Chapter Three

Harper's POV:

The motel clerk didn't look up when I asked if anyone had turned in a photo album.

"Lady, people don't turn in anything here." He was chewing gum loud enough that I could hear it popping between his teeth. "You lose something, it's gone."

I walked back to my room and stared at the stained carpet and the walls so thin I could hear everything happening next door, and something inside me snapped. I couldn't stay here. Not tonight, with the weight of everything pressing down on me until I couldn't breathe.

I grabbed my jacket and left.

The street was alive with neon lights and music pouring out of open doorways, people everywhere laughing like the world wasn't falling apart. I walked until my feet ached and my throat burned, and then I saw a sign that caught my attention.

Obsidian.

Sleek black letters above a doorway that looked like it cost a lot, with a doorman in an expensive suit, standing at the doorway watching for creeps and beautiful people streaming in and out.

I pushed through the door before I could change my mind.

Inside it was all purple light and bodies and music so loud I felt it in my chest. I made my way to the bar and ordered a vodka tonic because the woman next to me was drinking one and I didn't know what else to ask for.

The first drink burned going down. The second made the room softer at the edges. By the third I could almost breathe without my chest feeling like it was splitting open.

I was reaching for the fourth when someone knocked into me from behind and the glass tipped, spilling vodka all down the front of my shirt.

"Shit." I grabbed napkins from the bar and tried to wipe it off but it was already soaking through.

"Hey, you okay?" A hand touched my elbow, steadying me, and when I looked up my breath caught.

He was tall. So tall I had to tilt my head back to see his face. Dark hair that looked like he'd been running his hands through it. Sharp jaw. Eyes so dark they looked black in the low light. He wore a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up and I could see his forearms, tan and muscled with veins running under the skin.

"I'm fine," I said, but my voice came out shaky.

"You're not fine. Some asshole just knocked into you and didn't even apologize." He grabbed more napkins and handed them to me, his eyes scanning my face like he was checking if I was hurt. "Did any of it get on your skin? It can burn."

"No. Just my shirt."

"Good." He flagged down the bartender. "Get her a new drink. And put it on my tab."

"You don't have to do that," I said.

"I know." He looked at me with an intensity that made my stomach flip. "But I want to."

The bartender slid a fresh vodka tonic across the bar and the man picked it up, handing it to me carefully like he was worried I might drop it.

"Thank you," I said.

"Don't mention it." He ordered whiskey for himself and leaned against the bar next to me and I could smell him, something clean and expensive that made me want to move closer. "You here with friends?"

"No…just me."

Something shifted in his expression—softened, maybe. "Rough night?"

"Something like that."

He nodded like he understood without me having to explain, and we stood there drinking in silence for a minute. It should have been awkward but it wasn't. It felt easy in a way nothing had felt easy in days.

"I'm sorry," he said finally. "For whatever happened that brought you here alone."

The words hit me harder than they should have. Nobody had said sorry to me. Not Connor. Not Jenny. Nobody.

"It's not your fault," I managed.

"I know. But you look like you need someone to say it anyway." He took a sip of his whiskey and his eyes never left mine. "You want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Fair enough." He turned to face me fully and the purple light caught the sharp angles of his face, the scar through his eyebrow that made him look dangerous. "You want to forget about it instead?"

My heart kicked against my ribs. "How?"

"We could dance. Or we could get out of here. Go somewhere quieter." He paused and his voice dropped lower. "I'm not trying to be an asshole. I just... I saw you when you walked in and I haven't been able to stop looking at you since."

I should have said no. Should have finished my drink and gone back to that terrible motel room. But he was looking at me like I mattered, like I was something worth paying attention to, and I hadn't felt that in so long I'd forgotten what it was like.

"Okay," I said.

He held out his hand. "Come with me."

I took it and his fingers wrapped around mine, warm and rough and steady, and he led me through the crowd toward the back. Past the bathrooms to a door marked Private. He pushed it open and there were stairs leading up.

"I have a suite here," he said, glancing back at me. "We can just talk if that's all you want. No pressure."

"Okay."

We climbed the stairs and he swiped a keycard at another door, pushing it open to reveal a huge room with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city. Dark furniture. A bed big enough for four people.

"This is where you live?" I asked.

"Sometimes. When I'm working late." He locked the door and turned to face me. "You want something to drink? Water? More vodka?"

"Water's good."

He went to the bar in the corner and poured two glasses, handing me one before sitting on the couch. I sat next to him, leaving space between us, and we drank in silence while the city glowed outside the windows.

"You don't have to tell me what happened," he said after a minute. "But if you want to, I'll listen."

Something about the way he said it, calm and steady and like he actually meant it, made my throat go tight.

I narrated my ordeal to a stranger. Everything Connor and Jenny made me go through.

His jaw tightened. "Jesus."

"Yeah."

"When did all this happen?” The way he held me, like he wanted to help take the pain away.

"Two days ago."

He set his glass down and turned to look at me, his eyes dark and angry but not at me. "He's a fucking idiot."

"You don't even know me."

"I know enough." He shifted closer and his hand came up to touch my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone so gently I almost cried. "I know you came to a bar alone because you needed to feel something other than pain. And your husband huh? He’s the biggest fucking idiot alive for letting you go."

A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it and he wiped it away with his thumb.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"Don't be." His hand slid into my hair and his forehead pressed against mine. "Don't ever be sorry for feeling something."

I didn't know who moved first. Maybe both of us. But suddenly my mouth was on his and I was kissing him like I was oxygen and he'd been drowning. His tongue slid against mine and I made a sound I didn't recognize, something desperate and hungry, and he groaned in response.

His hands moved to my waist and pulled me onto his lap so I was straddling him, and I could feel him hard beneath me. My hips rolled against him automatically and he broke the kiss with a sharp inhale.

"Oh no, we shouldn't be doing this," he said, his voice rough and strained. "We should stop." He was already leaning back.

"Don't stop." I replied pulling him closer to me. I wanted this, I wanted him.

He made a sound low in his throat and his mouth was on my neck, sucking and biting, his hands sliding under my shirt to cup my breasts. When his thumbs brushed my nipples I gasped and arched into him.

"Bedroom," he muttered against my skin. "Now."

He stood up with me still wrapped around him and carried me to the bed, laying me down so gently it made my chest ache. He pulled my shirt over my head and then my bra, his eyes going dark when he saw me naked from the waist up.

"Beautiful," he said, and it sounded like worship.

He bent down and took my nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, and I cried out and tangled my fingers in his hair. His hand moved to my jeans and unbuttoned them, sliding inside to cup me through my underwear.

"You're so wet," he groaned. "Fuck, you're soaked."

He pulled my jeans and underwear off in one move and spread my legs, kneeling between them. His hands ran up my thighs and he looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Tell me what you want," he said.

"You. I want you."

He stood up and unbuttoned his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. His chest was all hard muscle and tan skin with scars across his ribs that made him look dangerous and real. He unbuckled his belt and pushed his pants down and when I saw him naked I forgot how to breathe.

He was huge. Thick and hard and already leaking.

He grabbed a condom from the nightstand and rolled it on, then moved back onto the bed and positioned himself between my legs. The head of him pressed against my entrance and he paused, his eyes searching mine.

"You sure?" he asked.

"Yes."

He pushed inside slowly and I cried out because he was so big it burned. He gave me a second to adjust, his jaw tight like he was holding himself back, and then he started to move.

Long slow strokes that dragged against every nerve ending. He pulled almost all the way out and then pushed back in deep, so deep I felt him everywhere, and I wrapped my legs around his waist to pull him closer.

"Harder," I gasped. "Please."

He groaned and his hips snapped forward, faster now, harder, and the sound of our bodies coming together filled the room. His hand slid between us and his thumb found my clit, rubbing in circles, and the pleasure built so fast I couldn't think.

"Come for me," he said, his voice rough in my ear. "Let go."

The orgasm hit me like lightning. My entire body tensed and then shattered, waves of pleasure crashing through me so intense I couldn't breathe. He followed right after with a groan, his body going rigid as he emptied himself inside me.

We lay there breathing hard and tangled together, his weight pressing me into the mattress in a way that felt safe. Protected.

He rolled off me and pulled me against his chest, his hand stroking my hair.

"Stay," he said quietly. "Please stay."

I nodded because I couldn't speak, and he pulled the blanket over us.

I fell asleep with his heartbeat steady under my ear, and for the first time in days I didn't dream about Connor or Jenny or everything I'd lost.

When I woke up the sun was streaming through the windows.

I turned my head and my breath stopped in my throat.

He was still asleep next to me, one arm thrown over his head, his face relaxed in a way it hadn't been last night. In the morning light I could see him clearly. The sharp line of his jaw. The scar through his eyebrow. The way his dark hair fell across his forehead.

He was beautiful.

And I didn't even know his name.