Chapter 4

I stood outside the hotel room longer than I meant to. The corridor was quiet, the kind of quiet that made every small sound feel too loud. The hotel sat far enough from the city centre to feel hidden, yet close enough that the drive had not given me time to change my mind. I adjusted the mask on my face, drew a slow breath that did nothing to steady me, and knocked.

The door opened almost at once.

Cole stood there with a towel hanging low on his hips. Water still traced the lines of his chest and stomach, catching the low light. His body was lean and solid, nothing like the softer frame I had grown used to at home. I swallowed before I could stop myself.

He gave a small, calm smile.

“Come in.”

I stepped inside. The room was dim and cool, the air carrying a faint trace of soap and clean skin. I sat on the edge of the couch without removing my mask, hands locked tightly together in my lap. Everything about this felt strange. Necessary. Wrong.

Cole poured a glass of wine and held it out to me. I took it but did not drink. The glass felt too cold in my fingers.

He sat across from me, studying my face with quiet patience.

“What made you change your mind?”

I exhaled slowly.

“I just felt like it.”

I did not mention the messages on Ethan’s phone. I did not tell him how Camille’s words had pushed me past the last edge of hesitation. Some things I still wanted to keep for myself.

He nodded once.

“So we are really doing this?”

“Why else would I be here?”

Cole leaned forward slightly, his voice careful, almost gentle.

“Mrs. Sienna, if you are not ready we can stop. Or reschedule. There is no pressure. I mean that.”

I stood before he finished speaking. My legs felt unsteady, but I forced them to hold.

“I did not come all this way to cancel. I am willing. I decided this myself.”

Silence stretched between us. My pulse was loud in my ears, so loud I almost wondered if he could hear it.

“Can you kiss me?” I asked, the words coming out thinner than I wanted.

Surprise crossed his face. He did not move at once. The delay made my nerves spike harder. For a moment I almost stepped back. Then the memory of the video returned—Ethan and Camille on that bed, the way he had held her, the sound of her voice—and the anger pushed me forward again. I stepped closer, rose onto my toes, and pressed my mouth to his.

The first kiss was rough, more anger than want. My hands gripped his shoulders too tightly. He let me take what I needed for a few seconds before he eased back, his hands light on my arms.

“I will not rush this,” he said quietly. “Let me take my time. If he has been giving most of his attention to her, I doubt he has been taking care of you the way he should.”

I could only nod. My throat felt too tight for words.

He kissed me again, slower this time. His lips were warm and patient, nothing like the distracted, habitual presses I had grown used to at home. A low flutter started in my stomach, unfamiliar and unwelcome. Images of Ethan and Camille tried to surface—the way he had cupped her face, the soft sound of her laugh—but I forced them down hard. If I let them stay they would ruin everything I had come here to do.

Cole guided me back toward the couch. I sank onto it, palms resting against his bare chest. His skin was warm under my hands. His mouth moved over mine with a steadiness that scattered my thoughts and made it harder to hold on to the anger. When he asked, voice low, if we could move to the bed, I nodded.

The moment we crossed into the bedroom the careful restraint he had been holding began to slip. He undid the buttons of my blouse one by one, his fingers brushing my skin with each movement. I lay back against the sheets, heart racing so hard it almost hurt. He removed my bra and lowered his mouth to my skin.

The first touch of his lips on my breast made my body jolt. A small, involuntary sound escaped me. He kissed me slowly, thoroughly, moving lower across my stomach with a patience that made my fingers twist in the sheets. I pushed my pants down with unsteady hands. When he finally let the towel fall I could not look away. I swallowed hard, heat rising in my face.

He reached for the nightstand.

I caught his wrist.

“No,” I whispered. “Like this.”

He studied my face for a long second, searching for any sign of hesitation. Then he nodded.

When he pushed into me it was slow and careful at first. I gripped the sheets, legs rising to rest against his shoulders. Heat spread through me in heavy waves. It had been so long since I had felt anything close to this—long enough that my body almost did not know what to do with the sensation. He moved with steady control, adjusting the angle until he found a rhythm that broke my breath apart.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, voice low near my ear.

I could only nod, already too far gone for words.

After that he did not hold back. Each thrust landed deep and precise, hitting places that made my vision blur and my thighs tremble. My skirt was pushed high on my chest. Pleasure built so quickly it almost frightened me. My legs weakened. My eyes fluttered shut. For a moment the memories tried to return—Ethan, Camille, the hotel garden—but the present was stronger. The heat, the pressure, the way my body tightened around him.

I came hard, a broken sound leaving my throat as the release crashed through me in waves that left me shaking.

I had never experienced an orgasm before. Not once in my entire marriage.

I lay there panting, completely undone, while Cole collapsed onto the other side of the bed, equally breathless and damp with sweat. For a few seconds the only sound in the room was our uneven breathing. My mind felt strangely empty, as if the anger and the grief had been pushed aside for a moment by something simpler and more physical.

Then a loud bang rattled the door.

We both froze.

Another heavy knock followed, harder than the first, shaking the wood in its frame.

A voice I never expected to hear here shouted from the other side.

“Open the door, Sienna! I know you’re in there with a man. Open the fucking door before I break it down!”