One Night, One Scar

Chapter Two: Retreat and Obsession

And I kissed him.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was desperate.

I pulled off my dress. He pulled me closer. His mouth claimed mine like he didn’t want to leave room for doubt.

He stripped of his shirt. I stared.

Tattoos. Muscles. Heat.

“f**k,” he murmured, his gaze on my chest. “You’re unreal.”

I didn’t feel unreal.

I didn’t feel beautiful.

I felt like a mess.

But somehow, under his eyes, I felt beautiful.

And then…

He began to move.

I felt his hands everywhere rough and hungry, yet somehow reverent. And before I could even catch my breath, his fingers slipped between my thighs, finding my c**t like he already knew exactly where I needed him.

He started slow. Teasing. Gentle circles that made my hips jerk and my breath catch in my throat.

Then harder.

Faster.

The pressure was building so fast I couldn’t stop it even if I wanted to. My back arched off the table, fingers clawing at his shoulders, my body already shaking. Moaning. Needy. Ruined in the best damn way.

“s**t,” I gasped, breathless. “Jace…”

But before I could even fall apart completely, his mouth was on my breast, warm, hot, perfect. He sucked hard, then soft, then hard again, like he was testing how much I could take.

I didn’t even remember that we were strangers.

All I knew was I wanted him to f**k me until the ache inside me turned into something clean. Something free.

His fingers were still inside me, deep and slick, and when he pulled back slightly and looked at his hand, his voice got low and rough.

“f**k,” he muttered. “You’re soaked.”

Then he looked at me and said, “Are you sure you want this?”

I didn’t think.

Didn’t blink.

I met his gaze, hips lifting toward his hand, and whispered, “Yes… please.”

He stretched his hand toward the nightstand and picked up a condom.

“Seems he was prepared for this” I said in my heart, but I didn’t f*****g care. All I wanted was him inside of me.

He entered me slowly at first, deep and steady, building heat and friction between our bodies until I couldn’t think.

I arched beneath him, my fingers digging into his back, pulling him closer like I could fuse us together.

“Harder,” I whispered, breathless.

He obeyed.

His rhythm changed, deeper, harder. His breath came hot against my neck, grunting softly with every stroke, every inch driving me closer to forgetting everything that came before him.

His hand tightened gently around my throat as he thrust into me, owning every part of me that had ever felt unwanted.

“f**k,” he groaned, and it wasn’t just lust. It was something else surrender. His eyes locked on mine like he didn’t believe I was real.

He pulled out slowly, savoring it, his hands cupping my breasts like they were something sacred. And then he lifted me, carried me like a storm he couldn’t hold back.

When I was on top of him, riding him with a rhythm that came from somewhere raw and aching inside me, his head fell back. His hands roamed my hips, my thighs, his eyes drinking me in like I was more than just a stranger.

When I traced his chest and circled his n*****s, his mouth parted. He cursed under his breath.

I was making him need.

And when that need swallowed him whole, he flipped me over, bent me forward, and drove into me from behind wild, hungry, relentless. His hand buried in my hair, the other gripping my hip tight.

He watched my body bounce back into him like it belonged there. He spanked me once. Twice.

I gasped.

He f****d me harder.

For the first time since my heart shattered, I felt wanted. Not just touched. Not just taken.

Craved.

Cherished.

Ruined in the best way.

He turned me again, kissed me like a curse, and tangled his fingers in my hair like he couldn’t get enough.

Then he walked me backward to his worktable, swept everything off in one violent motion, and laid me down like I was something fragile and priceless.

This time, he entered me slowly.

On purpose.

With reverence.

Like my body was the only salvation he’d ever know.

I gripped his neck and wrapped my legs around him, holding him there, grounding myself in the way he filled me, the way he made me forget every ache Derrick ever gave me.

And when I came hard and gasping for his name, something in him broke.

He followed with a deep, guttural groan, burying his face in my neck, moving like he never wanted to stop.

Then he carried me softly to the bed, tucked me into the warmth of his chest, and held me.

Not like a f**k.

Not like a favor.

Like I was human again.

I woke up to sunlight on my face and panic in my chest.

For a second, I didn’t even know where I was. The room was unfamiliar, the sheets smelled like someone else. My body ached in places I hadn’t felt in months. My mouth was dry. My thighs were sore. And the minute I turned my head and saw him…

Shit.

He was still asleep. Face relaxed, one arm tucked under his head like he had nothing to worry about. His chest rose and fell slowly, and God help me, even in his sleep, he looked like trouble. Beautiful, complicated problem.

I sat up carefully, holding my breath like he might explode if I made a sound.

And then it all came crashing back.

The bar. The staring. The way he touched me was like he owned my skin. The way I let him.

The way I begged him.

I pulled the sheet up to cover myself, even though it was ridiculous we’d been everywhere last night. Table. Bed. Floor. I couldn’t even remember where it ended. My cheeks burned. My heart was racing.

I needed to get out.

I climbed out of the bed like it was a crime scene and grabbed my underwear from the floor. My dress was a wrinkled mess by the desk, heels kicked somewhere near the wall. I moved like a thief in my own story, trying not to look at him. Not at his chest. Not at the way his lips were slightly parted, like he was dreaming.

God. What had I done?

I didn’t do this.

This wasn’t me.

And yet… it was.

I looked down at myself in the mirror and barely recognized the girl staring back. Hair tangled, lips bruised, thighs marked. He hadn’t just touched me. He’d ruined me. And what scared me the most was how much I wanted to be ruined again.

No. I couldn’t go there.

I slipped into my dress, didn’t bother zipping it up, and grabbed my purse.

One last glance.

He shifted in his sleep, reaching out across the bed, fingers grazing the empty space where I’d been.

I left before he could open his eyes.

The morning air slapped me awake the second I stepped out of the building. I didn’t even know where I was. Somewhere uptown. I ordered a ride and kept checking over my shoulder like I’d committed a murder.

Because it felt like I had.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t even think. I just held onto the ache between my legs like it was proof I hadn’t imagined him.

When I got home, Tessa was at my apartment waiting for me.

"Are you okay?” Tessa asked softly.

I sat close to the window and stared out the window for a long second.

“I don’t know.”

We sat in silence again, the kind only our best friends could sit in without discomfort. Tessa didn’t pressure. She waited. When I finally spoke, my voice cracked.

“It was different,” I whispered.

Tessa looked at her. “Different how?”

“I didn’t feel… dirty. Or empty. I felt like he actually saw me. Not just my body. Not like Derrick did. Not like”

My voice broke again.

Tessa reached over and grabbed my hand. “Then maybe he deserves a chance.”

I gave her a tight smile.

“No. I don’t want to use someone else to forget what Derrick did to me. That wouldn’t be fair.”

Tessa squeezed my hand. “Sel, not every man is your ex.”

“I know. But I’m still bleeding, T. I’m not healed. I can’t offer someone pieces I haven’t put back together.”

Tessa nodded, understanding in her eyes. “Just promise me you won’t run forever.”

I didn’t answer.

My phone buzzed again, but I left it untouched on the kitchen counter. I couldn’t afford distractions, not now, not when every thing felt like a crack reopening old wounds.

My thoughts wandered back to Derrick, the betrayal, the lies. The way he tore through my trust like it was nothing.

I had given him everything: my love, my faith, my all.

And he threw it away.

The memory tightened my chest.

I didn’t want to be vulnerable again. Not with anyone.

But last night… with Jace, something felt different.

Not love. Not yet.

But a glimmer of something safer.

Something real.

Tessa’s words echoed loudly in my mind: “Just promise me you won’t run forever.”

I wasn’t sure if she could keep that promise.

Instead, I went upstairs and did what I felt was the safest:

Blocked Jace’s number. Deleted it.

And buried the night deep beneath the silence I’d gotten used to.

Jace.

I didn’t even ask for his last name.

And I didn’t want to.

Because if I asked… I’d care. And if I cared, it would ruin me.

So I blocked it out.

All of it.

The way he looked at me like I was more than just a distraction.

The way he carried me like I was fragile and wild all at once.

The way I fell apart in his arms, like I’d been waiting my whole damn life for someone to break me the way he did.

I told myself it was just s*x. Just a moment. Just one night.

But deep down, I already knew that wasn’t true.

The bed suddenly felt too large, the silence in the room too loud. When I woke up, she was gone.

A hollow ache twisted in my gut, sharp and unfamiliar. Panic? No, it was something deeper. A desperate, frantic hunger. My mind raced, piecing together what I hadn’t yet dared to admit: I couldn’t forget her.

I clenched my fists, the sheets slipping from my sweat-slicked skin. How had she slipped out without a word? Without a trace? My breath came shallowly, quickly, as if I could inhale her back into the room.

The anger burned next cold and vicious. Who the hell did she think she was, walking away like that? As if it was that simple. As if I’d let her go.

But beneath it all was something I didn’t want to name. Something raw and feral, an obsession that tightened its grip around my chest with every passing second. Her face flashed behind my eyelids: her eyes, wild and vulnerable; her lips, trembling with unspoken regrets.

I wasn’t supposed to care. I wasn’t supposed to want her.

But I did.