The knock hit the door so hard the walls shuddered.
I flinched and pressed myself deeper into the stranger's room, my legs turning to liquid again. The stranger's head snapped toward the door, jaw tightening.
"Bathroom," he said under his breath. "Now."
I didn't argue. My feet barely obeyed me as I stumbled toward the small bathroom tucked to the right. He opened the door, ushered me inside, and whispered, "Don't make a sound." Then he closed it, but not all the way, just enough for me to hear everything.
The next round of pounding shook the door.
"OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!" Zane's voice roared, so loud it vibrated through the tiled walls.
I slapped a hand over my mouth.
The stranger's voice came next, quiet, controlled, and dangerously even.
"Stop hitting my door."
"Don't play games," Zane spat. "A woman ran in here. MY woman."
Through the slit of light, I saw the shadow of the stranger shift.
"No one came in here."
"Bullshit!"
A fist slammed against the door so hard I felt it in my bones.
"You think I didn't see her? She ran this way," Zane snarled. "Open it, or I'll kick it down."
The stranger didn't respond right away. The pause was thick, suffocating, coated with tension so dense I could taste it.
Then, in a low growl, he spoke, "last warning. Get away from my door."
Zane laughed, but there was no humor in it, just arrogance and rage.
"Oh, I get it," he taunted. "You want a turn too? Is that what this is? Think you can play the hero and taste what's mine?"
My stomach twisted. My fingers dug into my palms. The fact that this twisted thinking was all Zane had of me made my heart sink to the pit of my stomach. It had me asking if he even loved me to begin with.
The stranger's reply came slow, clipped.
"She's not yours."
"Excuse me?" Zane barked.
"You heard me."
A charged silence followed, too long, too dangerous.
Then, a crash.
Not the door breaking, thank God, a body hitting it.
I heard a grunt, Zane's.
Then a scrape, followed by a scuffle and the thud of a shoulder slamming into a wall. A curse. A hiss of air. The sound of someone being pushed hard.
"GET. OUT."
The stranger's voice had changed. No calm. No restraint. Just pure threat.
"You don't know who the hell you're messing with!" Zane started, voice strained.
"I don't care who you are," the stranger bit out. "Touch this door again and I'll break you."
A sharp shuffle, like Zane being dragged.
"Take your friends and get out of this hall," the stranger snapped. "If you come back..."
"You'll what?" Zane spat back, though he sounded less sure now. "You'll regret crossing me."
"Not as much as you'll regret coming back," the stranger answered.
Another impact, a body shoved against the hallway wall.
Then silence.
I didn't breathe until the quiet stretched painfully long.
Soon, the bathroom door creaked.
I'd been leaning on it, and without warning, it swung open.
I stumbled forward with a small cry, but didn't hit the floor. Strong hands caught my waist, lifting me just enough that my feet found ground again. My palms flattened against a warm, bare chest.
I gasped and looked up.
His eyes were right there-dark, intense, still burning from whatever had just happened outside. They locked onto mine like they had been waiting for me to look.
For a full heartbeat, neither of us breathed.
"You okay?" he murmured, voice roughened from the confrontation.
I swallowed. "I-I heard everything."
His hands were still on my waist. He didn't pull away. He didn't move at all.
"You dragged him out," I whispered. "You... fought him."
"Had to," he murmured. "He wasn not leaving."
His voice vibrated through me. I felt dizzy again-but not from the drug this time.
"You did not have to protect me," I said softly.
He exhaled through his nose, a shaky sound. "I did."
I wasn't sure who moved first.
Maybe we moved at the same time.
But suddenly, my fingers were in his hair, and his forehead brushed mine, and the space between us, thin and fragile, snapped like a thread.
Our lips met.
The kiss was not soft.
It was desperate, breathless, like everything I'd been holding in; the fear, the shock, the betrayal poured straight into him, and everything he had held back came crashing into me.
His hand slid up my back, pulling me closer. My fingers tightened at the nape of his neck, needing the contact, needing him real.
He kissed me like he could not stop.
I kissed him like I did not want to.
He pressed me back gently, guiding me away from the bathroom doorway until my knees hit the edge of the bed. I fell onto it with a soft gasp, and he followed, bracing himself on his arms so he wouldn't crush me.
"Fuck," he whispered against my lips. Like every restraint he'd been holding in came crashing.
My breath trembled.
"Do you..." My voice wavered, but I made myself ask. "Do you have a condom?"
His eyes darkened with a flicker of surprise, then understanding.
He nodded once.
My heart hammered.
"Okay," I whispered, my voice barely holding.
He leaned in again, kissing me with a heat that stole my breath, one hand cupping my jaw, the other sliding to the small of my back to pull me closer.
The kiss deepened, slow then urgent, his breath mingling with mine as the room blurred, everything narrowing to the warmth of his mouth and the safety of his body over mine.
His hand trailed down my back and a shiver slipped through my lips. I whimpered against his lips and he swallowed every sound that came from my lips fervently.
He pulled away to get rid of his clothes, retrieving a condom from the bedside drawer.
Fuck, this was really happening.
