Jaded

Chapter Three

The bed frame groaned in protest, the sound mingling with her ragged moans and the slick, obscene music of their bodies colliding. He was relentless, a storm of pure sensation, and all she could do was hold on, her nails digging into the powerful muscles of his back. The power dynamic had been violently, deliciously reversed.

She was no longer the one in charge; she was the one being claimed, used, worshiped in the most primal way imaginable.

He lowered his head, his mouth finding the sensitive skin where her neck met her shoulder. He bit down, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to leave a mark, a possessive brand. The sharp sting of pain shot directly to her c**t, and the coil in her belly finally snapped. Her orgasm ripped through her, a blinding, shattering wave of pleasure that made her entire body convulse. She screamed his name, a raw, broken sound, as her p***y clenched around his thrusting d**k.

Her climax seemed to finally trigger his own.

His rhythm became erratic, his thrusts deeper, harder.

He drove into her one last time, a guttural groan tearing from his lips as his body went rigid.

She felt the powerful throb of his c**k as he came, the condom swelling with the force of his release. He stayed buried inside her for a long moment, his body shuddering with the aftershocks, his breath hot and heavy against her neck. Then, slowly, he pulled out.

Emmett rose from the bed, his movements fluid and confident. He carefully peeled the filled condom from his softening d**k, the latex slick with their combined fluids. He tied it off with a quick, practiced motion and slung it towards the wastebasket beside the bed, where it landed with a soft thud.

Jade watched him, her body still humming with pleasure, her limbs heavy and sated.

But when he turned back to the bed, she saw that he was far from finished.

His c**k, already thickening again, stood proud against his thigh.

He reached for the nightstand, his fingers closing around the foil packet resting there. The crinkle of the wrapper was the only sound in the room. He ripped it open, his eyes never leaving hers, a silent, unmistakable promise in their dark depths. He sheathed himself again, his movements efficient and sure.

The night was still young, and he was going to f**k her until the sun came up.

The room no longer felt like a room so much as a sealed world—air thickened by proximity, by warmth, by the kind of silence that only exists when words have completely lost the right to interrupt.

Light from the city slipped through the curtains in thin, restless bands, moving across skin, fabric, and shadow like something curious and unwilling to look away.

They didn’t keep still.

There was no carefulness left in the way they found each other again and again—only instinct, only momentum, only the quiet unraveling of restraint that had been holding too long to matter anymore.

Breath came unevenly now, broken in places where composure used to be. The sound of it filled the spaces between them more than speech ever had—closer than language, more honest than anything either of them had said out loud.

At times, there were moans—low and unfinished, names spoken like they might mean something if repeated too clearly. At others, there was nothing at all except the soft collision of closeness and the rustle of sheets shifting as the night refused to stay still around them.

The scent in the room changed as time passed—warm, lived-in, unmistakably human now, the kind of intimacy that lingers in the air long after the moment that created it has already moved on.

And still, neither of them seemed interested in stopping.

Not properly.

Not when every pause only seemed to pull them back in again, as if distance itself had become something neither of them remembered how to want.

Outside, the city kept pretending it didn’t know what was happening behind the glass.

Inside, there was no pretending left at all.

Only the slow, unmeasured passage of a night that refused to behave like a night anymore—stretching, folding, breaking, reforming in heat and breath and the quiet certainty that whatever this was, it was no longer something that could be easily undone.

Eventually, exhaustion began to press at the edges of everything—softening movement, slowing time, turning intensity into something heavier, quieter, almost tender in its aftermath.

The kind of stillness that only comes when two people have nothing left to prove to each other.

Just presence.

Just closeness.

Just the unmistakable fact that the night had changed them without asking permission.

Jade woke with a violent start.

For one terrifying second, she didn't know where she was.

The unfamiliar ceiling stared back at her, pale morning light stretching across it in long golden bands. The room smelled faintly of expensive hotel linens, stale whiskey, and the remnants of a night she remembered only in pieces at the time.

A dull ache pulsed behind her eyes. She groaned. The movement alone felt like punishment. Slowly, she dragged a hand through her tangled blonde hair and forced herself to look beside her. The other half of the bed was empty.

A strange disappointment settled low in her stomach.

The sheets were still twisted together, bearing evidence that someone had occupied them only hours ago, but Emmett was gone.

Jade listened.

No shower.

No television.

No movement from the suite.

Nothing.

Just silence.

The kind that felt strangely loud.

She sat up carefully, pressing her fingertips against her temples as another wave of pain rolled through her head. "God..." she muttered.

The king-sized bed looked utterly destroyed.

Sheets tangled.

Pillows scattered.

The comforter halfway on the floor.

It looked less like a place people had slept and more like a battlefield that had finally surrendered.

As she searched for her phone, her eyes landed on something resting neatly on the nightstand. A folded piece of paper. Frowning, she reached for it. The paper crackled softly between her fingers as she unfolded it.

Had to go to work. I had a great night. Call me.

— Emmett

Beneath his name was a phone number.

Jade stared at it. Then blinked. A smile tugged at her lips before she could stop it. The note was unexpectedly sweet. Unexpectedly thoughtful. She folded it again and slipped it carefully into her clutch sitting beside the bed.

Only then did she notice the bottle of water and headache medicine sitting beside where the note had been.

The smile returned.

Softer this time.

Of course he had thought of that.

The man had left before dawn and somehow still managed to prepare for her inevitable hangover. Twisting open the bottle, she swallowed two pills and drained half the water. The cool liquid felt like heaven. For a few moments she simply sat there.

Quiet.

Thinking.

The memories of the night drifted through her mind in flashes.

The hotel bar.

Whiskey.

Laughter.

Dark eyes.

The feeling of being completely untethered from reality for a few hours.

No expectations.

No responsibilities.

No family.

No obligations.

Just a stranger.

Just one reckless night.

Another night of forgetting who she is.

And honestly?

It had been nice.

The thought lingered as she climbed out of bed.

Her legs protested immediately. Not from anything dramatic. Just exhaustion. The kind that followed a night spent being folded like a pretzel.

Her phone. Where the hell was her phone? She searched the bedroom first.

Nothing.

The bathroom.

Nothing.

Finally, she wandered into the sitting area attached to the suite.

There.

Lying face-down on the coffee table.

Relief flooded her. Until she picked it up. Then it vanished. "Oh no."

The screen was a disaster.

Missed calls.

Voicemails.

Messages.

Walter.

Walter.

Walter.

Luca.

Luca.

Walter.

Roman.

Her stomach immediately dropped.

She opened Roman's texts.

7:03 AM

Where are you?

7:36 AM

Jade, wtf? Are you passed out at the hotel again?

8:49 AM

Jade, Luca is on the way.

Jade looked at the time. 9:57 AM. Her face went pale. That message had been over an hour ago. "s**t,” she hisses sharply.

As though the universe had been waiting for her realization, a violent pounding exploded against the hotel door.

Jade yelped. The phone nearly flew from her hand. Another pound followed. Louder. More impatient.

"Fuck..." she groaned. Her head felt like it might split open. Moving quickly, she snatched an oversized shirt from her overnight bag and pulled it over her head. The fabric barely settled before she stepped into a pair of panties. One foot. Then the other.

The lock suddenly beeped.

Jade froze. "No, no, no—"

The door swung open.

"JADE!" Luca's voice thundered through the suite. He stormed inside like a man preparing to drag a body out. His dark eyes swept the room.

The couch.

The floor.

The bedroom beyond.

Then he saw her. Standing beside the couch. Hair a complete mess. Oversized shirt hanging to the middle of her thighs. Half dressed. Very much alive.

His shoulders dropped an inch. Only an inch. Then the anger returned. "What the f**k, Jade?!" The door slammed behind him. The sound echoed through the suite. "You were supposed to be home this morning!"

Jade physically flinched. The volume alone was enough to make her headache triple. Without answering, she turned away and grabbed the pack of cigarettes resting on the coffee table. A moment later she had one hanging from her lips. The lighter clicked. Smoke curled toward the ceiling. "Lower your damn voice," she muttered. "I passed out."

Luca stared at her.

Then at the room.

The glasses.

The bottles.

The obvious evidence that she had spent the entire night drinking.

His jaw flexed. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he exhaled sharply. "I told you that you should've stayed home." The words came out quieter. Not calmer. Just exhausted. "You have any idea what kind of morning I've had?"

Jade frowned. "I can imagine."

"No." He laughed once. "You really can't." He pointed toward her. "Walter was ready to kill me!"

Her stomach twisted immediately. Luca rarely complained. For him to admit that, meant it had been bad.

Really bad.

"You were supposed to—"

"I'm sorry." The words left her mouth before she could stop them.

Silence.

Complete silence.

Luca froze. The rest of the sentence died instantly. For a moment he simply stared at her. Because Jade didn't apologize. Not unless she absolutely meant it. Not unless she knew she had screwed up. And certainly not before someone demanded one.

The cigarette paused halfway to her mouth.

She looked genuinely guilty.

The realization stole every bit of momentum from his anger.

Not all of it.

Just enough.

Enough for concern to begin slipping through the cracks.

His eyes moved over her again.

The pale skin.

The dark circles beneath her eyes.

The slight wince every time she moved her head.

The way she was leaning against the couch for support.

Hungover.

Exhausted.

And judging by the state of the room, running on very little sleep.

Luca released a long breath. The fight drained from his shoulders. "What happened?" he asked finally. His voice had dropped considerably.

Gone was the shouting.

Gone was the outrage.

Now he simply sounded worried.

And somehow, that was worse.

"Do you really want to know?" Jade asked. The sarcasm in her voice was dulled by exhaustion.

She sat heavily on the couch, sinking back into the cushions as though her body had finally decided it was done cooperating with her. The cigarette balanced between her fingers trembled ever so slightly when she lifted it to her lips. Whether from the hangover or lack of sleep, she couldn't tell.

Across from her, Luca's dark eyes drifted away. They moved slowly around the suite. past the abandoned whiskey glasses sitting on the coffee table, past the empty wine bottle resting near the armchair, past the discarded jacket hanging over the back of a chair, then toward the bedroom.

The door stood partially open. Just enough to reveal the edge of the king-sized bed beyond, the tangled sheets, the devastation of a room that had clearly been occupied all night.

Luca's jaw tightened. The muscle feathered once beneath his skin. "Is he still here?"

Jade followed his gaze. For a moment she simply looked back at him. The question itself wasn't surprising. The tone was. There was no jealousy in it. At least, none that she could hear.

No bitterness.

No wounded pride.

No possessiveness.

Instead, there was something colder.

Something far more hazardous.

The tone of a man assessing a situation.

The tone of a man identifying a potential problem.

If another man walked out of that bedroom right now, Jade had little doubt Luca would put him through a wall before asking questions.

"No," she replied softly.

The tension in his shoulders eased slightly.

Not enough for most people to notice.

Enough for Jade.

Luca nodded once and looked away.

Satisfied.

Or at least satisfied enough.

The silence stretched comfortably between them for several seconds.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, traffic crawled through the city streets below. The skyline shimmered beneath the morning sun, indifferent to the chaos that had unfolded inside the suite.

Jade leaned her head back against the couch. God. Her head was killing her. Every heartbeat felt like someone was tapping a hammer against the inside of her skull. The cigarette helped.

Not much.

Just enough.

Luca eventually crossed the room and lowered himself onto the arm of the couch beside her. The furniture creaked beneath his weight. Close. Not crowding her. Just close enough to keep an eye on her.

It was such a Luca thing to do that Jade almost smiled.

For several moments he simply studied her.

The pale complexion.

The dark circles beneath her eyes.

The way she occasionally winced whenever she moved too quickly.

Hungover.

Exhausted.

Completely drained.

Finally, he sighed. The sound was heavy. Resigned. "Why do you keep doing this, Jade?"

She laughed quietly. A cloud of smoke drifted from her lips. The question wasn't judgmental. If anything, it sounded tired, like he had asked himself the same thing a hundred times and never found an answer. "Pleasure," she replied. One bare shoulder rose in a lazy shrug as the oversized shirt slipped lower against her skin. The movement exposed more of her shoulder before she bothered adjusting it. "Why else?"

Luca stared at her for a long moment. Then he shook his head. A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth despite himself.

Of course that was her answer.

Pleasure.

Freedom.

Anything that made her feel alive.

Anything that let her escape.

For as long as he had known her, Jade had been running toward the next distraction.

The next adventure.

The next thrill.

Anything that kept her from sitting still long enough to think.

"You know," he said quietly, glancing toward the window, "one of these days Walter is actually going to lock you in the house."

That earned a snort.

Jade smiled around her cigarette. "I'd like to see him try."

"I wouldn't."

The response came so quickly that she laughed. A genuine laugh. The sound filled the room.

For the first time since arriving, Luca felt some of the tension leave his chest.

Then the smile faded. Guilt slipped into its place. "I'm sorry for getting you in trouble."

Luca turned toward her. She wasn't looking at him. Instead, she stared at the cigarette burning slowly between her fingers. The apology sounded genuine. Which made it hit harder.

"I left my phone in here."

For a moment he simply looked at her. Then a tired laugh escaped him. "I doubt your phone would've woke you."

That earned him a reluctant smile.

Probably true.

The thing could have exploded and she likely would have slept through it.

Luca pushed himself to his feet. The movement drew her attention immediately. "How about you take a shower?"

Jade looked up. Suspicion immediately entered her expression. "A shower?"

"I'll order room service."

Her eyebrows rose. "Room service?"

"You look like death."

A laugh escaped her. "That's sweet."

"It's not supposed to be."

"It kind of is."

"You still look like death."

She rolled her eyes.

Despite herself, the offer sounded wonderful.

A shower.

Food.

Coffee.

The possibility of becoming human again.

Slowly, Jade stood. The room immediately tilted. Her stomach dropped. "Whoa—"

Luca was already moving. His hand closed around her elbow before she could stumble. steadying her, supporting her weight without making a production of it. For a brief second she leaned into him. Just enough to regain her balance. Then she straightened.

Neither of them acknowledged it.

Neither of them mentioned it.

The moment passed between them silently.

"Go shower," Luca said. His voice had softened. "Before you face plant into the coffee table."

Jade smirked. "Bossy."

"And yet you're listening."

She flipped him off.

The gesture lacked any real enthusiasm.

Luca watched her disappear toward the bathroom.

A second later the door closed. Then the shower started. The rush of water filled the suite. For the first time all morning, silence settled over the room.

Luca exhaled slowly. Then immediately began cleaning. Not because he cared about the mess. Because he needed something to do.

Anything.

He gathered her belongings from around the suite. A charger tangled beneath the couch, her makeup bag, a pair of earrings, her clutch. The duffel bag she had apparently emptied across half the room. The entire time, he carefully avoided looking toward the bedroom. The entire time, his eyes kept drifting there anyway. The unmade bed sat beyond the doorway.

Visible.

Waiting.

An accusation.

A reminder.

Luca looked away.

He didn't care.

Didn't want details.

Didn't need details.

The lie was becoming increasingly difficult to sell himself.

By the time he had packed most of her things, room service arrived.

The bellhop wheeled in an enormous breakfast cart.

Coffee.

Orange juice.

Pancakes.

Eggs.

Toast.

Enough food to feed a small army.

The scent immediately filled the room.

Luca paid him and handed over a generous tip.

The young blonde bellhop grinned. Then his eyes wandered around the suite. The grin widened.

Luca instantly disliked him.

"Not that I was eavesdropping," the bellhop began. Which meant he absolutely had been. "But good job last night."

Luca blinked.

The grin somehow grew wider. "I'm sure your girlfriend is pleased." Then the i***t winked.

Actually winked.

And walked out.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Silence descended.

Luca stood perfectly still. For several seconds he didn't move at all. Then his hands slowly curled into fists. The muscles in his jaw flexed.

Girlfriend.

The word echoed through his skull.

Not because it was true.

Because it wasn't.

Jade wasn't his girlfriend.

Wasn't his wife.

Wasn't his responsibility.

Wasn't his.

The thought should have settled something. Instead, it made the anger worse. Because somebody had been here, somebody had occupied this room, somebody had spent the night with her. And despite every logical reason why he shouldn't care—

He did.

Far more than he should.

"Fucking..." he muttered beneath his breath. The rest never came. He dragged a hand across his face. Inhaled deeply.

Held it.

Exhaled slowly.

Again.

She isn’t mine.

Again.

She could sleep with whoever she wanted.

Again.

She owes me absolutely nothing.

The shower shut off.

The sound instantly pulled him from his thoughts. Luca closed his eyes. For one brief moment, he simply stood there in the middle of the suite. Surrounded by breakfast, surrounded by evidence of a night he didn't want to think about. Trying desperately to bury emotions he had no business feeling.

And failing miserably.