Chapter 8

The gallery was breathtaking.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the Manhattan skyline, the city glittering like scattered diamonds against black velvet. The space itself was minimal, white walls and polished concrete floors, designed to let the art breathe.

And the art was extraordinary.

A massive Rothko dominated one wall, blocks of deep crimson and orange that seemed to pulse with their own light. Beside it, a Pollock exploded in controlled chaos, black and white splatters frozen in motion.

But it was the sculpture in the center of the room that stopped me cold.

Two figures, bronze and intertwined, caught in a moment of desperate intimacy. Their bodies pressed together, limbs tangled, faces hidden in each other’s necks. The craftsmanship was exquisite, every muscle defined, every curve deliberate. It was beautiful and raw and profoundly erotic.

“That’s ‘Dissolution’ by Philip Owen,” Xander said, coming to stand beside me. “He’s relatively unknown, but I think he’s brilliant.”

“It’s…” I couldn’t find the words. The sculpture radiated hunger. Not just physical desire but emotional need, two people trying to lose themselves in each other.

“Honest?” Xander supplied.

“Yes. Honest.”

We stood there in silence, both staring at the bronze figures. The air between us felt charged, electric. I was acutely aware of how close he was standing. Close enough that I could smell his cologne. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.

“What do you see when you look at it?” Xander asked, his voice low.

“Two people trying to forget.”

“Forget what?”

“Everything. Who they are. What they’ve lost. The world outside.” I swallowed hard. “Using each other as an escape.”

“Is that what you want? To escape?”

I turned to look at him. His eyes were dark, pupils dilated. The intensity from earlier had returned, but now it was laced with something else. Something dangerous.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“From what?”

“Everything. My life. My failure. The weight of being me.” The martinis had loosened something inside me. Or maybe it was him. Maybe it was the way he looked at me like I was a puzzle worth solving. “I’m so tired of carrying it all.”

“Then put it down.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Yes, you do.” He stepped closer. Not touching, but close enough that the air between us disappeared. “You know exactly how. You’re just afraid to take it.”

My heart was hammering. “Take what?”

“What you need.”

The sculpture seemed to pulse in my peripheral vision. Two bodies tangled together, seeking oblivion.

“I don’t know what I need,” I said.

“Liar.” His hand came up slowly, giving me time to move away. I didn’t. His fingers brushed my cheek, feather-light. “You need to stop thinking. Stop carrying. Stop being the good girl who does everything right and still gets destroyed.”

“And how do I do something like this?”

“You let go.”

His thumb traced my lower lip. The touch sent fire through my veins.

“Xander—”

“Tell me to stop.” His voice was rough. “Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll take you back downstairs. We’ll forget this happened.”

But I didn’t want to forget. For the first time in weeks, I felt something other than pain. I felt alive. I felt wanted. I felt like someone other than the girl who’d lost everything.

“I don’t want you to stop.”

The words had barely left my mouth before his lips were on mine.

The kiss was nothing like Leo’s careful, controlled affection. This was hunger. Raw and desperate and consuming. Xander’s hand tangled in my hair, tilting my head back as he deepened the kiss. His other hand found my waist, pulling me against him.

I gasped against his mouth and he took advantage, his tongue sliding against mine. The taste of gin and something darker, something uniquely him. My hands found his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath the expensive shirt.

He walked me backward until my back hit the cool glass of the window. The city sprawled below us, millions of lights and lives, but all I could feel was him. His body pressed against mine. His mouth moving from my lips to my jaw to the sensitive spot below my ear.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he breathed against my neck.

“Don’t stop.”

His hands slid down my sides, mapping the curves of Maya’s borrowed dress. When he reached my thighs, he gripped them, lifting me effortlessly. I wrapped my legs around his waist, gasping at the friction, at the hardness I could feel pressing against me.

“Not here,” he said, his voice strained. “Come home with me.”

“Where?”

“The Peninsula. I have a suite.”

I should have said no. Should have pulled away, straightened my dress, returned to Maya and the safety of making good decisions.

But I was so tired of good decisions.

Good decisions had given me Leo. Had given me a career that imploded. Had given me a life where I tried to be perfect and ended up with nothing.

“Yes,” I said.

Xander set me down gently, but kept one hand on my waist like he was afraid I’d disappear. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He pulled out his phone, typing something quickly. “My car will be downstairs in two minutes.”

We took the elevator down. The descent felt both too fast and agonizingly slow. Xander stood close but didn’t touch me, like he was giving me space to change my mind. But I could feel his eyes on me, burning.

The main floor of The Vault was still pulsing with music and bodies. Maya spotted us immediately, rushing over.

“Di, are you okay? Where did you go? I was about to—” She stopped, taking in my flushed face, my swollen lips, the way Xander’s hand rested possessively on my lower back. “Oh.”

“I’m going with him,” I said.

“Diana—”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Maya grabbed my hand, pulling me aside. Xander stepped back, giving us privacy. “Di, you just met him. You don’t know anything about him. This isn’t like you.”

“Exactly. Being like me got me nowhere. Maybe it’s time to be someone else.”

“This is the alcohol talking.”

“Most likely. Or maybe it’s me finally doing something I want instead of something I should.” I squeezed her hand. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

“Text me when you get there. And in the morning. And if anything feels wrong, call me immediately and I’ll come get you.”

“I will.”

I hugged her, then returned to Xander. His expression was unreadable.

“Your friend is right to worry,” he said as we walked toward the exit. “You don’t know me.”

“Do you want me to change my mind?”

“No. But I want you to be certain.”

I stopped, forcing him to look at me. “I’m certain I want to forget tonight. I’m certain I want to feel something other than miserable. I’m certain I want you. Is something like this enough?”

His eyes darkened. “More than enough.”

A black car waited outside, sleek and expensive. The driver opened the door and we slid into the back seat. The privacy screen was already up.

The moment the door closed, Xander pulled me onto his lap. His mouth found mine again, hungrier this time, less controlled. My dress rode up as I straddled him, silk pooling around my hips.

His hands roamed my back, found the zipper of the dress. “Can I?”

“Yes.”

He pulled the zipper down slowly, the sound loud in the quiet car. The dress loosened, and I shrugged it off my shoulders, letting it pool at my waist. I wasn’t wearing a bra under the dress. Hadn’t needed one with the fitted bodice.

Xander’s breath caught. His hands came up to cup my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples. The sensation shot straight through me and I arched into his touch.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, before lowering his head to take one nipple into his mouth.

I gasped, my hands fisting in his hair. He sucked and licked and bit gently, giving the same attention to each breast until I was grinding against him, desperate for more friction.

His hand slid between us, pushing aside the silk of my underwear. When his fingers found me, slick and ready, he groaned.

“So wet already.”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“Touch me.”

He did, his fingers circling and stroking with maddening precision. I buried my face in his neck, trying to muffle my moans as he built the pressure higher and higher.

“Don’t hide,” he commanded. “I want to hear you.”

His thumb found my most sensitive spot and pressed, and I shattered. The orgasm crashed through me, leaving me shaking and gasping in his arms.

“We’re here, Mr. Lockwood,” the driver’s voice came through the intercom, carefully neutral.

I scrambled off Xander’s lap, pulling my dress back up. My face burned with embarrassment. The driver had definitely heard.

Xander seemed completely unbothered. He helped me zip the dress, then pressed a kiss to my shoulder. “Come.”

The Peninsula was understated elegance. We crossed the lobby quickly, Xander’s hand on my lower back, guiding me to a private elevator. He swiped a key card and pressed the button for the top floor.

The moment the doors closed, we were on each other again. Xander pinned me against the wall, his thigh pressed between my legs as we kissed with desperate intensity.

The elevator stopped. We stumbled out into a private hallway. Only one door. Xander fumbled with the key card, finally getting it open.

The penthouse was stunning. Floor-to-ceiling windows, modern furniture, a view of Central Park lit up in the darkness. But I barely registered any of it because Xander was already unzipping my dress again, sliding it down my body.

I stood before him in nothing but heels and a scrap of lace underwear.

“Bedroom,” he said, his voice rough.

“Where?”

He lifted me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carried me through the suite. The bedroom was dominated by a massive bed, white sheets and too many pillows. He set me down gently on the edge.

Then he stepped back, loosening his tie.

I watched as he undressed. The tie first, then the shirt, revealing a body of hard muscle and smooth skin. He was beautiful in a way models were beautiful, all lean strength and perfect proportions.

When he reached for his belt, I stood. “Let me.”

My hands were shaking as I unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants. I pushed them down along with his underwear and he stepped out of them.

He was hard, impressive, and the sight of him made my mouth go dry.

“Your turn,” he said, reaching for my underwear. He slid the lace down my legs and I stepped out of it, completely bare except for the heels.

“Leave those on,” he said.

He walked me backward until my knees hit the bed. I fell back and he followed, covering my body with his. The feeling of skin on skin, nothing between us, was overwhelming.

“Tell me what you like,” he said, kissing down my neck.

“I don’t know.”

He pulled back, looking at me. “You don’t know?”

“Leo was… conventional. Missionary. Lights off. Quick.”

Something dark flashed in Xander’s eyes. “Then we’re going to find out what you like.”

He kissed his way down my body, paying attention to every sensitive spot. Behind my ear. The hollow of my throat. The curve of my breast. The soft skin of my inner thigh.

When his mouth finally found me, I cried out. Nothing had ever felt like this. His tongue moved with the same precision as his fingers in the car, but the sensation was entirely different. Wetter. Hotter. More intense.

He used his fingers too, sliding them inside me while his mouth worked my most sensitive spot. The combination was devastating. I gripped the sheets, my hips lifting to meet him as he pushed me higher and higher.

“Xander, I’m going to—”

“Come for me, Diana.”

I shattered again, the orgasm even more powerful than the first. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed through me until I was shaking and gasping his name.

He kissed his way back up my body, settling between my legs. I could feel him, hard and ready, pressing against me.

“Condom,” he said, reaching for the nightstand.

I watched as he rolled it on, then positioned himself at my entrance. He pushed in slowly, giving me time to adjust. The stretch was intense, almost too much, but not painful.

“Okay?” he asked, his control clearly costing him.

“Yes. Move.”

He did, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in. The rhythm was slow at first, measured, but as I met each thrust with my own movement, it became faster. Harder. More desperate.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, taking him deeper. He groaned, burying his face in my neck as he moved. One hand found my breast, kneading and pinching. The other slid between us, finding where we were joined.

The dual sensation was too much. I came again, clenching around him, and he followed moments later with a guttural moan of my name.

We lay tangled together, breathing hard. Sweat cooled on our skin. The city glittered outside the windows, oblivious to what had just happened in this room.

Xander shifted, pulling out carefully and disposing of the condom. Then he returned, pulling me against his chest.

We lay in silence for a while. His hand traced lazy patterns on my back. Outside, sirens wailed. Inside, I felt something I hadn’t felt in weeks.

Peace.

“What are you thinking?” Xander asked.

“I’m not thinking. For the first time in weeks, my brain is quiet.”

“Is this what you needed?”

“Yes.” I tilted my head to look at him. “Was this what you needed?”

“I needed to see if you felt as good as I imagined.”

“And?”

“Better.”

He kissed me again, slow and deep. His hands roamed my body, relearning curves he’d already memorized. The kiss deepened, grew more heated.

I felt him hardening against my hip.

“Again?” I asked.

“If you want.”

I did want. I wanted to lose myself in sensation. Wanted to forget who I was and what had happened to me. Wanted to be someone new, someone who took what she wanted without apology.

“Yes,” I said. “Again.”

This time was slower. He took his time exploring my body, finding spots I didn’t know were sensitive. Behind my knee. The small of my back. The curve where my neck met my shoulder.

He positioned me on my hands and knees, entering me from behind. The angle was different, deeper, hitting spots the first time hadn’t reached. His hand fisted in my hair, not painfully, but possessively.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

“Yes. God, yes.”

He moved with controlled power, each thrust deliberate. His other hand reached around, finding where I needed him most. The combination of sensations built to an impossible peak.

When I came this time, I screamed. The sound was raw, primal, nothing like the quiet gasps Leo had coaxed from me.

Xander followed, his grip tightening on my hips as he shuddered through his own release.

We collapsed onto the bed, limbs tangled. My body felt liquid, every muscle relaxed in a way I hadn’t experienced in years.

“Water?” Xander asked.

“Please.”

He returned with two bottles, and we drank in comfortable silence. The sheets were a mess, tangled and damp. Neither of us cared.

“I should let you sleep,” he said.

“I’m not tired.”

“Neither am I.”

His hand slid up my thigh, possessive and exploring. My body responded immediately, warming to his touch despite having just been thoroughly satisfied.

“How many times can you go?” I asked.

“With you? Let’s find out.”

The night blurred into sensation. His mouth on my body. My nails down his back. The slide of skin on skin. The sound of our breathing, our moans, our whispered encouragements.

We explored each other with the freedom of strangers who owed each other nothing. No expectations. No history. No future.

Just now.

By the time exhaustion finally claimed us, the sky outside was lightening with the first hints of dawn. We lay wrapped around each other, skin cooling, breathing synchronized.

“Diana,” Xander murmured, already half asleep.

“Mm?”

“I hope I made you forget everything.”

“You did.”

I meant it. In this moment, tangled in expensive sheets with a man I barely knew, I meant it.

For now, Diana Pembroke had found her escape.

And it had been worth every dangerous choice.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​