His Ruthless Obsession

The Wrong Bed

s**t.

The sheets. They’re too soft. That’s literally my first thought when I open my eyes. Adrian would never, he’s obsessed with those stiff, itchy Italian ones his mother swears by. Says they “build character.” Whatever that means. These? These feel like they cost more than my rent and my car put together.

My head is pounding. My mouth is dry. And then,

That smell. Sandalwood. Warm, rich. Definitely not Adrian’s stale cologne that smells like paperwork and banks.

Oh God.

Oh no.

I’m not in my bed.

And then it all slams back into me so fast I want to curl up and disappear. The hotel bar. Too much champagne. Him. Damian Blackwood. Looking at me like… like he could see straight through my skin.

And then his mouth was on mine. Hard. Hungry. Like he’d been waiting for that exact second his whole life. He tasted like whiskey and sin and danger, and I knew I should’ve run. I didn’t.

His hand tangled in my hair, tugging just enough that my breath caught. He pulled me closer, closer until there was nothing left but heat and him and the sound of my heart breaking wide open.

I remember gripping his shoulders like if I let go, he’d vanish and I’d wake up alone. His mouth trailed down my neck, slow, deliberate, like he was taking his time marking every single place I was weak. My knees nearly buckled.

And when his hand slid down my back, pulling me flush against him—God. The shock of it. The rush of heat sharp enough to hurt. Nobody had ever touched me like that. Not Adrian. Not anyone. Not like I was something to discover instead of something to put on display.

“You deserve more than silence,” he’d whispered, voice low and rough against my skin.

That line, it cracked me in half. Words sharper than his touch. Like he’d peeled away every excuse I’d been hiding behind.

By the time we stumbled into his place, my hands were shaking. Not out of fear. Out of want. Out of hunger so deep it felt like ache in my bones. Jackets gone. My dress halfway off. His hands everywhere, claiming, learning, memorizing.

I’ll never forget the way he looked at me when my dress slid off. He didn’t pounce. Didn’t smirk. He just… looked. A beat of silence that burned, like he was memorizing every inch. And then his mouth was on me again, slower this time. Careful. Like worship.

The sheets were cool when my back hit them, his body hot and solid as he came over me. Not crushing, protecting. Like he was holding the weight of the world off me with his arms even though he was the weight of the world.

“Tell me what you want, Elena,” he’d said, voice thick against my ear.

And for once, I told the truth. No filters. No shame. Every buried want, every piece of me I’d hidden away.

And he gave it to me. Every single thing. With his hands, with his mouth, with his body moving against mine. Slow at first. Then harder. Rougher. Until I was gone, until I wasn’t even sure where I ended and he began.

He didn’t just take. He gave. Again and again until my whole body was trembling and my chest was raw from breathing too hard. Until I forgot my own name and only remembered his.

And when it was over, he didn’t roll away. He didn’t turn his back. He pulled me against him, tight, kissed my hair like he wasn’t ready to let go.

For the first time in… God, years, maybe, I felt wanted. Not tolerated. Wanted.

And now? I feel like I might throw up.

The bathroom door opens. Steam spills out.

And there he is. Damian Blackwood. Just a towel slung low on his hips, water dripping down his chest. Those scars across his shoulder, the ones I traced with my mouth last night, catching the light.

“You’re awake.” His voice, it’s like it vibrates right through me. “Thought you’d try sneaking out.”

My face flames because that’s exactly what I was going to do. Grab my dress, my dignity, and vanish.

“I have to go. Adrian will,”

“Will what?” His eyes are sharp now, not soft like in the dark. “Notice you’re gone? When’s the last time he even looked at you long enough to notice?”

That lands like a punch. I can’t even answer. The last time? Three weeks ago? When I told him I was at Maya’s? He grunted something about dinner and didn’t look up from his laptop. Before that? God, I don’t even know.

I clutch the sheet tighter. “This was a mistake.”

“Was it?” He steps closer, the bed dipping under his weight. Sandalwood and soap filling my lungs until I can’t breathe. “You didn’t seem too mistaken last night when you were begging me to,”

“Don’t.” My voice cracks. I can’t bear to remember the sounds I made. The way I shattered.

His hand comes up. Gentle. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch so soft it almost breaks me again.

“Elena. Look at me.”

I don’t want to. God, I don’t want to. Because looking at him here, half-naked, smelling like s*x and steam and danger, it’s suicide.

But I do.

And he says, quiet but steady: “This doesn’t have to be a mistake. This could be the first real thing you’ve done in years.”

Fuck. Because it’s true. I can’t even lie to myself about that.

I slide out of bed, wrapping the sheet tight around me. My dress is crumpled on the floor like proof. It makes me sick just looking at it, sick because I want to do it all again.

“Running already?” His tone is amused but his eyes aren’t. They’re… searching.

“I’m married.”

“Married to a man who treats you like furniture.”

My head snaps up. “You don’t know anything about my marriage.”

“I know enough. I know you’ve been starved so long you forgot what it feels like to matter. And I know last night you came apart like you’d been starving for years.”

The dress nearly slips from my hands. Because he’s right. He’s so f*****g right it hurts. Adrian looks at me the way he looks at his watch, valuable, nice to have, something people admire. But he never sees me.

“One night,” I whisper, my throat raw. “That’s all it can be.”

Something flickers in his expression. Pain? Anger? Hunger? I don’t know. “We’ll see.”

I wrestle myself into my dress with shaking hands, heels by the door, underwear god knows where. Every second I stay here it gets harder to leave.

“Elena.” He’s in jeans now, still shirtless. My stomach twists just looking at him. “This isn’t over.”

“Yes it is.”

“No.” His voice is steel. “One taste will never be enough.”

I run.

In the elevator, I try to fix my hair, practice lies. Dental emergency. Maya needed me. Food poisoning. Something bland enough Adrian won’t ask questions.

But when the doors open and I catch my reflection in the lobby mirror—I freeze.

My lips are swollen. There’s a mark on my neck. My eyes… God. My eyes look alive. Brighter than they’ve been in years.

I look like a woman who’s been touched. Loved. Wanted.

I look like someone who just blew up her life.

Or maybe… maybe I finally did something right.

Fuck.

What the hell am I going to do?