Chapter 2 Room 47

Rae's POV

I stood frozen outside the door, every nerve in my body buzzing like I'd forgotten how to breathe.

Room 47.

The red numbers glowed softly, pulsing in time with the low, heavy music seeping through the walls-slow, deep, intoxicating.

Just like my heartbeat.

My fingers hovered, trembling.

Zara's words looped in my head: Don't overthink. Just feel. He'll know exactly what to do.

Before I could second-guess myself, the door swung open.

And my mouth went dry.

He stood there shirtless, golden skin stretched over lean, defined muscle, as if he'd been built for moments exactly like this.

Tattoos traced elegant lines across his chest and down his arms, vanishing beneath the waistband of low-slung black sweatpants.

Dark hair tousled, sharp jaw, and those piercing blue eyes...

They locked on me like he'd been waiting.

Then he spoke, voice low and smooth, sending a shiver straight through me.

"You're early."

His tongue brushed his bottom lip as he said it-casual, confident-and heat flooded my cheeks.

I opened my mouth, but words failed me.

He stepped aside, slow and deliberate.

"Come in."

I walked past him, heart slamming against my ribs. The room was dim, with warm golden lights, mirrored walls catching shadows, a plush couch, a low table, and a massive bed against the far wall that suddenly felt like the center of the universe.

He closed the door.

The soft click echoed like a secret sealed.

He leaned back against it, arms crossed over his chest, muscles shifting in a way that made my pulse stutter.

"Name?" he asked, though he already knew.

"Riley," I whispered.

His eyebrow lifted slightly, like he sensed the lie but didn't mind. He pushed off the door and took a single, measured step toward me.

"Nervous?"

I swallowed. "A little."

Another step. He stopped close enough that his warmth wrapped around me, his scent clean, masculine, with a hint of something darker, filling my lungs.

"That's okay," he murmured, voice thick. His gaze swept over me slowly, appreciatively. "First time?"

I nodded.

"With anyone?"

My voice was barely there. "Yes."

Something intense flickered in his eyes-hunger, maybe protectiveness. He lifted a hand and traced one finger lightly down my arm. Goosebumps erupted everywhere; my breath hitched.

"Then you're in good hands," he said softly. "You chose well."

My thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind.

He stepped back, reached for the speaker on the table, and a slow, sensual bass filled the room-deep enough to vibrate through my bones.

"Dance for me," he said.

I blinked. "What?"

He sank onto the couch like he owned the space, legs spread, arms draped along the back, watching me with that same unhurried intensity.

"You came here for something real, didn't you?" His head tilted. "Or should I let you go find it somewhere else?"

"No." The word escaped before I could stop it.

I took a steadying breath and started moving, hips swaying to the rhythm at first awkward, then smoother as I remembered Zara's pep talk: Look confident. Feel the moment. Let it happen.

Heat crept up my neck as I let my hands glide along my thighs, eyes half-closed, losing myself in the music.

His gaze sharpened. His jaw tightened.

He looked like he was fighting to stay seated.

"That's it," he murmured. "Let go."

When I drifted close enough, he reached out and guided me onto his lap, effortlessly, as I belonged there.

I gasped softly as my thighs settled over his, the heat of him radiating through thin fabric. His hands found my hips-firm, warm, steady.

"Can I touch you?" he asked, voice rougher now.

I nodded, breathless.

"Say it."

"Yes," I whispered.

He smiled faintly. "Good."

His fingers skimmed up my thighs, slow and deliberate, stopping just under the hem of my top.

Thumbs brushed the sensitive skin there, teasing, building fire without crossing lines-until my mind went hazy.

Then he leaned in, lips grazing my neck in a slow, warm trail. Tiny kisses, soft breaths, the faintest hint of teeth.

I shivered.

He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. "Still want this?"

"Yes."

"You sure?"

"Yes," I breathed, trembling with want.

A low sound rumbled in his chest. Then he kissed me.

It wasn't gentle.

It was deep, consuming-his mouth claiming mine with slow, deliberate strokes that made heat coil tight in my core.

I moaned softly against him, lost in the taste, the rhythm.

His hands tightened on my waist, pulling me closer until every inch of us pressed together, sparks racing up my spine.

I broke away with a shaky exhale. "Please..."

He cupped my jaw, kissed me again-harder, hungrier-then whispered against my lips, "You want more?"

I nodded frantically. "Yes."

He kissed me again, deep, unhurried, his thumb stroking my cheek like I was something precious and wild all at once.

Then he pulled back just enough to murmur against my lips:

"Now let me show you how it feels when someone truly wants you."

His mouth found mine once more, and heat surged through me like wildfire.

In that moment, the nerves dissolved.

And all that was left was burning.

In less than a nanosecond, He pulled back slowly, just enough that our breaths still tangled in the space between us.

His forehead rested lightly against mine for a heartbeat, but not touching, before he eased away completely, sitting up on the edge of the bed.

The sudden distance felt like a shock of cold air.

I stayed where I was, propped on my elbows, chest rising and falling too fast. The room was quieter now, the bass from the speaker a low thrum under our breathing.

He watched me-those blue eyes dark, unblinking, like he was memorizing every flicker across my face.

"I'm not usually this patient," he said, voice rough and low. "I like things intense. Fast. I like hearing exactly what someone wants... and making them beg for it."

My pulse jumped at the words alone. Heat crawled up my neck, pooling low even though he hadn't laid a finger on me since the kiss ended.

"But tonight..." He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, closing some of the space without moving closer. "Tonight's different. It's your first time. I want you to feel every second of the wait."

I swallowed, throat dry. "The wait?"

His lips curved-just a hint of a smile, slow and knowing. "Yeah. The part where you realize how much you want it... before anything even happens."

Silence stretched. Heavy. Electric.

I couldn't look away. Couldn't move. My skin felt too tight, every nerve tuned to him-the way his jaw flexed when he spoke, the subtle shift of muscle under his skin as he held himself still.

"Tell me what's going through your head right now," he murmured.

I bit my lip. "I... I don't know how to say it."

"Try." His voice dropped lower. "No judgment. Just words."

My cheeks burned. "I feel... hot. Everywhere. Like my heart's trying to climb out of my chest. And you're just sitting there, looking at me like-" I gestured vaguely. "Like you already know what I taste like."

His eyes darkened further. A muscle ticked in his cheek.

"That's because I've been imagining it since you walked through the door," he said quietly. "Every curve. Every shiver. But I'm not touching you tonight. Not yet."

"Why not?" The question slipped out, almost a whine.

"Because the buildup is half the fire." He tilted his head. "You've spent too long with boys who rush and fumble. I want you to learn what it feels like when someone takes their time... when someone makes you ache for it."

I shifted on the bed, thighs pressing together instinctively. No relief-just more awareness of the space between us.

"Tell me what you want," he said.

I hesitated, then whispered, "I want... You have to keep talking. Like this. Like you can see right through me."

He exhaled slowly, as my words hit him somewhere deep. "Good. Because I plan to. I'm going to tell you exactly what I'd do... when the time comes. Every detail.

Until you're shaking just from the sound of my voice."

A soft sound escaped me-half gasp, half plea.

He leaned in a fraction closer, still no contact, but close enough I could feel the warmth radiating off him.

"Imagine my mouth on your neck again," he said, voice velvet. "Slow. Teasing. Not rushing. Then lower... tracing lines across your skin with just my breath. Making you arch without even touching."

My back curved slightly off the sheets, body responding to the picture he painted.

"I'd take my time," he continued. "Learn every spot that makes you gasp. Make you say my name-over and over-until it's the only word you remember."

I was trembling now. Not from cold. From the sheer intensity of his words wrapping around me like invisible hands.

"Please..." I breathed.

He smiled, slow, satisfied. "Not tonight, Riley. Tonight, you feel it. You want it. And when you leave this room, you'll be thinking about nothing else."

He stood then, slow and deliberate, giving me space to breathe. But his eyes never left mine.

"Lie back," he said softly. "Relax. Let it build."

I did, sinking into the pillows, heart hammering.

He stayed standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, watching.

"Close your eyes," he instructed. "And listen."

I obeyed.

His voice filled the dim room again, low, steady, painting scene after scene of what was coming. Promises. Details. Hunger held in check.

I didn't touch myself. He didn't touch me.

But by the time he finally said, "That's enough for tonight," I was burning alive with unspent need, my mind full of him.

He stepped back toward the door, hand on

the handle.

"Tomorrow," he murmured. "If you come back... We'll see how much more you can take."

The door clicked open.

I opened my eyes just in time to see him pause, looking back at me with that same dark promise.

"Sleep on it, Riley."

Then he was gone.

Leaving me alone in the room, skin flushed, breath ragged, and a certainty settling deep: I'd be back.