Chapter 1 #3
His answering growl is almost triumphant, and then he's pounding into me, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside me with every thrust. I can feel my orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter with every movement, and then I'm coming, my body clenching around him as I cry out his name.
He follows me over a second later, his body going rigid as he comes with a groan, his cock pulsing inside me.
We collapse together, a tangle of limbs and sweat-slicked skin. Ridge rolls to the side, pulling me with him, and I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.
"Well," I say after a moment, my voice muffled against his skin. "That was something."
His chest vibrates with a laugh. "Yeah. It was."
I tilt my head up to look at him, at the way his eyes are warm and soft, the way his lips are curved in a satisfied smile. "We should probably do it again."
His answering grin is slow and wicked. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He rolls me beneath him, his body covering mine, and then his mouth is on mine again, hot and demanding, and I know we're not going to be leaving this room anytime soon.
I wake to the sound of a truck rumbling past on the highway and the immediate, gut-clenching realization that I'm naked in a motel room with a stranger.
The digital clock on the nightstand blinks 5:47 AM in angry red numbers. Too early for regret, but here we are anyway.
Ridge is still asleep beside me, sprawled on his back with one arm thrown over his head.
The sheet's tangled around his waist, leaving his chest bare and on full display.
Those tattoos I'd traced with my tongue last night look less mysterious in the thin dawn light filtering through the curtains.
Just decorative. Faux henna, probably, given how they don't quite match the pigment of his skin.
God, what did I do?
My dress is crumpled on the floor near the bathroom. One shoe by the door, the other God knows where. My bandana's still somehow knotted in my hair, which feels like the universe mocking me for trying to maintain any dignity whatsoever.
I need to leave. Now. Before he wakes up and we have to do the morning-after conversation neither of us signed up for.
I slide out of bed with the stealth of someone who's spent years trying not to wake a sleeping baby. The mattress doesn't even creak. Small victories.
My dress goes on inside-out the first time. I fix it, fingers fumbling with the zipper, my heart hammering so loud I'm certain it'll wake him. He doesn't stir. Just shifts slightly, his breathing deep and even.
One shoe. Found.
The other's wedged under the bed. I drop to my knees, reaching, stretching, my fingers finally closing around the heel. Got it.
Ridge makes a soft sound, and I freeze, shoe clutched to my chest like a shield.
He rolls onto his side, facing away from me.
Breathe.
My purse is on the chair by the window. I grab it, check for my phone (dead, naturally), my keys (present), my wallet (miraculously intact). Everything I need to pretend last night was just a fever dream brought on by too many jalapeno poppers and poor judgment.
The door handle is cool under my palm. I turn it slowly, carefully, easing the door open just wide enough to slip through.
The parking lot is empty except for Ridge's motorcycle and a battered sedan that looks like it's been here since the nineties. The air smells like asphalt and distant pine trees, and it's cold enough that goosebumps break out across my arms.
I don't have a jacket. Left it in my car at the Iron Horse.
Perfect.
The walk back isn't far. Maybe three miles. I've done worse in heels.
I make it to the edge of the parking lot before I hear the door to room twelve creak open.
"Sis?"
I don't turn around. Can't. If I look at him, if I see that dimple or those stupidly broad shoulders, I might do something catastrophically stupid like go back inside.
"Early start," I call over my shoulder, not breaking stride. "Thanks for the ride."
"Wait, I can—"
But I'm already walking, my shoes clicking against the pavement, putting distance between us with every step.
He doesn't follow.
By the time I reach the Iron Horse, my feet are screaming and I've mentally catalogued every bad decision I've made in the last twelve hours.
Agreeing to come to Colum's party: questionable but ultimately harmless.
Flirting with a hot stranger at said party: ill-advised but understandable.
Having sex with said stranger in a motel room: deeply problematic and completely out of character.
Sneaking out before dawn like I'm ashamed: accurate, actually.
My car's still parked near the back entrance, right where I left it. I unlock it with shaking hands and collapse into the driver's seat, my forehead resting against the steering wheel.
What the hell was I thinking?
I wasn't. That's the problem. I saw a gorgeous orc with a leather jacket and a dimple, and my brain just short-circuited.
Forgot about responsibilities and consequences and the fact that I'm a single mother running a struggling business who absolutely cannot afford to complicate her life with a one-night stand.
My phone's still dead.
The engine turns over on the second try. I drive out of the parking lot and head toward home, the rising sun painting the sky in shades of pink and gold that feel aggressively cheerful given my current state of existential crisis.
My apartment smells like stale coffee and the lavender plugin I bought to mask the permanent scent of glitter that's seeped into every surface.
I kick off my shoes, peel off my dress, and stand in the shower until the water runs cold. Washing away the evidence. The smell of leather and whiskey and Ridge's cologne, something woody and clean that I can still taste when I swallow.
Stop it.
I'm not doing this. I'm not pining after some random guy I met at a work party.
This was a blip. An aberration. A one-time lapse in judgment that I'm filing away under "things we don't talk about" right next to that regrettable pixie cut in college and the time I tried to make my own lip gloss and gave myself a rash.
By the time I'm dressed in clean clothes, leggings, oversized sweater, no bra because I've earned that much comfort, I've almost convinced myself I mean it.