Room 14: The Addiction

Mark's POV

I arrived at Room 14 at 8:10 PM. I was fifty minutes early. I knew it was pathetic. I was a grown man, forty-four years old, built from steel and concrete, and I was pacing a cheap motel room like a teenager waiting for his first hookup.

But I couldn't help it.

The first time had been a taste. A fleeting, hungry bite of something forbidden, and now, I was starving.

I had spent the last four days replaying every second of that first night. The way her body had felt beneath mine. The way she had gasped when I entered her. The way her nails had dug into my shoulders as she came undone.

I had sat across from Elena at dinner, smiled, nodded, and pretended everything was fine. I had slept in my own bed, my wife's body inches away from mine, while my mind was somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere in Room 14.

I checked my phone again. No messages. She said she was coming, but the clock was ticking, and the doubt was creeping in.

What if she doesn't show? What if the guilt got to her? What if she realized I'm not worth the risk?

I ran a hand through my hair. My chest was tight and my skin was burning.

At 8:48 PM, my phone buzzed.

Becca: "I'm parking now. I'm nervous."

I read the message three times, my heart slamming against my ribs. I typed back quickly:

Mark: "Don't be nervous. Just get inside. I need you now."

I walked to the door, unlocked it, and cracked it open just an inch. I peered out into the dim parking lot. The streetlight flickered and the crickets screamed in the tall grass.

And then, I saw her.

She stepped out of her car, wearing a simple black dress, shorter than the last one, hugging her curves in all the right places. Her hair was down, curling softly around her shoulders. She looked like a sin I was willing to burn for.

She looked around nervously, as she spotted my face in the crack of the door, and walked toward me.

The moment she stepped over the threshold, I didn't give her time to breathe. I slammed the door shut, locked it, and backed her against the wall. My hands were already on her hips, pulling her dress up her thighs.

"You're late," I growled against her lips.

"I'm not late," she breathed. "You're just early."

I kissed her. Hard. Hungry. My tongue invaded her mouth, tasting the sweet lip gloss she had applied on the drive over. She melted into me, her fingers clawing at my chest, pulling at my shirt.

I didn't ask her how her day was. I didn't ask about her father, or the guilt I knew was eating her alive. I just took her.

I spun her around, pressing her face against the cold wall. I yanked her dress up around her waist. She wasn't wearing panties.

Fuck.

She had come here bare for me.

"Did you think about me?" I asked, my voice a low, rough whisper against her ear. "Did you touch yourself while you were waiting?"

"Yes," she whimpered. "Every night."

I unbuckled my jeans and let them drop. I pressed my cock against her wet entrance, teasing her, making her gasp.

"Then show me how much you missed me."

I slammed into her in one brutal thrust. She cried out, her hands splayed against the peeling wallpaper. I moved fast, rough, and desperate. My hips slapped against her bare ass, the wet sounds filling the small room.

She was so tight. So wet and so perfectly mine.

"Harder, please" she begged. "Don't stop."

I didn't stop. I drove into her like I was trying to brand myself into her core. I reached around and found her clit, rubbing her in rough circles. Her whole body convulsed.

"Come for me," I growled. "Right now. Let me feel you come apart."

She shattered. Her inner walls clamped down on me like a vise, rippling and pulsing as an orgasm tore through her. Her head fell back against my shoulder, and she cried out my name, loud, broken, and desperate.

I drove into her two more times, and then I spilled myself inside her, pouring every ounce of my obsession into her. We stayed there, panting, tangled against the wall. I pulled out slowly, and her legs buckled. I caught her, lifted her into my arms, and carried her to the bed.

I laid her down and looked at her. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips were swollen.

She looked at me, her eyes glistening.

"Mark," she whispered. "I….."

"Don't," I said, my voice still rough. I pressed a finger to her lips, stopping her before she could say anything dangerous. "Don't say anything. Just stay."

She nodded, pulling me down beside her. I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her against my chest.

We lay there in the dark, tangled in the sheets, her head on my chest. Her breathing slowly steadied and within minutes, she had fallen asleep.

I stared at the ceiling, her hair tickling my chin.

I didn't know what this was, but I knew one thing for certain.

I was addicted, and I had no intention of quitting.