In his sheets

The music was too loud. That was my first thought as I stepped into the club. The bass was so heavy I could feel it in my chest, vibrating through my bones. Lights flashed red and blue and gold, strobing across a sea of bodies pressed together like sardines in a can. I hated clubs. I hated the sticky floors. I hated the smell of cheap perfume and sweat and desperation. I hated the way men looked at you like you were a piece of meat on display. But Maya loved them. And Maya was my best friend. And tonight was supposed to be a celebration. "Lena!" Maya screamed over the music, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the bar. "You're so tense! Relax! We're celebrating!" "I am relaxed," I lied. "You look like you're about to throw up." "That's just my face." Maya laughed. She was gorgeous. Always had been. Tall, blonde, effortlessly confident. The kind of girl who walked into a room and everyone turned to look. I was the opposite. Short. Dark hair. The kind of girl who faded into the background. But tonight, I didn't want to fade. Tonight, I wanted to forget. "Two tequila shots!" Maya shouted at the bartender. "And make it quick!" I opened my mouth to protest. She shot me a look. "Don't you dare," she said. "You just got the job. The dream job. You're going to drink. You're going to dance. And you're going to have fun if it kills you." "The dream job." I laughed bitterly. "It's an entry-level marketing position, Maya. I'll be making coffee and filing papers." "For now." She slid a shot toward me. "But you're in the door. That's what matters. Next year, you'll be running the place." "In my dreams." "Exactly. That's where it starts." She raised her glass. "To dreams." I hesitated. Then I picked up the shot. "To dreams," I repeated. I threw it back. It burned. Fire sliding down my throat. I coughed. My eyes watered. Maya laughed. "That's my girl! Another round!" "No, Maya" "Two more!" Two shots turned into three. Three turned into four. By the time I lost count, I was feeling it. The world was softer. The music was better. The sticky floor didn't bother me anymore. Maya had disappeared into the crowd. Probably found some guy to entertain her for the night. That was Maya. She could find a man in an empty room. I was alone. And for once, I didn't mind. I made my way to the dance floor. I closed my eyes. I let the music take over. I wasn't a good dancer. I didn't care. I moved my hips. I raised my arms above my head. I let the rhythm flow through me. For a few minutes, I forgot everything. I forgot about my student loans. I forgot about my leaky apartment. I forgot about my mother's disappointed voice on the phone. "A marketing assistant, Lena? I didn't send you to college to be someone's assistant." I forgot about all of it. I was just... here. And then I felt it. Someone watching me. My eyes snapped open. He was across the dance floor. Standing by the bar. He wasn't dancing. He wasn't talking to anyone. He was just standing there, holding a glass of something dark, staring directly at me. He was tall. Six foot something. Broad shoulders that filled out his suit jacket. Dark hair that was slightly messy, like he'd been running his hands through it. A jaw that could cut glass. His eyes were dark. Almost black. And they were fixed on me. My heart stuttered. Look away, I told myself. Just look away. He's probably some creep. This is how it starts. You're drunk. He's probably dangerous. I didn't look away. Neither did he. He moved. Not fast. Not slow. He walked through the crowd like they didn't exist. Like he had a bubble around him that parted the masses. He stopped right in front of me. Close. Too close. I could smell his cologne. Expensive. Woodsy. Something that made my stomach flip. "You have no idea who I am, do you?" His voice was low. Rough. It cut through the music like a knife. I should have been scared. I should have stepped back. I should have found Maya and left. I didn't. "Should I?" I asked. His lips curved. A slow smile. Dangerous. "No. Don't." "Why not?" "Because if you knew who I was, you'd run." I tilted my chin up. "I don't run." He laughed. It was a quiet sound. Dark. "We'll see about that." His hand found my waist. Pulled me closer. His grip was firm. Possessive. I should have pushed him away. I didn't. "You don't even know my name," I said. "Tell me." "Lena." "Lena." He said it like he was tasting it. Like it was something precious. "I'm going to remember that." "What's yours?" He leaned in. His lips brushed my ear. "You don't need to know. Not tonight." "Why?" "Because tonight, I don't want to be anyone. I just want to feel." My breath caught. I knew what he was offering. I knew it was reckless. Stupid. Dangerous. I wanted it anyway. "Okay," I whispered. He smiled. That slow, dangerous smile. "Okay." We left the club together. He took my hand. Led me through the crowd. No words. Just his fingers intertwined with mine. Outside, the air was cold. I was still wearing my tiny dress. My arms were bare. I shivered. He noticed. He took off his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders. "Thanks," I said. "Don't mention it." His car was waiting. A black town car. Driver in a suit. He opened the door for me. I slid inside. He followed. The leather was soft. The car smelled like him. "Where are we going?" I asked. "My place." "That's it? No dinner? No drinks? No romantic walk on the beach?" He laughed. "You're funny." "I'm serious." "I know." He looked at me. "I don't do romance, Lena. I do... this. If you want dinner and walks on the beach, I'm not your guy." "I didn't say I wanted those things." "Then what do you want?" I paused. The car was moving. The city lights were passing by outside. "I don't know," I admitted. "I just know I don't want to be alone tonight." His expression softened. Just for a second. Then the mask was back. "Me neither," he said quietly. His penthouse was insane. Floor-to-ceiling windows. City lights stretching out like a thousand tiny stars. A kitchen that cost more than my apartment building. A living room with a couch big enough to sleep ten people. And the bed. God, the bed. It was massive. Silk sheets. Black. Expensive-looking. It sat in the center of the room like a throne. "Nice place," I said. "It's okay." "Okay? It's amazing." "It's just a place." He walked to the window. He stood with his back to me. "It's empty. Like everything else I own." Something in his voice made my heart ache. He was lonely. So incredibly lonely. I could see it in the way he held himself. Stiff. Guarded. I walked up behind him. I put my hand on his back. "Hey," I said softly. "I'm here." He turned. His eyes searched mine. "Why?" he asked. "Why did you come?" "Because I wanted to." "That's not an answer." "It's the only one I have." He reached up. Touched my face. His thumb traced my cheek. "You're so different," he murmured. "Different from what?" "From everyone." He leaned in. "Different from everything." He kissed me. Not gentle. Not soft. It was hungry. Desperate. Like he was trying to consume me. I kissed him back. My hands found his chest. His heart was pounding. Fast. Like mine. "I want you," he breathed against my lips. "Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me." "I want you." He picked me up. My legs wrapped around his waist. He carried me to the bed. The silk was cold against my bare skin. He was hot. Burning. He hovered over me. His eyes were dark. Hungry. "Tell me to stop," he said. "Tell me now, and I'll walk away." "Don't stop." His smile was slow. Predatory. "Good girl." He undressed me slowly. Button by button. Kissing every inch of skin as it was revealed. My collarbone. My stomach. My hips. I was trembling. Not from cold. From want. "You're so beautiful," he whispered. "So perfect." "I'm not perfect." "You are. To me." His mouth found mine again. And then he was inside me. Slow. Deep. So deep. I gasped. My nails dug into his shoulders. "Look at me," he commanded. "I want to see you." I looked into his eyes. And I saw something there. Not just want. Not just lust. Something deeper. "I've never felt this," he whispered. "Never." "Never what?" "Never... this." He moved faster. Harder. I was losing control. Losing myself. "I'm close," I gasped. "Not yet." His voice was rough. "I'm not done with you." He flipped me over. On my stomach. My hips pulled up. He entered me from behind. Deeper this time. I cried out. "Say my name," he demanded. "I don't know your name." "Say it anyway." "Marcus," I gasped. "Marcus!" He groaned. His grip on my hips tightened. "Say it again." "Marcus!" "Come for me," he commanded. "Now, Lena. Come for me." I shattered. My whole body shook. He followed. His groan was muffled against my back. We collapsed. Tangled in his silk sheets. Both panting. Both wrecked. He pulled me close. His arm wrapped around my waist. His lips pressed against my shoulder. "I'm not letting you leave in the morning," he whispered. I laughed. I thought he was joking. I woke up alone. The silk sheets were tangled around my legs. The city lights were still glowing outside. But he was gone. I reached out. The space beside me was cold. Empty. A note was on the pillow. "Had an early call. Coffee's in the kitchen. Don't leave without eating." My heart sank. It was cliché. The classic walk of shame. I was just another one-night stand. I grabbed my dress. My heels. My dignity—what was left of it. I didn't eat. I didn't drink the coffee. I just ran. Out of the penthouse. Down the elevator. Into the cold morning air. I pulled out my phone. One text. Unknown number. "You left before I could get your number. That's rude, Lena." I stared at it. My thumb hovered over the keyboard. Then I deleted it. This never happened, I told myself. Forget it. Forget him. But I couldn't. I could still feel him. His hands. His mouth. The way he whispered my name. I could still smell him on my skin. I got home. I showered. I scrubbed until I was raw. But I couldn't scrub him out of my head.