Chapter One

Fiona:

I once thought marriage was forever. That changed the moment I found my husband cheating earlier today.

"Babe, you're so good…babe...come harder."

Those words haunted me. The bathroom scene with Dustin and Paige having sex played again in my mind while I lifted my empty glass.

"Another vodka," I told the bartender, needing something to wash away the memory.

The second bartender slid my drink across the counter. His eyes lingered a moment too long as I grabbed the glass. I gulped it down, welcoming the burn that momentarily distracted me from my pain.

A strange warmth flooded through me, different from the usual alcohol buzz. My skin tingled and the room began to spin in a way that scared me. I clutched the counter, suddenly terrified I might fall.

"You okay there?" A stranger leaned close, his voice somehow both concerned and hungry.

I tried to focus on his face but my thoughts scattered like marbles on a tile floor. Something wasn't right. I'd been tipsy before, but this felt wrong. Despite the confusion, a conflicting need stirred inside me, wanting comfort, connection, sex, anything to feel less alone.

"I don't... I feel weird," I whispered, my eyelids growing impossibly heavy.

The stranger's hand found my arm. Through the haze, I saw him clearly enough. He's the kind of man I'd normally avoid. Unshaven, with a smile that chilled rather than warmed.

"Let me help you outside," he said, his fingers digging into my skin. "Get some fresh air."

"No, I should..." My protest died as my mouth refused to work properly.

He pulled me toward the door. "Trust me, sweetheart."

My feet dragged across the floor as panic bubbled beneath the chemical calm. People glanced our way, then looked back to their drinks. The bartender who'd served me watched with knowing eyes.

"Please," I managed, my voice barely audible even to myself. "Something's wrong."

No one moved to help. The stranger's grip tightened as cold air hit my face.

"Where are you taking me?" I slurred, fear cutting through the fog.

"Somewhere quiet," he said, his voice dropping. "Just you and—"

I stumbled forward, colliding with someone else. Solid. Warm. Safe.

"Sorry," the stranger holding me said, not sounding sorry at all. "My friend had too much to drink."

"She doesn't look like your friend," came a new voice, steady and clear. "And she doesn't look drunk. She looks drugged."

“Help.” I mouthed the word desperately, my lips forming the shape but my voice gone. My eyes locked with the stranger—my savior?—silently begging. Something about him radiated safety, a lighthouse in this storm of confusion.

"Listen, buddy," the creep tightened his grip. "This is my sister. I'm taking her home." Hearing him say that, I almost laughed, “I thought he said I was his friend earlier?”

No! I shook my head violently, my body trembling with effort. “Help me,” I mouthed again, tears springing to my eyes.

"If she's your sister," my potential savior's voice hardened like steel, "what's her name?"

The creep's face contorted. "Her name?"

"Yes. You have three seconds to tell me her name."

Silence hung between them. The creep's fingers dug painfully into my arm.

"One."

Sweat beaded on the creep's forehead.

"Two."

"This is ridiculous," he spat, suddenly releasing me. Without his support, my knees buckled.

Strong arms caught me as the creep backed away, disappearing into the night. I sagged against my rescuer, relief washing over me in dizzying waves.

"Boss!" A voice called from behind us. A man in a sleek suit approached, then froze, taking in the scene. "I just informed our partner about the deal, but—"

"Not now, Marcus," my rescuer cut him off, his attention fully on me. His face swam before my eyes—chiseled jawline, brown eyes filled with concern. "She's been drugged. Can you speak? Tell me your name?"

I tried. God, how I tried. My mouth opened but only a small whimper escaped.

"Let's get you somewhere safe," he said softly. "Marcus, go book a room for her in the lodge here." He instructed the man behind him, as he swept me up into his arms, cradling me against his chest. Heat radiated through his shirt, or was that me? The drug pulsed through my veins, a dangerous cocktail of fear and something else. Something primal.

"The bar has rooms," he explained as he carried me upstairs, his voice steady and reassuring. "You'll be safe here until we figure out who you are and where you belong."

The room spun when he set me gently on the bed. The softness beneath me felt like a cloud after the nightmare downstairs. He turned to leave and panic seized me.

"Don't..." The word scratched out of my throat.

"I won't leave you," he promised, sitting beside me.

His closeness sent shockwaves through my system. The drug twisted my emotions, my trauma, my need to forget into something desperate and hungry. I reached for him, my fingers grazing his cheek.

"Please..." I whispered, not knowing what I was begging for—safety, forgetfulness, oblivion?

When his eyes met mine, something electric passed between us. Without thinking, my body moving of its own accord, I leaned forward.

My lips crashed against his. Fire erupted everywhere I touched. His shoulders tensed beneath my fingers, strong and solid.

For one glorious moment, he responded, his lips soft against mine. Then, abruptly, he pulled back.

"You don't want this," he said gently, his hands steadying my shoulders. "That's the drug talking."

"I do," I insisted, tears streaming down my face. "Make me forget him. Please."

Profound sadness crossed his face. "Who? And also, not like this," he whispered. "When you wake up tomorrow, you'd hate yourself."

Rejection stung worse than my husband's betrayal. I collapsed against the pillows, sobbing.

"Shh," he soothed, stroking my hair. "I'm going to help you. But not like that."  

But my consciousness began to slip away. My body wanted this, and I was going to get it. I leaned in again, pulling him to me, God knows where I got the strength and kissed him once more. This time, it seemed he wanted it too, and he kissed me back.

The moment his lips met mine again, something inside me shattered—a dam of pent-up longing, betrayal, and desperate need. His mouth was hot, demanding, and I melted into him, my fingers tangling in his hair. A low growl rumbled in his chest as his hands slid down my body, gripping my waist with possessive strength.

"You don’t know what you’re asking for," he murmured against my lips, though his body betrayed his words, pressing me harder into the mattress.

"I do," I gasped, arching against him. The drug pulsed through my veins, but this wasn’t just the substance talking, it was me. The part of me that had been starved for real passion, for a touch that wasn’t tainted by lies.

His fingers found the hem of my dress, dragging it up my thighs with agonizing slowness. His calloused palms skimmed my bare skin, leaving fire in their wake. I whimpered, my nails digging into his shoulders.

"Tell me to stop," he demanded, his voice rough.

"Don’t you dare."

That was all the permission he needed.

In one swift motion, he stripped the dress from my body, leaving me bare beneath him. His dark eyes raked over me, hot with hunger. "Christ, you’re beautiful."

The words sent a thrill through me, but before I could respond, his mouth was on my neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. I cried out, my hips lifting instinctively, seeking friction. He chuckled darkly, his hand sliding between my thighs, finding me already wet, already aching for him.

"So eager," he murmured, circling my clit with maddening precision.

I writhed beneath him, my breath coming in ragged gasps. "Please—please—"

"What do you want?" His voice was a rough whisper against my ear.

"You. Now."

He didn’t make me beg again.

With a groan, he unfastened his belt, shoving his pants down just enough to free his cock—thick, hard, and glistening at the tip. My mouth watered at the sight, but before I could reach for him, he gripped my hips and dragged me to the edge of the bed.

"No teasing," he growled. And then he was inside me in one deep, relentless thrust.

I screamed, my back arching off the bed as he filled me completely. He was everywhere—his scent, his heat, the rough scrape of his stubble against my throat. He didn’t give me time to adjust, setting a brutal pace that had me clawing at the sheets.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice raw.

I forced my eyes open, meeting his burning gaze. The intensity there stole my breath. This wasn’t just sex—it was possession.

"You feel that?" He snapped his hips harder, hitting a spot that made me see stars. "That’s what you did to me, the moment you kissed me."

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. Pleasure coiled tight in my belly, threatening to snap. His thumb found my clit again, rubbing in tight circles, and I shattered.

My orgasm ripped through me like a storm, my body clamping around him as I screamed God knows what. He followed moments later, his release hot and deep inside me, his groan muffled against my skin.

For a long moment, we stayed like that—breathless, tangled, ruined.

Then, slowly, he pulled away, his expression unreadable.

I should have regretted it.

But as my eyelids grew heavy, the last thing I remembered was the warmth of his arms around me—and the terrifying thought that I never wanted him to let go.