The room smelled like sin. Musky cologne, vanilla-scented candles, and the faint trace of sex hanging in the air like something permanent. Alison didn't remember how she got here. Her head buzzed, her lips swollen from kisses that weren't supposed to happen, from a man whose name she hadn't even asked. But the ache between her thighs said enough. Her fingers clutched the crumpled sheet beneath her, her body tangled with his—broad chest rising and falling beside her, his hand lazily tracing circles on her bare waist. It should have felt wrong. God, it should have. But all she could feel was relief. Sweet, reckless, stupid relief.
She remembered the text that shattered her. It's over, Ali. I can't keep doing this. You deserve better, and I'm tired of pretending. After five years of loyalty, sacrifice, and shrinking her dreams for him, Jake had walked out with ten casual words. She had stumbled into the bar just to stop herself from crying on the street. One drink became four. She wasn't even sure if she was still crying or if the alcohol had numbed everything by the time he approached her.
Dark hair. Sharp jaw. Charcoal eyes that saw through her without asking questions. He didn't smile like he was flirting. He just looked... interested. Curious. And she, God help her, wanted to feel something again. Anything. So when he leaned close and whispered, "Want to get out of here?" she didn't hesitate. Not even for a second.
Now, here they were. Her nails dragged lightly across his chest, unsure if it was comfort or madness. His lips ghosted along her shoulder. "You okay?" he asked, voice a deep velvet against her skin. Alison didn't answer. Instead, she turned to face him and kissed him again, harder this time. Her hand slid beneath the sheets and found him already ready for her.
His hand gripped her waist and rolled her underneath him in one motion. She gasped, a breath caught in pleasure as his mouth moved down her neck, tongue tasting every inch of her as though he wanted to memorize the shape of her. Her legs parted on instinct, wrapping around his hips. "Tell me if you want me to stop," he murmured against her chest. She shook her head. "No. Don't stop. Please."
Their bodies met in a slow, delicious rhythm, hips grinding together, each thrust deep and precise. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, grounding herself to the only solid thing in her spinning world. He groaned into her neck, the sound vibrating through her body. Her moans filled the air, uninhibited, vulnerable. For once, she wasn't pretending to be okay. She wasn't holding it all together. She was falling apart in the arms of a stranger, and it felt good.
His hands gripped her thighs, pushing them wider, deeper, until her back arched and she cried out. She dug her heels into his back, urging him closer, faster. He obeyed. Sweat slicked their skin, the sheets twisted around them like a second skin. His name was still unknown, but his touch was familiar, like something she'd always needed and never had.
Her climax built like a storm, slow at first, then all-consuming. Her breath hitched, nails raking his back. "Ralph…" he growled against her ear, and her heart skipped. Ralph. That was his name. His pace grew urgent, almost desperate. She came first, biting her lip to muffle the scream, and he followed seconds later, burying himself deep with a strangled moan.
They lay there for a moment, bodies tangled and breathing heavy. Alison turned her face into the pillow, her heart pounding in her throat. "I don't usually do this," she murmured, cheeks flushed. He didn't laugh. He didn't mock. He simply kissed her shoulder and rolled to the side.
The morning light was unforgiving. She stood in front of the hotel bathroom mirror, mascara smudged and her lipstick faded. Her eyes were red, but her expression wasn't broken. Just... exhausted. She slipped on her dress quietly, trying not to wake him. She couldn't face him again. This was a one-night thing. She didn't want more. Couldn't afford to want more.
Alison shut the hotel door behind her, the cool night air rushing against her heated skin like a slap. Her heels clicked fast across the pavement as she pressed her bag tighter to her chest. She didn't look back. She didn't want to remember the way his voice had dropped to a gravelly whisper when he'd said she tasted better than whiskey. She didn't want to think about the way he'd rolled off her like she was nothing but a fix.
She hadn't even asked his name. And he hadn't asked hers.
By the time she stumbled into her apartment, she felt like her head might split open. The alcohol was wearing off, leaving behind a throbbing headache and a shame that crawled over her skin like fire ants.
"You're just getting home?" Michelle, her roommate, looked up from the couch, eyes narrowing.
Alison kicked off her heels and headed straight for the fridge. "Don't start."
"Alison, it's four in the morning." Michelle stood up now, arms crossed over her tie-dye hoodie. "You said you were going out for a drink. Not to—" she paused, eyeing her friend's messy hair and ruined lipstick. "Not to whatever that was."
Alison leaned her forehead against the fridge door and sighed. "It was nothing. I needed... I needed to forget."
Michelle's features softened. "Forget Jake?"
Alison winced. "Don't say his name."
"I'm sorry. But sleeping with a stranger isn't going to heal the hurt."
"I wasn't looking to heal," Alison murmured. "I just wanted to feel wanted for one night. Just... one fucking night."
Michelle walked up and wrapped her arms around her. "I know it still hurts. Three years together and he just ends things over the phone? That bastard didn't deserve you."
Alison closed her eyes. Her chest rose and fell, each breath dragging regret behind it. "He said I was boring. Predictable. That I didn't excite him anymore."
Michelle pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. "You're not boring. You're kind. You're loyal. You're... human."
Alison let out a bitter chuckle. "Maybe human isn't good enough anymore."
They stayed like that in silence, until Michelle whispered, "Do you want tea or painkillers?"
"Both," Alison muttered, eyes glassy.