Prologue

The hallway stretched out before her like a funhouse mirror, the walls tilting dangerously to the left. Her heels clicked unevenly against the carpet, a syncopated rhythm that matched the thumping bass still echoing in her skull from the club. She gripped the railing, her knuckles white, trying to anchor yourself to the real world. Lorenzo’s voice was a distant echo in her memory, cutting through the fog of the tequila shots. Room 106. Just go wait for me there, babe.

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‎"Room one-oh-six," She slurred to the empty corridor, the number tasting like lime and salt on her tongue.

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‎She took a step, her ankle buckling slightly, and laughed—a sound that was too loud and too brittle for the silent hotel. she pushed off the wall, stumbling forward like a newborn deer learning to walk on marble. The air in the hallway was thick, smelling of stale air freshener and the faint, metallic tang of the ice machine. She squinted at the brass numbers on the doors. 102... 104... They swam in her vision, blurring at the edges.

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‎Finally, the digits she needed came into focus. 106. The promise of a soft mattress and Lorenzo’s arms was the only thing keeping her stomach from rebelling entirely. She fumbled with the keycard, missing the slot twice before the little light blinked green. The door swung open, and she practically fell inside, kicking it shut with the back of her heel.

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‎The room was dark, illuminated only by a sliver of pale moonlight cutting through the gap in the heavy curtains. Her eyes adjusted slowly, the shadows resolving into shapes. A dresser, a desk, and a bed. And on the bed, a large, unmoving lump.

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‎She smiled, her lips feeling numb and swollen. "Lorenzo," She murmured. "You didn't tell me you were already here, babe."

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‎She didn't wait for an answer. The alcohol in her bloodstream had stripped away her patience and her inhibitions, leaving only a raw, aching need. She moved toward the bed, shedding her jacket as she went. It landed in a heap on the floor, unnoticed and unmissed. She reached the edge of the mattress and climbed up, her movements clumsy and heavy.

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‎She threw herself onto the figure, aiming for a playful collapse but landing with a heavy thud that knocked the breath out of her. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply, expecting the familiar, spicy scent of Lorenzo’s cologne. Instead, her nose was filled with a smell that was sharp and foreign—sweat, expensive leather, and a musk that was distinctly not Lorenzo.

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‎A flicker of confusion sparked in her hazy mind. That’s weird, She thought, her fingers tangling in the stranger's hair. It was coarser than Lorenzo’s. But the thought was fleeting, dissolving instantly under the wave of intoxication washing over her. Her brain was too sluggish to process the discrepancy, too eager to justify the presence of a warm body. Maybe he changed cologne. Maybe it’s the club smell.

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‎The man beneath her grunted, a low, vibrating sound against her chest. He shifted, his hands coming up to grip her waist. His touch was firm, demanding, nothing like the gentle way Lorenzo usually held her. But in her drunken state, the aggression only fueled the fire pooling in her belly. He murmured something unintelligible, his voice deep and gravelly, thick with sleep and what sounded like his own significant intoxication.

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‎She didn't speak. She didn't need to. She pressed her lips against his, tasting whiskey and desperation. The kiss was messy, all teeth and tongue, a clash of hungry mouths. He responded instantly, his grip tightening on her hips, pulling her flush against him. She could feel the hard ridge of his erection through his jeans, grinding against her thigh.

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‎Clothes became an obstacle, an annoyance to be ripped away. She tugged at his shirt, buttons popping off and skittering across the floor. He clawed at the zipper of her dress, dragging the fabric down until it pooled at her waist. The cool air of the room hit her heated skin, raising gooseflesh, but his hands were there a moment later, rough palms sliding over her bare back, cupping her ass.

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‎She rolled onto her back, pulling him with her. The room spun violently, the ceiling fan a blur above her. He fumbled with his belt, the metal buckle jingling loudly in the quiet room, and then he was kicking his jeans off. She spread her legs, an invitation wordlessly screamed in the dark.

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‎He didn't ask for permission. He didn't check if she were ready. He just lined himself up and thrust into her, hard and deep.

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‎"Fuck!" She cried out, the word tearing from her throat. It wasn't a moan of gentle pleasure; it was a guttural sound of shock and intensity. He filled her completely, stretching her in a way that bordered on painful. She nails dug into his shoulders, anchoring her as he began to move.

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‎He set a punishing rhythm, driving into her with a force that made the headboard slam against the wall. Thump. Thump. Thump. The sound was obscene, echoing through the empty room. She wrapped her legs around his waist, trying to pull him deeper, meeting his thrusts with a desperate need of her own.

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‎"Lorenzo," She gasped, her eyes squeezed shut. She couldn't see his face in the dark, just a silhouette looming over her, a shadow with muscles and sweat. "Yes, Lorenzo, right there."

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‎The stranger didn't correct her. He just fucked her harder, his breathing ragged and hot against her ear. He reached down between her sweat-slicked bodies, his fingers finding your clit. He rubbed rough, tight circles, the friction sending electric jolts up her spine.

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‎The pressure built rapidly, a tight coil in her lower abdomen threatening to snap. Her body was hypersensitive, every nerve ending firing at once. The smell of him—that wrong, intoxicating smell—filled her senses, mixing with the scent of sex and sweat. It was overwhelming.

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‎"I'm gonna cum," She whimpered, her back arching off the mattress.

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‎He growled, thrusting into her one last time, burying himself to the hilt. She felt him pulse inside her, the heat of his release flooding her. That sensation triggered her own orgasm. Her vision went white, her body convulsing around him as waves of pleasure crashed over her, drowning out the confusion, the dizziness, everything.

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‎She collapsed back against the pillows, her chest heaving. He stayed inside her for a moment, his weight heavy and comforting, before rolling off to the side. She were asleep, drifting into a black, dreamless void, her limbs tangled with the stranger's.

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‎***************

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‎Sunlight stabbed at her eyelids like a red-hot poker. She groaned, the sound scraping against her dry throat. Her head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton and beaten with a baseball bat. She shifted, reaching out instinctively for the warm body She expected to find beside her.

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‎Her hand hit cold, empty sheets.

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‎She forced her eyes open, squinting against the brutal morning light. The space beside her was vacant, the pillow uncreased except for the indentation where her head had rested. Panic flared in her chest for a second before the hangover crushed it back down. He must be in the bathroom. Or getting ice.

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‎She rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling. Her body ached in places that reminded her exactly what she had done last night. A dull soreness between her thighs which made her wince as she sat up. The sheets were tangled around her legs, and the room smelled of stale sex and alcohol.

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‎On the nightstand, her phone vibrated, the buzzing sound loud against the wood. It rang again, a shrill, insistent noise that made her skull throb.

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‎She groaned, rubbing a hand over your face. She didn't check the caller ID. She didn't have the energy. She just reached out, fumbling for the device, and swiped to answer, bringing it to her ear with a heavy sigh.

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‎"Hello?" She croaked, her voice sounding like sandpaper.

“Where the fuck are you?” Lorenzo snarled, his voice sharp with anger the second the call connected