FORBIDDEN HOURS; 10 Taboo Nights

Not Goodbye

Cole ate me against the glass like the city was allowed to watch.

My palms were flat on the window. My dress was gone. My heels were still on because he told me to leave them. His mouth was relentless—tongue, lips, that low hungry sound he made every time I got wetter for him. He slung one of my legs over his shoulder and licked into me until my forehead bumped the glass and the lights below smeared.

I came on his tongue with a broken moan.

He didn’t stop.

He sucked my c**t through the aftershocks, two fingers pumping into the mess he had already left in me, until I yanked his hair and he finally stood, mouth shining, eyes dark with the kind of want that did not care about morning flights.

He carried me to the bed.

Dropped me on my back. Pushed my knees apart. Looked at me spread open on his sheets with his c*m still on my thighs and said, “Pretty.”

Then he was inside me.

Deep. Hard. No warm-up I needed. I was soaked and swollen and he filled me in one stroke that punched the air out of my lungs. He hooked my legs high and f****d me like he had been holding back in the elevator and this was the real pace.

The headboard knocked the wall.

I clawed his back. He bit my breast, then my throat, then my mouth, kissing me filthy while his hips slammed home. Every thrust shoved another wet sound out of me. I could feel how used I already was and it only made me tighter.

“Look at me.”

I did.

He changed the angle and hit a spot that made my vision go white. I came again, clamping down on him, and he cursed and kept going, f*****g me through it until I was shaking and oversensitive and still lifting my hips for more.

He pulled out, flipped me onto my stomach, dragged my ass up, and pushed back in from behind.

Deeper like this.

I buried my face in his pillow and took it. His hand fisted my hair. His other hand reached under me and rubbed my c**t in tight, mean circles. The wet slap of his body against mine filled the penthouse. I came a third time with his name torn out of my throat and he followed with a groan, burying himself to the hilt and pouring into me until I felt heavy with it.

We collapsed.

For a minute there was only breathing and the city humming against the glass.

Then he pulled me over his chest, still inside me, still twitching, and dragged his thumb across my swollen mouth.

“Sleep,” he said.

I didn’t.

I climbed on top of him an hour later and took him again, slow at first, then greedy, riding him while his hands bruised my hips and his mouth closed over my n****e. He let me use him until my thighs burned, then sat up, wrapped an arm around my back, and thrust up into me until we both broke again.

Dawn came anyway.

Pale light over the skyline. My dress on the floor. My ring still on my hand, catching the morning like a joke. Cole was awake before I was, watching me the way he had in the elevator—like he had already decided something and I was only now catching up.

I sat up. My body ached in places that would make sitting on a plane interesting.

“I have a flight,” I said.

“I know.”

He didn’t ask me to miss it. He didn’t ask me to stay. He just pulled me down and kissed me slow and filthy, then put his mouth between my legs one last time and made me come on his tongue while the sun hit the glass.

When he finished, he stood, naked, unashamed, and walked to the kitchen like a man who had gotten exactly what he wanted.

I found my dress.

I didn’t find my underwear.

At the door he caught my wrist, pressed me back against the wood, and slid two fingers into me—easy, possessive, checking his work.

“Still full,” he murmured.

He kissed me once more, tasting like coffee and me.

“Go catch your flight, Lena.”

I left.

The elevator was working now. Bright. Ordinary. A woman got on at twelve with a latte and no idea what the walls had already seen.

I rode it down with his c*m still in me and his bite still on my throat.

At the lobby I didn’t look back.

But when my phone buzzed in the taxi, the message had no name. Just a number I hadn’t been given.

Eighteen. Next time you press it, don’t wear a dress I have to ruin.

I stared at the screen until my flight boarding time lit up beneath it.

Then I saved the number.

And I did not delete the chat.