14. Sean
SEAN
The second she disappears, I can’t breathe right.
One minute Bailey’s on the ballroom floor, eyes catching mine like a tether that never slips. The next, she’s gone. Walking off with David like it’s nothing. No nod. No cue. No whisper. No lie we rehearsed.
Dancing with him here was one thing. Vanishing, however, is unacceptable. And she’s just gone. That’s not how we do things.
I’m on my way to the elevator corridor when Wesley catches me by the shoulder. “Where is she? I thought you had eyes-on.”
“Unsure. She slipped out with David. I’m starting with the roof. You and Huck hit this floor and the valet.”
“Fuck.” He’s already moving to intercept Huck.
I head for the elevators, fast and quiet.
People think the worst danger is in dark alleys and parking garages.
They’re wrong. It’s places like this. Gilded floors.
Marble accents. Lobbies full of people pretending they don’t see what’s right in front of them.
It’s worse here because you think you’re safe in a crowd of people.
You drop your guard. You let the danger get to you, and before you know it, it’s too late.
Not again.
I hit the elevator button twice—once out of habit, once out of fury—and flex my fists while the doors crawl open.
David wouldn’t hurt her here. Not where there are witnesses. But hurt doesn’t always mean bruises. Sometimes it’s leverage. A whisper. The threat of exposure. The right comment in the right ear at the right time to ruin a career.
Bailey is standing on the edge of the biggest opportunity of her life. He knows it. And he’s using it. I’m sure of that. Assholes like him know where the pain points are, and they use them to their advantage.
I ride up in silence, listening to the gears grind, heart hammering under my ribs. When the doors open, wind slaps me across the face.
The rooftop is big. Cold. Unlit except for the low glow of perimeter lighting. Planters line the edge, and there’s an angular bench in the center no one’s using. Everyone’s inside, drinking and posturing. Out here, it’s dead quiet.
And then I see them.
Bailey stands near the railing, hands gripping, her black gown rippling in the wind. David stands too close, shoulders angled like he’s trying to block her view. One hand lifts toward her throat.
I cross the roof in a flash and grab him by the collar.
His head snaps toward me, eyes wide. “Hey?—!”
I punch him square in the jaw before he gets another word out.
He drops like a stone. Dead weight on the tile. His head hits hard, and for one second, I think he might try to get up. But he doesn’t. He’s out cold.
I’m breathing hard. Not from effort. From restraint.
I ache to hit him again. But I don’t. Because she’s watching. I turn to her slowly.
Bailey’s still frozen. Still gripping the railing like her hands might crack. Her eyes are huge, and for the first time since I met her, she looks trapped.
“Breathe,” I say.
She sways slightly, like she’s only just realized her feet are still on the ground.
“Did he hurt you?”
She shakes her head. But the answer’s still yes because Bailey’s hands are white-knuckled on that damn railing. Her mouth is open, but no sound comes out. Her chest rises and falls in shallow stutters like she’s breathing through a straw.
I cross to her slowly. Careful. Hands down. “Hey,” I murmur. “You’re okay.”
She nods once, but it’s robotic. Mechanical. Her eyes flick to David—crumpled on the concrete ten feet away, unmoving—and then right back to me.
I stop when I’m just close enough to touch her, but I don’t. Not yet. “You’re safe.”
That’s when she speaks. Barely.
“He said he’d ruin me.” Her voice cracks on ruin . “Asked me if I’d orgasm if I fell off the roof.”
I grit my teeth. “What?”
“I wanted to fight him.” She takes a quick breath. “I don’t know how.”
I step in then. I slide my hand around the back of her neck and press my forehead to hers. Her skin is cold—too cold—but her pulse is racing beneath it. “You’re not ruined. You’re not falling off the roof. I’ve got you.”
Her voice is weak. “I feel like I’m unraveling.”
“You’re not.”
She closes her eyes, trembling under my hands.
“Tell me what you need,” I say. “Anything.”
She takes one breath. Then another. And when she opens her eyes, they’re full of fire. “I need you to make me forget.”
“Bailey—”
“I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to scream. I don’t want to talk. I want you to fuck me while he lies on the ground, and I remember what it feels like to win. ”
Her words are sharp. Fierce. She’s not asking. She’s reclaiming. “I need this,” she says again, lower now. “I need you.”
I step back just enough to look at her.
Her cheeks are flushed from cold and adrenaline. Her eyes are glassy, but locked on mine like I’m the only thing left tethering her to this rooftop. She went through hell, but she’s still standing. Demanding what she needs.
What else can I do but give it to her? “I’m yours.”
She nods, once. “Show me. Here. Now. Fuck me.”
She walks sideways, dragging me with her, until her thighs bump the wide concrete ledge surrounding the rooftop. There’s a planter wall next to us—one that hides this spot from the door, from the city, from anything but the sky.
It’s secluded. Not private. And that’s what she wants.
I grab her waist and lift her up onto the planter ledge. Her legs part for me automatically, her dress riding high on her thighs, black silk catching the wind.
She’s not wearing panties.
“Jesus,” I breathe.
She bites her lip. “Wasn’t planning on waiting long tonight.”
I press a hand to her chest, just above her heart. It’s racing. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
I unzip my pants. My cock is already hard—has been since the second she said fuck me like it was a demand, not a request. She looks down, eyes dark, pupils blown wide.
I grip her hips and pull her to the edge, lining myself up, my tip sliding over her folds, teasing, as she wraps her legs around me.
“Sean, don’t tease me?—”
I push in.
She gasps—head falling back, eyes fluttering closed.
Her heels dig into my back, her fingers fisting the front of my suit jacket. I drive deeper, until I’m buried to the hilt, and she’s choking on a moan.
“You feel that?” I whisper.
Her cheeks are flushed, warming. “Yes.”
“Good.” I start to move. The first few thrusts are slow, deliberate, meant to fill—not to tease.
She needs pressure. She needs presence. She needs to know someone sees her. That someone is here, solid inside her. Bailey clings to me like I’m the only anchor she has left. “Harder,” she breathes, eyes wild, dress bunched around her waist, black silk rippling in the wind. “Don’t hold back.”
I don’t.
I snap my hips forward, burying myself to the hilt. She cries out—short, sharp, nearly a sob—and I know I’ve found the place where pain and pleasure blur into something else .
“You’re not his,” I growl as I slam deep. “You were never his.”
“No,” she gasps, meeting every thrust with her own. “I’m yours.”
That word? It hits different. Not just dirty. Not just possessive.
It’s true.
I grip the back of her neck, forehead pressed to hers, each movement shaking the ledge beneath us. Her fingers dig into my back through my jacket, nails sharp, body tighter around me with every snap of my hips.
The sounds she makes are raw. Not for show. Not for a performance. Just for herself . Ten feet away, the man who tried to control her is face down and silent. And she’s moaning under me like she owns the goddamn sky.
“This is what you need,” I pant.
“Yes.”
I reach between us, thumb circling her clit, fast and hard, and she breaks.
She arches. Her mouth opens but no sound comes out—just a long, shuddering breath as her orgasm takes her over. Her body clamps down on my cock, squeezing, fluttering, dragging me right to the edge with her. “I’m coming,” she gasps. “Sean—God?—”
I crush my mouth to hers, swallowing the cry as she pulses around me.
The moment she starts to come down, I let go.
Pleasure rips through me, violent and blinding, my release spilling inside her as I bury myself deep one last time.
My hips jerk, and I groan into her mouth, hands locked on her thighs, heart hammering through both of our chests.
For a long moment, we just breathe.
She’s shaking. I hold her tighter. Her head drops to my shoulder as she melts against me.
The wind picks up again—cooler now, wrapping around us like judgment or protection, depending on how you look at it. Her dress is wrinkled. Her lips are swollen. My pants are still open. We look like a crime scene and a love story at the same time.
Bailey breathes against my neck, steady now. No shaking. No panic. Just us. I brush her hair back, kiss her temple. “You okay?”
She nods against me, slow and quiet. “Yeah. Better.”
I gently slide out of her, watching her wince at the sensitivity. I smooth her hair and rearrange her dress, carefully, like a gentleman who just railed her in public next to her knocked-out ex.
She laughs. Low and throaty. Wrecked. It’s the best thing I’ve heard in hours. “Romantic,” she teases.
“And classy,” I agree, zipping up. “Don’t forget classy.”
She giggles. Neither of us bothers with apologies. That was never going to be clean. But it was exactly what she needed.
Me too.
I help her down from the ledge, holding her waist until her heels hit the ground. She doesn’t let go of me right away.
We both glance at David. Still out. Still breathing, unfortunately.
“Do I look like I just got railed next to a sociopath?” she asks with a glint in her eyes.
“You look like you survived him.”
She lifts her eyes to mine. “That’s not the same thing.”
“No,” I say, brushing her cheek with my knuckles. “It’s better .”
She leans into my hand. “This isn’t over, is it?”
“No.” I glance at David. “But it’s different now. Because this time, he didn’t win.”
Her gaze is steady. “Because you stopped him.”
I shake my head. “Because you did.”
“I didn’t. I yelled at him.” She lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. “But I didn’t know how to stop him.”
“Maybe we should work on that. I can show you a few defensive moves, if you like.”
She nods, once. Resolute. Then she looks down at herself, sighs, and tugs at the front of her dress. “God, I have to walk back through that party.”
“You want to stay here until everyone clears out?”
She gives me a tired smile. “No. I want them to see me walk back in like I’m fireproof.”
“You are fireproof.”
“I’m not,” she says. “But I’m not flammable either.”