Betrayed Hearts

Chapter Five, Room 999

*** Room 999***

He was beautiful.

That was Amber's first coherent thought as she stumbled into his arms. Beautiful in a way that didn't seem quite real, like someone had taken every perfect feature and assembled them with mathematical precision. Strong jaw. High cheekbones. Dark eyes under darker brows.

But something was wrong.

His skin was flushed. Sweat beaded at his temples despite the cool air conditioning. His jaw was clenched tight, and there was something in his eyes, something wild and unfocused.

"Wrong room," he said. His voice was ice. Sharp enough to cut. "Get out."

But his hands were still on her arms where he'd caught

She blinked up at him, trying to make her alcohol soaked brain work. "I... the key didn't"

"I don't care about your key. I don't care why you're here." He released her abruptly, like touching her burns. Stepped back. "Leave. Now."

But he was trembling. This fine tremor ran through his whole body.

"Are you okay?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.

His laugh was bitter. Cold. "Do I look okay? Just get out before I" He cut himself off, jaw working.

"Before you what?"

"Before I lose what little patience I have left." His eyes were hard. Cutting. "Let me guess. You're lost. Drunk. Saw me somewhere and thought you'd try your luck. Figuring out a rich guy in a penthouse suite would be easy."

She just stared at him. At his face. At the sharp angles catching the dim light filtering in from the city outside.

God, even angry he was stunning.

"Are you even listening to me?" His voice went harder. "Or are you too drunk to understand? Let me make it simple. Get out. I don't want whatever you're selling. I don't do charity cases. And I certainly don't"

She kissed him.

Just stepped forward and pressed her lips to his, cutting off whatever cruel thing he was about to say next.

He went completely still.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then she felt it, a shudder running through him. Violent. His whole body seized.

He jerked back like she'd electrocuted him. His eyes were wide. Shocked.

His hand moved between them, checking something. Confirming. His breathing got faster. Ragged.

"What?" His voice cracked. "How did you"

He stared at her like she'd done something impossible. Like his body had just betrayed him in some fundamental way.

"I don't" He shook his head, still staring. "This doesn't"

He couldn't finish a sentence. Just kept looking at her with this mix of confusion and something else. Something hungry.

"You need to leave," he said, but it sounded different now. Less cold. More desperate. "Right now. Before I"

"Before what?"

"Before I can't control it anymore." His eyes met hers and what she saw there made her breath catch. Raw need. Barely contained. "I don't know what's. You need to go. Now."

But she didn't move.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was because she'd just watched her life explode. Maybe it was because this beautiful stranger was looking at her like she was something he needed, really needed, for the first time in two years.

"What if I don't want to leave?" she heard herself say.

His jaw clenched harder. "You're drunk. You don't know what you're saying."

"I know exactly what I'm saying." She took a step toward him. "I know my husband spent two years f*****g my best friend while I slept alone. I know everyone knew except me. I know I've spent two years feeling like I was dying inside."

Her voice cracked but she pushed through.

"And right now, I just want to feel something else. Even if it's just for tonight."

"You'll regret it." But his eyes were fixed on her mouth.

"I already regret everything," she whispered. "What's one more thing?"

He was still trembling. Still fighting something. She could see the war happening behind his eyes.

She reached up slowly. Touched his face.

The reaction was immediate.

A violent shudder ran through him. Head to toe. His pupils blew wide, so large the irises nearly disappeared.

"Oh god," he breathed. "What is"

Heat. Impossible heat radiating from him. And that hardness pressing against her, unmistakable.

His hand shot up and grabbed her wrist. Not pushing her away. Holding her there.

"I don't understand," he said. Almost to himself. "This doesn't. Why am I"

Then something in him snapped.

His mouth crashed onto hers, hard and desperate and nothing like any kiss she'd ever had.

Not gentle. Not asking permission.

Taking.

His teeth caught her bottom lip and she gasped. He took that too, his tongue sliding against hers in a way that made her knees buckle.

His hands were in her hair, on her waist, pulling her against him so hard there wasn't any space left between them. She could feel every inch of him. Feel how much he wanted this.

Wanted her.

When was the last time someone had wanted her like this?

Never. The answer was never.

She kissed him back just as desperately. Grabbed his shirt in both fists and pulled him closer even though they were already pressed together.

He made a sound low in his throat, almost a growl, and suddenly her back was against the wall. His body pinning her there. His mouth moved to her neck, her collarbone, that spot behind her ear.

His hands were already pushing her dress up. No patience. No hesitation.

"Tell me to stop," he said against her skin.

"Don't stop," she breathed. "Please don't stop."

His hand slid between her legs and she cried out, too loud in the quiet room.

"Christ," he muttered.

His fingers pushed inside and she couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but feel.

Two years. Two years of nothing.

And now.

The orgasm hit so hard her legs gave out. Only his body against hers kept her standing. She was shaking, gasping, making sounds she'd never made before.

"More," he said. Not a question. His voice was barely human now. "I need more."

He spun her around. Her palms hit the wall. She heard his belt, his zipper.

Then he was there. Right there. The blunt pressure of him against her.

He slammed inside.

The force punched a cry from her lungs. He was big, bigger than she'd expected, and he didn't give her time to adjust. Just pulled back and drove in again.

It hurt. God, it hurts. But in the best possible way. Like pain and pleasure melting together until she couldn't tell them apart.

This was what she needed. Not gentle. Not careful.

This. Raw and real and so intense she couldn't think about anything else.

"Harder," she heard herself beg.

He gave her what she asked for.

Each thrust slammed her into the wall. His fingers dug into her hips so hard she knew there would be bruises.

Good. She wanted them. I wanted proof this happened. Proof someone wanted her enough to leave marks.

One of his hands slid to her throat, not squeezing, just resting there. Possessive. The other moved down between her legs, finding that spot again.

"Come," he commanded.

She did. The orgasm ripped through her even harder than the first. She screamed, and didn't care who heard.

He kept going. Kept thrusting through her orgasm until she was crying, shaking, begging incoherently.

Then he buried himself deep and she felt him come. Felt the hot rush inside her.

They stayed like that for a moment. Both breathing hard. His forehead pressed between her shoulder blades.

Then he pulled out and she felt his release sliding down her thighs.

She turned to look at him.

He was still hard.

Still. Hard.

His eyes met hers, wild, confused. Like he didn't understand what was happening to his own body.

"Where's the bedroom?" she asked quietly.

He pointed with a shaking hand. Couldn't seem to form words.

She walked into the next room. It was massive, all clean lines and expensive furniture. A bed big enough for four people dominated the space. Dim light from floor to ceiling windows cast everything in soft shadows.

She pulled her dress over her head. Tossed it aside.

He was on her before it hit the floor.

Mouth on her breast. Hands everywhere. And she was arching into it, into him, into this feeling of finally being wanted.

They fell onto the bed.

Again. And again.

She lost count of how many times.

Each time she thought maybe it would stop. Maybe his body would finally calm down. But then he'd be hard again and they'd start over.

Her body ached everywhere. Between her legs. Her hips. Places she'd forgotten could hurt.

But she didn't want it to stop.

Because Timothy never touched her like this. Never looked at her like this. Never made her feel like this.

And she didn't regret it.wouldn't regret it tomorrow or next week or ten years from now.

Tonight, she took something for herself. Tonight, she stopped being Timothy's rejected wife and became just Amber again.

If she perished, she perished.

But at least she'd perish satisfied.

The room started spinning. Or maybe that was just her.

Everything blurred together, his mouth, his hands, the way he moved.

Exhausted.

Her eyes kept closing. Opening. Closing again.

"I can't," go another round, she mumbles. "Too tired"

Her body had nothing left to give.

The last thing she felt was his arm sliding around her. Pulling her close.

Then nothing.

Just darkness and finally, quiet as sleep knocked her from reality and the lust she had succumbed to.