This Shouldn’t Be Happening
1041 Words
Marcus's POV
The bachelor party was the next day, a promise of chaos wrapped in neon and bass.
Emily had insisted on separate celebrations… “girls’ night out, boys do boys’ things.”
But Ethan had vetoed anything too wild. No strippers. No blackout-level debauchery. Just a private rooftop lounge downtown brodered sleek glass railings the caught city's lights. Low leather booths, servers in expensive tuxedo's, and a DJ spinning deep house that vibrated through your bones.
The venue was one of his offshore buildings. Or one he was planning on buying soon. I couldn't really remember.
I arrived and blamed traffic… leaving out the part where I’d spent an hour staring at my reflection trying to look like I wasn’t unraveling.
Black button-down, sleeves rolled, dark jeans that hugged just right. It wasn't anything flashy. Fit the dress code on the invitation just right as well.
All I had to do was steer clear of him the entire night.
But the moment I stepped out of the elevator, I felt him.
Ethan stood near the bar, the charcoal shirt open at the collar with sleeves pushed to his mid-forearm.
His veins stood out under the low lights.
Laughing at something one of his groomsmen said, the second his eyes found me across the rooftop, the laugh died.
His gaze dragged down my body. Slow, deliberate, then back up.
He lifted his glass in a silent toast, and my stomach flipped.
The plan to avoid him had gone straight out the window.
I made my way over, dodging clusters of guys in varying states of tipsy. Ethan stepped away from the group before I reached him, and met me halfway like he’d been waiting.
“You’re late,” he said.
“Traffic.”
“Liar.” His lips curved, just a fraction. “You were deciding whether to show up at all.”
He wasn’t wrong.
He handed me a neat whiskey drink, just the way I liked it. Then,
“Drink,” he ordered softly. “You look like you need it.”
Didn't have to tell me twice.
I took a sip and it burned all the way down, loosening up what felt like a tight noose over my neck.
The rooftop filled fast. Friends, colleagues, a couple of his business associates who looked like they could buy the building if they wanted.
Ethan moved through them like water: firm handshakes, controlled smoles, backslaps that carried weight.
Everyone gravitated. Everyone deferred.
Except me.
I stayed on the edge, watching him work the room. Every time his eyes flicked my way, he pulled the air out of my lungs.
Half an hour in, he appeared at my side again.
“Come with me.”
It wasn't a question.
He led me through a side door, then down a short hallway to a private terrace where the DJ’s music couldn't boom through.
It was just the hum of the city below and the faint thump of music through glass.
The door clicked shut behind us.
He leaned against the railing, arms crossed, watching me with that burning linger in his eyes.
“You’ve been avoiding me since yesterday,” he said.
“I haven’t.”
“You have.” He pushed off the railing and closed the distance in one step. “I don't like being ignored Marcus.”
My back hit the wall, cool concrete seeping through fabric. He didn’t touch me. Not yet. Just caged me with his presence, broad shoulders blocking the wind while heat rolling off him.
“I… I can't pretend I didn't see what was on your lapt—”
“And?” His jaw flexed.
“And… l.” My voice cracked. “I just...”
He studied me… eyes dark and unreadable.
Heat flooded my face. “I couldn’t stop, Ethan.”
A low sound rumbled in his chest. Not anger. It was something… hungrier.
He lifted a hand, and brushed his knuckles along my jaw.
“You like watching,” he murmured. “Or do you like being watched?”
My breath hitched.
He stepped closer, thigh brushing mine. The hard line of him pressed just enough to make my head spin.
“Tell me what you want, Marcus.”
I swallowed. “I… I want…”
His thumb traced my lower lip… same as last night, but slower. Pressing just enough to part them.
“Say it.”
“I want…” My voice faltered. “Things I shouldn’t.”
His eyes flared. Dark fire.
He leaned in. Mouth hovering over mine. Close enough I could taste the whiskey on his breath.
“Careful,” he murmured. “You don’t get to say things like that and walk away.”
My insides had broken long ago. My body knew exactly it wanted, and who it wanted it from.
I opened my mouth—
And the terrace door flew open.
“Ethan! Man, they’re about to do toasts—”
One of his groomsmen stood at the opening. Eyes wide, his gaze fell over the scene.
Ethan pinning me to the wall, hand on my face, bodies inches apart.
But Ethan didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away immediately.
He simply turned his head, and looked at the intruder like he was an insect.
“Out.”
The guy stammered. “S-sorry. Just… they’re waiting—”
“I said, Out.”
The door slammed shut again, and Ethan turned back to me, thumb still on my lip.
“Interrupted,” he said, voice rough. “Again.”
I was shaking. Need, fear and guilt all crashing together.
He leaned in one last time, lips brushed the shell of my ear.
“Tonight isn’t over. Stay close.
He pulled back, then straightened his shirt like nothing had happened.
Walking to the door, when he opened it again, a different face stood in front of us.
“Ethan. Sorry to interrupt. But Emily’s here and she's…”
The rest of the sentence died in his throat. I didn't know which one was worse. Emily… or the fact that it was Jake stood right in front of us.
Either way, I was f****d. Completely, irreversibly f****d.
And the worst part?
I didn’t want to be saved.
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD