He doesn't stop. She stumbles once, trying to keep up. Her free hand reaches for him—instinctive. He shakes it off.
Not now. Not like this. He needs space. Air. Something contained—before he—
The nearest door. Good enough.
He shoves it open, pulls her inside, slams it shut behind them. The lock clicks.
Silence.
Too small. Too close.
He turns.
She's already backing away, breath uneven, eyes wide—watching him like she doesn't know what he'll do.
Good.
Because he doesn't either.
He closes the distance anyway.
One step. Then another. He needs her to speak. Needs her to explain.
Needs—
And doesn't.
"I—"
His mouth crashes into hers—hard, immediate—cutting the word out of existence.
She gives—she always does—and that only makes it worse. Not resistance. Not enough resistance to stop him.
His hand presses into the wall beside her head, trapping her there as he drives her back fully against it.
The impact jolts through both of them.
He feels it. Feels everything. Too much. Too fast.
His grip tightens.
This isn't control anymore.
The realization hits—and he doesn't pull back.
That's the problem. That's the line. And he crosses it anyway.
Fabric gives under his hand—the sharp sound snapping through the silence—and something in him tightens further instead of breaking.
Her breath catches. He hears it. Feels it.
And instead of stopping—he leans in harder.
No space.
No pause.
Just heat. Pressure. momentum—
and no intention of slowing it down.
Because he can't.
And that's the problem.
###
I lie breathlessly naked against him, my body still trembling. His chest rises hard beneath me.
For a moment, I let myself believe it. That he missed me. That whatever this is… isn't just casual. But I know better. I always know better. Casual, I remind myself. That's all I am to him.
He shifts suddenly, rolling me beneath him. The change is immediate. His breath is still uneven—but his eyes aren't. They're sharp. Focused. Predatory.
His arms brace on either side of me, caging me in. His leg slides between mine, pinning me in place.
I shouldn't like this. I've never liked this. And yet—
"Explain."
The word lands cold. Commanding.
I search his eyes, trying to steady myself.
Then I remember. "The man earlier—Eric—he's—"
"What are you doing here?" he cuts in sharply.
My words die. I had rehearsed this. Every lie. Every angle. But under his gaze—nothing comes out.
My lips part. Then close. What's the point? Once the case is over, it won't matter anyway.
His breathing shifts—subtle, but different now. Controlled. Restrained.
When I look back at him, he's already pulling away. Getting dressed. Just like that.
Something in my chest tightens. No. I need him to stay. I need—Room Twenty-One.
I push myself up, only to realize I have nothing to wear.
He doesn't look at me. Just buttons his shirt and picks up his phone.
"Bring her clothes."
Jason. He ends the call without waiting for a response.
His expression is calm again. Too calm. But his eyes—The anger is still there.
I step closer, reaching for his tie, looping it around his neck. My fingers move on instinct.
When I look up—he's watching me.
That look again. Heavy. Intent.
I tilt my head, leaning in to kiss his cheek—
He turns away. Like I'm nothing.
Panic hits sharp and fast. I grab his arm.
"I have a reason for being here."
He stops.
Waits.
A heartbeat passes.
Then another.
My mind goes blank.
Nothing.
He pulls his arm free and keeps walking.
Something in me snaps.
"I love you."