Chapter 3
Chapter Three
My pulse races as we sprint through the lobby, Trouble’s strong, tattooed hand still wrapped around mine. I know this isn’t the sanest thing to be doing—following this beautiful, mysterious man back to his room.
Every rational part of me knows this is a reckless decision.
But I can’t think of anything I want more right now, and any fear or trepidation I have is trumped by how turned on I am by him.
I’m consumed with the need to get out of my reality and into his bed.
I can't resist the thrill, and besides, it’s just one night.
We stop in front of the elevator, waiting alongside another couple. My body hums with anticipation.
Even though the up arrow is already lit, I jab the button five more times. “This place only has five freaking floors, how long can this elevator take?”
He leans in close, his deep voice rumbling in my ear.
"So eager, aren't you?" His dark laugh sends a rush of heat flooding through my veins.
He releases my hand and trails his fingers slowly up my back, cupping the nape of my neck and pulling me closer.
His palms are rough and hot. Firm against my skin.
My body reacts instantly, melting into him. His touch is liquid electricity, searing a path along its wake. A heady warmth pulses through me with every slow, deliberate glide of his fingers.
He lets out a low, dark chuckle, fully aware of what he's doing to me.
I can’t wait to turn the tables on him.
The woman waiting beside us glances over, her narrowed eyes sharp with judgment. Her lips press into a thin, disapproving line. I wonder what she’s thinking, but the thought disappears the moment Trouble starts tracing slow, steady circles against the side of my throat with his thumb.
The elevator dings, and as soon as the doors slide open, the couple pushes ahead of us.
I hesitate, considering waiting for the next one, but Trouble doesn’t notice.
He tugs me inside behind them, and I sigh heavily as I lean against the back wall.
He follows, gripping the handrails on either side of me, effectively trapping me between his thick, muscular arms.
He’s so close that I can feel the heat radiating off his body. He’s not touching me at all, and yet I can sense him everywhere. He lowers his face to my neck and takes a deep breath, then he reaches up, tugging the scrunchie from my hair. My curls tumble down around us in a wild mess.
The look in his eyes is so intense, I can feel it course through every inch of my body. “Patience, Angel. I’m going to take care of you.”
The woman gasps audibly, and for some reason, that makes the moment even hotter.
The elevator dings again, and the doors slide open.
“Get out here,” he commands, his voice low and gravelly, as his hand presses against the small of my back.
I step forward, and he follows, the elevator doors closing behind us.
The hallway is dimly lit, silent except for the muffled sound of the woman asking her companion if he thought I was okay. His response is lost as the elevator ascends to the next floor.
A flutter of butterfly wings takes flight in my chest. Everything instantly seems overwhelming—the space too dark, the hall too narrow—like it’s all shrinking around us, pressing us closer together. I spin on my heels to face him, but before I can say a word, he closes the distance.
His hands grip my waist, and in one swift motion, he lifts me, pressing me against the cold metal door.
My arms fall to his shoulders, and my legs instinctively wrap around his waist. He lets out a small, rough groan that I don’t think has anything to do with how heavy I am, and my breath hitches with anticipation.
I have never wanted anyone more than I do this man right now.
We hold each other’s gaze, caught in a small but intense moment.
This close, I notice things I hadn’t before.
His irises are ringed with blue, a faded bruise lingers around his right eye, and a faint cut stretches across the bridge of his nose.
There must have been a fight. I smile, knowing he probably won.
The movement makes his eyelashes lower, his gaze dropping to my lips. “I should open the door,” he whispers.
“You should,” I say.
Instead, his teeth graze my bottom lip in a faint bite, sending a wave of goosebumps across my skin. "You good?" His voice is low, his mouth hovering just above mine, stealing my breath. "This is the only time I ask."
"Fuck, yes."
"Tell me what you want on the other side of that door," he murmurs, his breath warm against my skin.
"Everything but your name," I whisper.
The corner of his mouth lifts into a wicked smile. "Good. Because I can’t wait to fuck that pretty little mouth of yours."
My feet hit the floor, leaving me lightheaded and giddy.
He slides a keycard into the lock, and the door beeps open. The scent of fresh linen fills the air, crisp and clean. I breathe it in as I step inside.
It’s surprisingly tidy. No dirty laundry thrown over furniture, no suitcases bursting with clothes and souvenirs. If not for a portable charger on the dresser, I’d think this was his first time here.
The door clicks shut behind me, and I watch as he locks the bolt with a swift turn of his wrist.
"These rooms are nice," I say, moving toward the large window. Outside, the sky is nothing but endless black over the dark ocean.
He moves toward me slowly, his steps measured, eyes locked on mine. As he reaches me, he tosses his phone onto a side chair without looking. His hand lifts, fingers tracing the outline of my lips, sending a shiver dancing down my spine.
I fist the hem of his shirt, gripping the fabric tightly.
"Fuck, you're gorgeous," he murmurs, his voice husky and rough. He leans in, his lips brushing against mine. A tease, a promise. He hovers there, drawing out the tension, letting it thicken in the space between us.
A small, needy sigh escapes me. I let go of his shirt, sliding my hands beneath it, wrapping them around his waist. His skin is hot and smooth beneath my fingertips, and I pull him closer.
I want him against me, every inch of him.
His rough palm trails up the column of my throat, wrapping around it with just enough pressure to make my breath hitch.
A whimper slips out as I rise onto my toes, my nails raking against his back.
He groans, low and deep, and finally gives in.
His mouth crashes against mine, stealing my breath away. His lips are softer than I imagined, warm and supple as they brush against mine. The kiss starts off gentle, almost hesitant, but that softness doesn’t last.
A spark ignites, spreading between us like wildfire. His hands tighten around me, pulling me closer, as if the space between us is unbearable. He presses in, kissing me harder, deeper, feeding off the urgency that crackles between us.
It’s raw. Desperate. Consuming.
Fingers thread through my hair, fisting at the roots as he tilts my head, claiming every part of my mouth. His touch is rough, possessive, as if he’s branding himself onto my skin.
My chest rises and falls against his. This close, I can feel the rapid beat of his heart and taste the ghost of beer that still haunts his mouth. Heat floods my veins, pooling low in my stomach, and oh God, it’s so good.
So dangerously good.
No one has ever kissed me like this before.
His mouth moves lower, dragging down my jaw, tracing fire along the column of my throat.
A strangled cry escapes me, half sigh, half plea.
His lips are hot and insistent, sucking and nipping at my skin, making my thighs clench with a need that borders on unbearable.
I bite back another moan, gripping onto him as if that will keep me from floating away. This man is unraveling me with nothing but a kiss. But I don’t want to be the one falling apart. I want to be the one to unravel him.
I take a step back, my breath coming in slow, shallow pulls.
His hazel eyes track my every movement, dark and unreadable, but I see it.
I feel it.
He’s breathing just as hard as I am.
That’s what I want.
That’s what I need.
I want to be seen. Truly seen. I want to be wanted. I want to feel something other than the weight of my life pressing down on me. I want to drown in sensation.
To be consumed.
Devoured.
I kick off my heels, the soft thuds breaking the thick silence between us. His head tilts slightly, watching. Waiting. He looks like an animal in the wild, a predator on the verge of striking, coiled and tense. Every muscle in his body flexes, barely restrained.
I take another step back and hook my fingers under the hem of my shirt, peeling it up slowly, exposing inch after inch of skin.
When I tug it over my head and drop it to the floor, my breasts bounce free, heavy and full.
The cool air kisses my bare skin, pebbling it with goosebumps.
My nipples tighten, aching, as his gaze locks onto me with a quiet, feral intensity.
His jaw ticks, his hands flex at his sides. Then he leans back against the wall. Watching. Waiting. The way he looks at me is like fire licking at my skin.
This.
This is how a man should look at a woman. Like she’s something to be worshiped. Like she’s the only thing in existence worth craving.
My fingers move to the button of my jeans, flicking it open.
His hands curl into fists, his knuckles whitening with restraint. “Go on, Angel,” he rasps. His voice is a low, rough command that rakes over my skin like a physical touch. “Show me that pussy.” The hunger in his tone is like the spark of a flame.
I unzip, then slide the denim down my hips, my thong going with it. I move achingly slow, letting him see every inch of me as I push the fabric down, letting it drop to the floor at my feet. Now, I stand before him, completely bare, every curve exposed under his dark, searing gaze.