exhales sharply, like she can’t decide whether to slap me or climb me.

I lower my hand and let it trail gently over her lower back.

“If I pull you into that bathroom right now, Hayley… are you gonna behave for me?”

She turns to face me fully, cheeks flushed, eyes wild.

“I think you know the answer,” she tilts her head, that devilish little grin curling her lips, and I feel my chest tighten, my jaw clenching. She’s reckless, unpredictable… impossible to ignore. I can’t help but groan, my hands tightening around my glass as if I could hold back what I’m feeling.

“God… you’re trouble.”

But just before I can pull her toward the nearest door, someone calls her name. Loudly.

She sighs. “Duty calls.”

My lips curl. “Then go. But don’t think you’re escaping.”

Her brow lifts. “You're gonna keep chasing me all weekend?”

My lips brush her cheek. “No, baby. I’m gonna catch you. Again. And again. And I won't stop until I make you forget how to walk straight.”

A visible shiver ripples down her spine. “You’re filthy.”

“And you’re soaking through that dress," I wink. "Go see who needs you. Then meet me upstairs. Room 206 this time.”

She walks off, hips swaying, and I watch every step, counting the seconds until she's mine again.

I down the rest of my drink, praying the reception ends early.

Because tonight, I’m making her scream louder.

And this time I’m taking everything. Her mouth. Her body. Her soul. I won’t stop until every part of her belongs to me.

~~~

By the time I slip out of the ballroom and head up to the room, I’m already half hard. I strip my jacket and toss it on the chair, pouring a glass of whiskey. But don’t drink it.

I pace the room, trying to calm my pulse. If she doesn’t show up, I’m going to lose it. But if she does… God, I’ll take her without mercy.

Five minutes pass.

Ten.

I’m just about to go back down and drag her up myself when the door handle clicks, and she steps inside.

Flushed cheeks. Bare legs.

I let the silence stretch as she closes the door behind her.

Faint music drifts up from the ballroom downstairs, a slow jazz number, romantic and all wrong for what I’m about to do to her.

“I’m here now,” she says softly, stepping into the room like a dare.

I stalk toward her, slow and controlled. “Hayley,” my voice is low and commanding. “Take off the dress.”

Her breath catches, but she doesn’t argue. She just reaches back, unzips, and lets the fabric slip from her shoulders.

It falls like a whisper.

She’s completely bare underneath.

My jaw flexes. “Fuck.”

I reach for her, dragging her against me with both hands. My mouth crashes to hers, harder this time. Less patience, all claim.

A needy sound slips from her lips as I walk her backward toward the bed, our lips bruising, our bodies crashing together like we’ve been starved.

She drops onto the mattress, breathless, legs parting in silent invitation.

“Did you come with them?” I ask.

“Yes… in my purse,” she whispers, eyes darting away for a second.

“Good,” I murmur, leaning closer, the heat between us tightening. My hands find her thighs, gripping just enough to hold her in place. “Have you been thinking about this… all night?”

She nods, dazed, a shiver running through her.

“Say it,” I press, watching her struggle with her own need.

“Yes,” she gasps, eyes wide. “I couldn’t stop…”

“Couldn’t stop what?” I tease, needing to hear her confession.

“Wanting you,” she admits, voice trembling.

I smirk darkly, dragging my mouth over her inner thigh. “That’s more like it.”

I bury my face between her legs, tasting her, remembering every curve I’ve memorized. Her fingers clutch my hair, tugging, trembling—not just from pleasure, but as if she’s desperate to anchor herself to something real.

Her back arches, a shiver running from her spine to her toes, and I can feel it through every inch of contact. I take my time, teasing the tip of her clit with slow flicks of my tongue, savoring the taste, watching her pulse quicken, hearing the hitch in her breath, feeling the tiny gasp she tries to stifle. She bites her lip, eyes fluttering, and it drives me insane.

She tastes like wine and wicked promises.

I hold her there for a second longer, just watching her face... seeing the raw need, the thrill, the tiny flicker of guilt that makes her even more intoxicating. A sharp sob escapes her lips.

“You’re so wet,” I murmur against her. “Were you dripping during dinner, Hayley?”

"Yes,” she whimpers. “I kept thinking you’d pull me under the table.”

I groan. “Fuck. You’re trouble.”

She jerks when I slide two fingers into her, curling them just right.

Her hips buck. “Tyler—!”

I pin her down, grinning against her skin. “Come on my mouth,”

As soon as she wraps around me, I realize how much I’ve needed this, how little control I have. God, I shouldn’t be this desperate, but I can’t stop.

She gasps and trembles, eyes wide. Then she shatters, loud and raw. Her thighs clamp around my head as she rides it out, panting my name like it’s holy.

I wipe my mouth and stand, unbuckling my belt. Her eyes stay locked on my cock as I stroke it, slow, teasing.

“Get on your knees.”

She scrambles up, obediently.

I guide her hand to wrap around me, and they squeeze just right.

Then she fits it into her mouth.

Jesus Christ.

She’s good. Too good. Warm lips, wet tongue, eyes fluttering as she bobs her head, moaning like she loves the taste of me, and I feel a sharp twist of possessiveness.

I fist her hair, barely holding on. “Fuck… Hayley, stop. Or I’m gonna come.”

Her wicked little smile makes my chest tighten and my control snaps like a wire. “That’s the plan, right?”

I growl, fighting the pull of my own desire. “Yes.. but not yet.”

I hook my hands under her thighs and lift her effortlessly, like she weighs nothing. She gasps, clutching at my shoulders.

In two steps, I’ve got her laid out on the bed, back hitting the sheets, legs still wrapped around my waist.

I press her down, spreading her thighs wide. Her hair fans across the pillow, wild and perfect, lips parted like she’s already begging.

She looks like sin. So fucking perfect.

I line myself up and slide into her with one long, hard stroke.

We both groan.

“Jesus,” I hiss, holding her hips. “You were made for this.”

I take her slowly at first, deep strokes that have her clenching around me and moaning into the sheets.

“Tyler—so full—”

“You can take it,” I growl. “You want it. You’ve been dreaming about this since high school, haven’t you?”

She nods frantically. “Yes. Yes. I used to think about you fucking me like this.”

I pound into her harder.

“Yeah?” I snap. “You touched that pretty pussy thinking of me?”

“Every time,” she cries.

I lose it. One hand wraps around her throat as I slam into her, faster now, harder. My other hand slides between her legs, rubbing her clit with fast, ruthless circles.

Her thighs clench, breath itching. I feel her tightening, and I know she's seconds away.

“You gonna come for me again?” I pant. “So soon?”

“I can’t hold—Tyler—I’m—” she whimpers, already right there, shaking.

But just when she’s about to tip over the edge, I pull out. Fast.

Her body jerks, the loss of friction making her gasp.

“What—Tyler—” she cries out desperately.

I grin darkly, wiping the sweat off my brow with the back of my hand. “You're not coming yet...”