12

12

Bethany's POV.

The room was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of a fireplace tucked in the corner. Shadows danced along the walls, flickering and swaying like they had their own pulse. I wasn't sure how long I'd been lying here, wrapped in a blanket that wasn't mine, on a couch that was too soft to be familiar.

But I wasn't scared.

I mean, I should've been, but I wasn't.

My head was pounding, thoughts thick and slow, like trying to move through water. But beneath it all, I felt… safe.

The memory of the bartender's hands on me flashed in my mind. My stomach twisted and I quickly swallowed the bile rising up my throat.

I blinked hard, pushing it away until it was all gone and I felt like I could breathe normally.

I turned my head slightly, watching as Adrian worked in his kitchen, taking a plastic bowl of food from his kitchen freezer and heading towards the microwave.

"You know what?" I said quickly. "I think I'll just have water instead. I don't trust myself to not throw up if I have any food."

"Oh," he replied and nodded, going back to the freezer to keep the food. After that he went to the walked to the window and stood in front of it. His hands were buried in his pockets, jaw clenched like he was grinding his teeth.

God, he was intense. And handsome in a way that felt dangerous. Why was he here? Why did he help me? Why did he care?

I asked at last after realizing that I hadn't asked him where he brought me. "Where… am I anyways?"

He turned sharply, eyes locking on mine.

"You're safe." His voice was deep, steady. "One of my properties."

Properties. Of course. A man like him would have properties. I tried to sit up, but the room tilted dangerously.

"Easy." He was beside me in an instant, steadying me with a hand on my shoulder. His touch was warm, grounding. "You're still feeling it."

"The drink," I muttered, squeezing my eyes shut. "The bartender-"

He didn't answer, but his silence said enough.

"I wasn't… drunk," I whispered.

"No," he agreed quietly. "You weren't."

My stomach churned again.

That bartender.

Adrian's hand lingered a moment longer before he pulled back. "Why did you help me?"

His eyes darkened. "Would you rather I hadn't?"

"No," I said too quickly. "I just—"

"I don't like seeing women get hurt." His tone was sharp, final. Like that was all the explanation I was going to get.

But it wasn't enough.

Because there was something else in his eyes when he looked at me. Something that burned, even though he was trying to smother it.

I felt it too, even though I've been trying to ignore it. It was a slow, creeping heat.

Maybe it was the drug, but every nerve in my body was on edge and sensitive. His nearness made it worse—or better. I couldn't decide which.

I wet my lips, and his eyes followed the movement. "Thank you," I said softly. He didn't move, didn't speak and the silence stretched.

And I was pretty sure that I wasn't thinking when I reached for his hand. His muscles tensed as my fingers brushed his and his eyes flicked up to mine.

"What are you doing?" His voice was low with warning.

I didn't know. Or maybe I did and I was doing a very good job at ignoring how reckless I was being.

"I don't want to think right now," I murmured.

"That's the drug talking," he murmured.

"Maybe." I replied with a shrug.

His hand didn't move and neither did mine but I could see his breathing changed—just barely.

"You should sleep it off," he murmured at last. "I should leave you here."

I leaned in, my voice barely above a whisper. "Or maybe I don't want to be alone right now."

His eyes darkened like a gathering storm. "This is a bad idea."

"Probably." I didn't know why I said it. No, I did.

Because Mason's face kept flashing in my mind. His hands on another woman. His lies. His empty promises.

And here was Adrian—solid, real, and staring at me like he wasn't sure whether to push me away or pull me closer.

So I made the choice for him. I kissed him.

It was soft at first, hesitant. And for a second, he didn't move. Then his hand shot up, gripping my shoulder, not pulling me in, but stopping me.

"Bethany." My name was a growl on his lips. I froze, breath caught in my throat.

God, what was I doing?

I started to pull back, shame creeping in, but then his grip softened. And he kissed me back. Hard. Like he was furious at himself for it. His hand tangled in my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss. I gasped, and he took full advantage, his tongue sliding against mine. Heat exploded in my veins.

And right now, I wasn't thinking. I was just feeling.

The blanket slipped from my shoulders as I pushed closer, needing to feel him, his heat. He broke the kiss first, breathing hard.

"This is a mistake," he muttered against my lips.

"Then stop," I challenged him, holding his gaze but he didn't stop.

His mouth was back on my neck, his lips grazing the sensitive skin beneath my ear. I shivered. His hands found my waist, fingers digging in like he was holding himself back.

"You're not thinking straight," he growled and it was more or less like he was trying to convince himself of why he shouldn't be doing this with me, and not the other way around.

"I don't care." Honestly, I didn't. Because right now, all I could feel was him—his hands, his mouth, the way he made me feel wanted.

Needed.

Something Mason never made me feel.

Adrian cursed under his breath, lifting me easily into his lap like I weighed nothing.

I straddled him, the thin fabric of my dress bunched around my thighs. He dragged his mouth back to mine, rougher this time. I clawed at his shirt, desperate to feel skin.

He let me. Let me unbutton it and push it aside. God, he was all muscle and heat.

My hands roamed over his chest, my nails scraping lightly. He hissed, his hands sliding up my thighs and gripping hard.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured, his eyes boring into mine. I didn't.

Instead, I leaned in, my lips brushing against his ear. "Don't you dare."

And that was all it took. He stood abruptly, my legs wrapping around his waist. His mouth never left mine as he carried me down a hall, kicking open a door.

The bed was cold when he dropped me onto it, but his weight followed immediately after, pinning me beneath him. He hovered, eyes burning into mine.

"This changes nothing," he murmured, his hands sliding up my thighs and pushing my panties aside.

I didn't believe that. And I knew he didn't either. But I nodded anyway.

His mouth was on me again, hot, demanding. It didn't take long before he pulled my dress over my head and tossed it aside and his pants followed next with his underclothes.

I could feel him against my entrance, his eyes trained on me. And then he went all the way in, not even giving me time to adjust at all. I winced, tears blurring my vision as he kissed my shoulders tenderly, waiting for me to get used to the feel of him until he started moving, knowing exactly how to touch me, how to draw sounds from me I didn't know I could make. It was raw and desperate. Not gentle.

But I didn't want gentle. All I wanted to feel. And God, did he make me feel. Every thrust, every bite of his mouth on my skin drove Mason further from my mind. It was only Adrian now. His name broke from my lips, breathless and wrecked as he continued to hit that delicious spot inside of me. He groaned, gripping my hips. My breath caught in my throat each time he thrust into me and hit my spot without mercy, making me make sounds I never knew I was capable of making before, my stomach coiling tighter and tighter.

Until it snapped.

I shattered, clinging to him as pleasure rippled through me. He wasn't far behind, a low curse spilling from his lips as he buried himself in me one last time, his seed pouring into me. Then there was only silence, heavy breathing, and his weight on top of me.

Neither of us moved for a long time. Finally, he shifted, rolling to the side but keeping an arm draped over my waist. I stared at the ceiling, chest rising and falling unevenly.

What the hell had we done? But I didn't regret it. At least not yet.

Adrian didn't speak, but his grip on me didn't loosen either.