When Forbidden Feels This Good

CHAPTER 5

Scarlett’s POV

The silence in the house was suffocating. Every creak of the floorboards, every hum of the air conditioning, and every tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway felt like it was mocking me. I stared at Madison's text for the hundredth time, the photo burning itself into my retinas. Evidence. Blackmail. Destruction wrapped up in a single image.

I couldn't think here. Couldn't breathe. The walls were closing in, and all I could see was Cade's face when he'd walked away, tortured and resigned, choosing duty over desire.

Choosing them over us.

I needed out. Needed noise and people and something, anything, to drown out the chaos in my head.

Three hours later, I was sliding into a dress I'd bought in Milan and never had the guts to wear. Black silk that clung to every curve, with a neckline that dipped low enough to be dangerous and a hem that barely kissed mid-thigh. I paired it with heels that made my legs look endless and grabbed my clutch.

If I were going to self-destruct, I might as well look good doing it.

The bar I found was in the finest part of downtown, all exposed brick and Edison bulbs and a cocktail menu that probably cost more than my plane ticket home. The kind of place where tech moguls and oil barons rubbed elbows with trust fund babies pretending to have jobs.

Perfect.

The moment I walked in, I felt eyes on me. Conversations paused mid-sentence. Heads turned. The bartender, a woman with sleeve tattoos and a knowing smile, gave me an approving nod as I slid onto a stool at the end of the bar.

"What can I get you?" she asked.

"Tequila. The good stuff. Keep them coming."

She raised an eyebrow but didn't comment, just poured a shot of amber liquid, and I threw it back, relishing the burn, the way it scorched down my throat and settled warm in my belly.

One shot became two. Two became three. The edges of the world started to blur, softening into something manageable.

I was reaching for my fourth when the bartender set down a bottle I definitely hadn't ordered. Dom Pérignon, the label read. Vintage.

"I didn't order this," I said.

"Compliments of the gentleman at the end of the bar." She nodded toward a figure in the shadows, and when he stepped into the light, I had to admit he was handsome. Sandy hair styled with just enough product to look casual, blue eyes, and a smile that was probably practised in mirrors. He wore a tailored suit that screamed money, the kind of effortless wealth that came from never having worked a day in his life.

He raised his glass in a silent toast.

Despite myself, I smiled back. Just a little. Just enough.

That was all the invitation he needed.

He crossed the bar with the confidence of someone who'd never been told no, sliding onto the stool beside me. Up close, I could smell his cologne, something expensive and cloying that tried too hard.

"I'm Blake," he said, extending a hand. "Blake Morrison."

"Scarlett." I took his hand and let him hold it a beat too long.

"Beautiful name for a beautiful woman." The line was cheesy, delivered with the kind of charm that suggested it usually worked. "What brings you here tonight, Scarlett?"

"Trying to forget."

"Bad breakup?"

"Something like that."

He leaned in, close enough that I could see the flecks of grey in his blue eyes. "Well, I'm excellent at helping beautiful women forget. Dance with me?"

I glanced at the small dance floor where couples swayed to something slow and jazzy. The thought of being held by a stranger, of pretending for even a moment that I was normal, that my life wasn't imploding, was tempting.

But not tempting enough.

"I don't think so," I said.

"Come on." His hand found my knee, fingers tracing small circles. "One dance. What could it hurt?"

"I said no."

"You're killing me here." He flashed that practised smile again. "At least let me buy you another drink. We can talk. I promise I'm fascinating. My father owns Morrison Tech. Maybe you've heard of it?"

"Can't say that I have."

"We're developing AI solutions for …"

"I really don't care."

He laughed like I'd made a joke instead of being serious. "Playing hard to get. I like that."

I was about to tell him exactly where he could shove his assumptions when the door opened.

And Cade walked in.

My entire body went rigid. He looked wrecked, his hair dishevelled like he'd been running his hands through it, still wearing the same clothes from earlier. His eyes swept the bar, dark and searching, and when they landed on me, something flickered in their depths.

Surprise. Then heat. Then something darker when his gaze dropped to Blake's hand still resting on my knee.

A reckless, dangerous idea bloomed in my alcohol-soaked brain.

If Cade wanted to walk away, wanted to choose duty over us, fine. But he didn't get to have it both ways. Didn't get to want me and reject me in the same breath.

I turned to Blake and let my smile turn sultry. "You know what? I could really use that dance."

His face lit up. "Really?"

"Really." I slid off the stool, steadied myself on my heels, and let him take my hand.

He led me to the dance floor just as a new song started, something with a heavy beat that thrummed through the floor. His hands found my waist, pulling me close, and I went willingly. Turned so I could see Cade over Blake's shoulder.

He was frozen at the bar, knuckles white around a glass he must have grabbed. Watching. Unable to look away.

Good.

I started to move, letting the music and the alcohol guide me. Blake's hands tightened on my waist as I swayed, my hips moving in slow circles. I pressed closer, feeling his sharp intake of breath and the way his body responded immediately.

"Damn, girl," he breathed against my ear. "You're so hot."

I didn't respond, just kept moving, kept grinding against him with deliberate precision. His hands started to wander, sliding lower, and I let them. For now. Because across the room, Cade's jaw was so tight I thought it might shatter.

Blake's hands slid lower still, gripping my ass, pulling me harder against him. I could feel him, hard and insistent against my stomach, his breath coming faster.

"You're driving me crazy," he muttered, and then his hand was moving up, reaching for my breast.

I caught his wrist. "Hey. Take it easy."

"Come on, baby. You've been grinding on me for five minutes. Don't act like you don't want this."

"I wanted a dance. Not that."

"Don't be a tease." His grip tightened, trying to push past my resistance.

"I said stop." My voice was sharp now, the playful facade cracking.

But he didn't stop. Instead, he yanked me harder against him, his other hand groping roughly at my chest. "Stop playing games."

I shoved him. Hard. He stumbled backwards, shock flashing across his face before it morphed into anger. He recovered quickly, lurching forward, hand raised.

"You little b***h …"

His hand never connected.

Cade caught his wrist mid-air, the sound of flesh hitting flesh echoing over the music. Then his fist was driving into Blake's face with brutal precision, and Blake was crashing to the floor, blood streaming from his nose.

The music stopped. Everyone was staring.

"When a woman says stop, you stop," Cade growled, standing over him like some avenging angel.

Blake struggled to his feet, face contorted with rage and humiliation. "Who the f**k are you?"

"Cade Blackwood James."His voice was deadly calm. "And she…" His eyes found mine, blazing with possession and fury and something that made my breath catch. "She is mine."

The words hung in the air, a claim and a confession all at once.

Blake tried to swing at him. Cade dodged easily and landed another punch that sent him sprawling again. This time, he stayed down, hands raised in surrender.

"Come on." Cade's hand found mine, fingers lacing through mine with bruising intensity. "We're leaving."

He pulled me through the stunned crowd, past the staring faces, out into the cool night air. His truck was parked at the kerb, and he practically shoved me into the passenger seat before stalking around to the driver's side.

The engine roared to life. We peeled away from the kerb, and that's when the scolding started.

"I f*****g told you to lock the door and stay in the house!" His voice was raw, barely controlled. "Where the hell did you go at this ungodly hour? That guy could have been a serial killer! Or worse, a r****t! Do you know what he could have done to you?"

"Quit yelling. What are you, my father?" I rolled my eyes, the alcohol making me bold and reckless.

"Listen to me!" His palm slammed against the steering wheel, the sound sharp in the confined space. "I'm only trying to protect you. Don't ever do this again!"

"Protect me?" I laughed, bitter and sharp. "With a hard d**k?"

"What are you talking about?" His eyes flicked down, following my gaze to where his arousal was evident against his jeans. Colour flooded his face. "Scarlett, I…"

"Can't handle the tension anymore?" The words tumbled out, raw and honest. "I want to be inside you."

"Stop." His voice was strained. "You're drunk. You're not thinking clearly."

"I'm thinking perfectly clearly." I reached down, fingers finding the hem of my dress, and pulled it up. Slowly. Deliberately. Until the black lace of my panties was visible in the dim light from the dashboard.

"Scarlett, you're not helping …"

I hooked my fingers in the lace and pulled it aside. Slid my fingers through the wetness there, then reached across the console. Pressed my fingers against his lips and his jaw, leaving a glistening trail.

"You see how much I want you too?" I whispered. "Daddy."

"f**k! "The word was torn from him. The truck swerved violently as he yanked the wheel, pulling off onto a dark side street. Gravel crunched under the tyres as he threw it into park in the shadow of an abandoned building.

He turned to me, eyes wild. "Get in the back seat. Now."

I didn't need to be told twice.

I scrambled over the console, my dress riding up, heels catching on the leather. His hands were on me immediately, steadying me, guiding me. Then he was there, in the back with me, the space suddenly too small and exactly right all at once.

"Last chance," he growled, hands framing my face. "Tell me to stop and I will. I'll take you home, and we'll never speak of this again."

Instead of answering, I crushed my mouth to his.

He groaned, the sound vibrating through both our bodies, and then we were tearing at each other's clothes with desperate, clumsy hands. His shirt hit the floor of the truck. My dress was bunched around my waist. His belt buckle clinked as I yanked it open and shoved his jeans down.

"I've wanted this," he breathed against my throat, teeth scraping over my pulse. "Wanted you. For so f*****g long."

"Then take me." I arched against him, feeling him hot and hard against my core. "Take what you want."

He positioned himself, the blunt head of him pressing against my entrance. Our eyes locked in the darkness. For a moment, just a heartbeat, I saw everything in his face. Love. Want. Desperation. Surrender.

Then he pushed inside with one brutal thrust.

I cried out, back arching, fingers digging into his shoulders. He filled me, stretched me, and the burn was perfect and terrible and everything I'd been craving.

"Cade!" His name tore from my throat.

"Say it again." He withdrew slowly, torturously, then slammed back in. "Let everyone hear who you belong to."

"Cade!" Louder this time, echoing in the confined space.

He set a punishing rhythm, each thrust driving me higher and harder against the leather seat. His hands were everywhere: tangled in my hair, gripping my hips, sliding up to cup my breasts through the thin silk. Every touch branded me, claimed me, and marked me as his.

"You're mine," he growled against my throat. "Say it."

"Yours," I gasped. "Only yours."

His mouth found mine, swallowing my moans as he drove into me again and again. I could feel the tension coiling tighter in my core, pleasure building to an unbearable peak.

"Come for me," he commanded. "Let me feel you."

As if his words had unlocked something, my o****m crashed over me. I screamed his name, nails raking down his back, my body clenching around him in waves of overwhelming sensation.

"f**k, Scarlett!" He thrust more, hard and deep this time, before I felt him shudder and felt the warmth of his release as he buried himself to the hilt and came with a broken groan.

For a long moment, we stayed locked together, breathing hard, skin slick with sweat. He collapsed on top of me, his weight pressing me into the seat, and I wrapped my arms around him, holding him close.

This was all I'd needed tonight. This connection. This claiming. This proves that what we felt was real.

Tomorrow, I'd blame it on alcohol. Tomorrow, I'd figure out what Madison wanted. Tomorrow, I'd deal with the consequences of what we'd just done.

But tonight, wrapped in Cade's arms in the back of his truck, I let myself pretend that this could be enough.

That we could be enough.

Even though I knew, deep down, that everything had just changed.

And there was no going back.