Chapter two:To forget; One night with a stranger

_Ariana's pov_

“Yhh, I had a day,” I said, turning away from him quickly.

I didn’t look at him as I tipped the glass back. The whiskey burned going down, hot and fast, and I didn’t stop until the glass was empty. I slid it back toward the bartender with shaking fingers.

“Another one.”

The day had been really bad.It was the kind of day that clawed at your chest and wouldn’t let go. All I wanted was for it to stop existing. For two hours, for one night, to forget that I’d ever loved Adrian, that I’d ever trusted Sophie.

We exchanged maybe two more words after that. Nothing real. Nothing that mattered.

The bar went quiet again, the kind of quiet that made you hear your own pulse.

Then it slipped out of me before I could think better of it.

“You can help me forget today, you know.”

I didn’t know where it came from. Maybe the alcohol. Maybe the two years of swallowing everything for Adrian until there was nothing left but a hollow ache.

But God, I meant it. I wanted to forget everything.

He went still beside me.

“What are you suggesting?” His voice was low, amused, but there was an edge to it.

“I think you’re drunk.”

“No,” I said quickly. Too quickly.

“I’m not drunk. I’m desperate. I need to forget today.”

He stared at me for a long moment, dark eyes dragging over my face like he was trying to decide if I was serious or just another mess he’d have to scrape off his shoes.

Then he stood.

Didn’t say another word. Just set cash on the bar and walked out.

My chest tightened. Stupid. Of course he was leaving. Why would he—

He stopped a few feet away, at the point where the bar’s warm light cut off and the hallway to the elevators started. He didn’t turn fully, just glanced over his shoulder at me.

A silent question.

My legs moved before my brain caught up.

The elevator ride was quiet. Top floor. VIP rooms. The air smelled faintly of leather and expensive cologne.

We walked to the farthest room, past doors that were all closed, all silent.

And then I was trapped.

One second I was walking, the next my back hit the wall of the hallway outside the room, his body caging me in.

His mouth was near my ear, breath hot against my skin.

“If you’re not sure of this,” he whispered, voice rough, “I’m giving you a chance to walk out now.”

Heat pooled low and sudden, sharp and undeniable. It made my thighs press together without me meaning to. My heart was hammering so hard I was sure he could hear it.

I swallowed, my throat dry despite the whiskey.

I should’ve said no. I should’ve run.

But all I could think was Adrian’s voice saying Sophie’s name. Adrian’s hands on someone else.

I looked up at him, and for the first time tonight, I wasn’t seeing Adrian.

“I’m sure,” I whispered.

He opened the door behind me the second I said it, and the sound of the latch clicking shut made my breath catch.

The next thing I knew, his hands were on my waist, pulling me forward, and his mouth was on mine.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t careful. It was urgent, like he’d been holding back since the bar . His lips moved against mine with a pressure that made my knees feel weak, and for a second all I could do was grip his shirt to keep myself upright. The taste of whiskey and something darker clung to him, and it chased the taste of Adrian out of my head.

His hands started moving then, sliding up my sides like he was memorizing every inch. My pulse jumped, and I let out a shaky breath against his mouth. I should’ve stopped him. Instead, my fingers curled tighter in his shirt, pulling him closer without thinking.

He broke the kiss suddenly, just enough to look at me. His eyes were dark, searching mine like he was checking for hesitation. When he didn’t find it, his hand left my waist and traced up to my cheek, thumb brushing over my skin.

The touch was gentler than I expected, and it made something tight in my chest loosen. I exhaled, my eyes fluttering shut for half a second before I forced them open again.

His hand trailed lower, down the line of my neck, slow and deliberate, until it brushed against the edge of my dress where my collarbone was exposed. A shiver ran through me that had nothing to do with the cold. My breath hitched, and I couldn’t stop the small sound that slipped out.

He noticed. His mouth quirked, but he didn’t stop.

Carefully, he hooked his fingers under the strap of my dress and slid it down my shoulder. The fabric followed, pooling around my feet with a soft whisper against the floor.

My body stiffened the second the dress pooled at my feet.

The sudden chill of the room hit me, and with it came a flicker of nerves I hadn’t expected. My hands came up instinctively, crossing over myself like that could slow down what was happening. My heart was hammering too fast, too loud, and for half a second I thought about stepping back.

He noticed. Of course he noticed.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice dropping low enough that it cut through the noise in my head. His hand came up to rest against my cheek, thumb brushing over my skin in a slow, grounding motion. “Breathe. Relax. I’ve got you.”

Something in the steadiness of his voice made the tension in my shoulders loosen.

Before I could second-guess it, he slid an arm under my knees and lifted me up. A startled breath left me, and my legs wrapped around his waist without me even thinking about it.

He carried me to the bed like it was the easiest thing in the world, setting me down carefully, his body following me down until he was braced over me.

His eyes never left mine. Not when his fingers found the straps of my bra, not when they slid lower to the small hook at the back. He worked it open with one hand, steady and easy, like he’d done it a hundred times.

The moment the fabric loosened, it slipped away.

Cold air hit my chest, and I sucked in a sharp breath, my skin prickling instantly. My cheeks burned, and I tried to sit up, to cover myself, but his hand came to rest against my sternum, light but firm, keeping me still.

His eyes dropped from my face to my chest, and they darkened.

He didn’t look away. He just lingered there, the heat from his gaze made me feel more exposed than the cold ever could.

His hand started moving again, slow and deliberate, tracing a path up from my stomach.

I felt every inch of it—his palm warm against my skin, fingers light at first, like he was testing how far I’d let him go.

When his hand reached the curve of my breast, I sucked in a breath without meaning to.

He didn’t rush. His thumb brushed over the edge in slow circles, feather-light, enough to make my skin prickle and my pulse jump under his touch. Then his fingers closed gently, testing the weight of it, squeezing just enough that a shiver ran straight down my spine.

The room felt too quiet. All I could hear was my own breathing, uneven and catching with every small movement he made.

Heat pooled low and sudden, making my thighs press together on their own.

I arched into his touch before I could stop myself, my hands gripping his shoulders like that would keep me steady.

A soft, involuntary sound slipped past my lips, and I bit down on it immediately, heat rushing to my face.

His eyes flicked up to mine, dark and knowing, but he didn’t stop.

If anything, the way I reacted made his touch slow down even more, like he was drawing it out on purpose.

Before I could steady myself, his mouth replaced his hand.

It was slower this time, deliberate, like he wanted to feel every reaction. The pressure was different—wetter, warmer—and it sent a jolt straight through me. I gripped his shoulders tighter, my breath catching as the sensation made my knees weaken again.

His eyes flicked up to mine, dark and steady.

“Still sure?” he asked, voice rough against my skin.

I didn’t get the chance to answer. His hands were already moving, sliding down to the strap of my pants. He pulled them down in one smooth motion, leaving me completely bare beneath him.

From there, things blurred.

He knew exactly where to touch, how to move, how to draw sounds out of me I didn’t think I could make. Every shift, every press of his body against mine, chipped away at the last of my hesitation. My hands clutched at him, my breath came in broken gasps, and I stopped thinking about Adrian, about Sophie, about anything except how good this felt.

By the time it was over, I was shaking, spent, my face buried against his shoulder.

I had let a stranger take me and I didn’t even regret it.

I woke up with a splitting headache to a ceiling and bed I didn’t recognize.

Then last night hit me all at once.

The stranger was gone.