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Without hesitation, I accept his invitation and straddle him. Whether it’s the alcohol lowering my inhibitions or not, this is exactly where I want to be. I’m ready for whatever he has in store—because tonight, there’s no one else I want more.
His hands move up my body, exploring every curve with care, igniting a fire within me as I grind against him. He groans and slides his palms underneath my shirt, groping my breasts as I whimper. I feel his prominent erection and lean in for a hungry kiss. Our tongues tangle together, my fingers twining in his dark hair.
We move together seamlessly, barely breaking away from the passionate kiss as his hands wander down to my skirt. He slips a palm between my thighs, causing me to moan as he rubs my clit, sending shivers of pleasure through me. With each circle, I feel myself getting closer to the edge—and when he inserts a finger inside of me, I let out an involuntary whine.
He flips me onto my back, hikes up my skirt, and pushes the gusset of my panties aside. I have no time to protest as he unsheathes his cock, stroking it a few times before guiding himself inside me with ease. I throw my head back in ecstasy as he starts thrusting, hitting all the right places that send me to dizzying heights.
“Oh my God,” I moan, my body electric. “You feel so good, Blake!”
He builds up to a steady pace as he fucks me into the cushion, his grip bruising my hips. I wish he’d be this rough more often. Just like …Damon’s face, or lack thereof, appears in my mind. Squeezing my eyes shut, I frantically rub my clit, groaning as my orgasm crashes into me.
Blake continues his assault, taking me as he pleases, with a feral hunger I’ve never experienced with him. Finally, he lets out a shuddering groan, his hips stuttering as he paints my walls white. Our bodies remain intertwined, and I open my eyes, my skin still humming with ecstasy. He looks at me with an intensity that stirs something deep, an intimacy that transcends anything physical.
And just like that, he’s back to normal, his face flushed as he adjusts his glasses and zips himself up. “Are you okay? I wasn’t too rough, was I?”
Rapidly, I shake my head. “No, no. That was amazing.You’reamazing.”
He grins, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he says, rolling off me. “I suppose we should get to bed, huh?”
“Yeah, probably,” I mumble, exhaustion suddenly slamming into me all at once.
He helps me up, his fingers lingering on my arm for a beat too long. I slip on my panties as he shuts off the TV and flicks off the lights. I follow him to his bedroom—a place I realize now that I’ve never actually stayed in before. The room is neat and decorated simply with white curtains and a single nightstand. The dresser is a tasteful piece that looks like it came from an antique shop.
He pulls away the black blankets and gestures for me to hop in. I settle into the inviting warmth of the mattress, a sigh escaping my lips as I sink deeper into its comforting depths. He follows suit, climbing in beside me.
“Goodnight,” he whispers. “Have sweet dreams, my love.”
My heart pitter-patters at his words, and I can’t help but smile, snuggling into him. “Goodnight. Love you, Blake.” The words are out before I can stop them—but I don’t care. I drift off to sleep, secure in his embrace, feeling at peace for the first time in forever.
I jolt awake and sit up to find that Blake isn’t in bed. It’s four in the morning, according to the nearby alarm clock, and I notice his glasses are still on the nightstand. Maybe he’s in the bathroom, I think, staring at the space beside me. I wait, and then wait some more. But he never returns.
I get out of bed and leave the room to wander around the apartment. After searching, anxiety seeps in, as he’s nowhere to be found. Did he go outside? Did something happen to him? My mind spins with the possibilities.
When I make my way to the kitchen, I notice our coats still draped over the chairs. I rub the nape of my neck in distress. He wouldn’t have gone outside without a jacket—especially on a chilly autumn night. So where the hell is he?
I’m about to go back to the bedroom when I spot a piece of paper on the counter, hidden between the salt and pepper shakers. Snatching it, I unfold it to find the logo for We-Store Self Storage. I furrow my brow and squint in the dim moonlight coming in through the window as I read the receipt. It turns out he rented a storage unit.
But not in his own name.
I clutch the paper and bite my lip. The customer’s name is Mickey Knox, possibly referencing Natural Born Killers. Blake is using a fake name—but why? Panic sets in as I bring my free hand up to my mouth to chew on a nail. Does he have something to hide? I rock on my heels in place. Should I try to find the storage unit or risk confronting Blake directly?
I have to make a decision. But before I can, headlights sweep across the window and soon a car door slams shut. Blake is back, so I need to make myself scarce before he starts asking questions. As I return the receipt to its place, I notice a keyring bearing the storage company logo. Making note of it, I rush back to the bedroom and slip under the covers.
My heart pounds wildly as the door is unlocked and closed, followed by the sound of Blake moving through the apartment. I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep as he enters the bedroom and gets into bed. Keeping my breathing steady to mimic sleep, I brainstorm ideas of how to retrieve both the key and the receipt without getting caught.
Deep down, as much as I don’t want to admit it, I feel he’s hiding something. No one uses a fake name without trying to keep something buried. I know this from personal experience. With luck, the storage unit will hopefully provide some answers.
In the darkness, I lay for what seems like hours, planning my next move. Occasionally, I drift off, the alcohol in my system pulling me under. After what feels like hours, I blink open my bleary eyes and hear the water running in the bathroom; Blake must be taking a shower.
With little time to spare, I jump out of bed and quietly make my way to the kitchen. I grab the receipt and notice the keyring still on the table. As I remove the key to the storage unit, I know this is a potentially dangerous game I’m playing. But I need to uncover the truth.
I dress and shove the receipt and key into my pocket before putting on my coat. Just as I’m in the middle of toeing on my shoes, the water shuts off. I swallow, my nerves on edge as I hear movement in the bathroom. I freeze, then quickly try to regain my composure.C’mon, Gwen—get it together,I think, scolding myself.
As I hear Blake emerge from the bathroom, I call out, “Hey, I just remembered I forgot to call off work today. So I guess we’ll have to meet up again later, after all.” Not the best excuse, but it will have to do.
He pops his head out from the hall and offers a warm smile. “That’s unfortunate, but I understand,” he says. “You know where to find me once you’re ready for dinner. I need to finish up an article today, anyway.”
Trying my best to appear nonchalant, I force a smile, despite feeling guilt gnaw at me. “Can’t wait. See you later,” I say, blowing him a kiss before throwing open the door and hastily shutting it behind me.
