LOGINEthan couldn’t get her out of his head.Two days. Forty-eight hours of trying to work, trying to eat, trying to sleep, and all he could think about was the way she’d moaned his name. The way her body had clenched around him. The desperate, hungry sounds she made when she came. The way she’d looked at him like he was the first real thing she’d felt in years.He told himself he was just checking on her. Making sure she was okay after that night. But deep down he knew it was bullshit. He needed to see her again. Needed to know if it had been real or just the alcohol and the moment and the storm of grief that always seemed to hit him hardest at night.So he went back to the hotel.He didn’t expect to find her outside, standing near the employee entrance with her arms wrapped around herself like she was holding something broken together. Her face was pale. Eyes red. She looked wrecked.When their eyes met, the air between them snapped tight. Thick. Suffocating. He remembered every second o
Ethan sat at the hotel bar like he always did when the grief got too loud. Whiskey in front of him, half-empty already. The ache in his chest was sharper tonight. Two years since Sarah died and some nights it still felt like yesterday. He drank faster, trying to dull it, trying to forget the way her laugh used to fill their apartment, the way her hand used to feel in his.By the time he stood up the room tilted. Bad idea driving. He booked a room instead. Just to sleep it off. Nothing more.He fumbled down the hallway, keycard slippery in his fingers. The numbers on the doors blurred. He finally found his, slid the card in, pushed the door open.Someone crashed into him.Soft. Warm. Feminine.He stumbled back into the room, catching her instinctively. She was flushed, eyes glassy, breathing fast. Beautiful in a way that hit him like a truck. Dark hair messy, full lips parted, curves pressed against him for one dizzy second.Before he could ask if she was okay, she pushed him further i
Nate woke up with Zara curled against his chest like she belonged there. The morning light was soft through the curtains, and for a second everything felt quiet. Normal. Then she shifted in her sleep, her bare thigh sliding over his, and his cock hardened instantly against her hip.Jesus Christ. Even in her sleep she’s killing me.The official week of the bet was over. Rules technically done. But neither of them had said the words out loud. Neither of them wanted to.He brushed her hair back from her face. She stirred, eyes fluttering open, still hazy with sleep. For a moment she just looked at him — soft, unguarded, like she was seeing him for the first time without the armor of jokes or her phone or the distance they’d both pretended was normal for eight months.“Morning, Master,” she whispered, voice husky. A small, shy smile tugged at her lips even as her cheeks flushed.The title hit him low and hard. His cock twitched against her. “Still calling me that?”She bit her lip. “You l
Nate pushed open the apartment door at 7:42pm, gym bag slung over his shoulder, sweat still drying on his skin. His heart was already beating harder than the workout justified. He knew what he’d find. He’d given her the rule that morning before he left: when he comes home, she greets him crawling. Naked. Calling him Master.He closed the door behind him. The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the fridge. Then he heard it — the soft sound of knees on the hardwood.Zara.She crawled out from the hallway on all fours. Completely naked. Hair loose around her shoulders. Eyes lifted to his face the second she saw him. Her cheeks were flushed. Breasts swayed gently with each movement. Between her thighs he could already see the shine of how wet she was.Jesus Christ.His cock hardened instantly, thick and aching against his gym shorts. Nine months of divorce numbness and eight months of pretending he didn’t want her like this — it all crashed down on him every single time she did
Nate stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, watching Zara’s hand hover near the drawer like she couldn’t help herself.It was 11pm. Day Three. She’d made it this far, but he could see the crack widening. Her shoulders were tense. Her jaw tight. That little restless bounce in her leg that she did when she was fighting the urge to reach for the screen.“You’re really going to do it?” he asked, voice low.She froze. Turned slowly. The guilt on her face lasted half a second before the bratty defiance took over. “It’s one text, Nate. One. My best friend is having a crisis and I—”“You lost the bet,” he cut in. Calm. Controlled. But his heart was hammering against his ribs. “The phone stays in the drawer. That was the rule.”She crossed her arms, chin lifting. “You’re really going to be like this? It’s not even a big deal.”Something hot and dangerous coiled low in his stomach. He’d been hard for days. Aching. Holding back. And now she was standing there, looking at him like she wanted
Nate knew he was completely fucked the second Zara laughed at him across the takeout containers.She was curled up on the couch in those old gray sweatpants, legs tucked under her, wine glass in one hand, phone in the other like it was an extension of her body. She’d been scrolling for the last twenty minutes while they ate, and something about it tonight — the constant thumb movement, the little frown between her brows — just hit him wrong.“You’re on that thing again,” he said.She didn’t even look up. “You’re the one who spent twenty minutes flirting with the delivery girl.”“I was being polite.”“You told her she had a nice smile and asked if she was new in the building.”Jesus Christ. Nate rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s called being friendly, Zara.”She finally looked at him. Those sharp eyes. The kind that saw straight through bullshit. “Friendly. Sure.”The argument built fast. Easy. Familiar. But tonight it felt different. Sharper. Like they were both poking at something t







