Chapter 4：A Night to Remember

Brittany’s POV

Half an hour later

He grabs my ass with one, yanking me closer until there's no space between us. The other slides up under my soaked shirt, his thick fingers digging into my soft breast.

God, I've never been with a guy like this. A real alpha type. My clit throbs so bad it hurts, this deep ache I can't ignore.

His mouth crashes into mine, tongue forcing its way in, hot and hungry. I melt into the kiss, tasting whiskey on him, mixed with that chocolate and wine scent that overpowers everything.

He breaks the kiss, breathing heavy, and rips my shirt up over my head. The black lace bra is still there, clinging to my wet skin. He doesn't bother unhooking it.

Just pushes the cups down, exposing my nipples. They're hard already, begging for attention. His fingers find one, pinching and twisting just right. Pain and pleasure mix, making me gasp.

"Fuck, oh God," I breathe out, my fingers tangling in his dirty blond hair. It's soft, longer than I thought, perfect for pulling.

He growls—actually growls low in his throat—and switches to the other breast. His teeth graze the skin lightly, not biting yet, just teasing. The sensation shoots straight between my legs, my pussy clenching tight.

His gray-green eyes lock on mine as he lowers his head. That little mole under his right eye twitches, making him look almost playful in this intense moment. Then his tongue flicks out, circling my nipple slow at first, then faster.

He sucks it into his mouth, hard, while his hand kneads the other breast, squeezing the soft flesh like he owns it.

I arch my back, pushing into him. It's too much, too good. He pulls back just enough to blow cool air on the wet skin, making me shiver. Then he's back, alternating between licks and nips, building this fire inside me.

His free hand moves down, fumbling with my jeans. He yanks the zipper open roughly, then tugs them down along with my panties, all the way to my thighs.

I'm exposed now, totally vulnerable, but fuck, I want this. I need his dirty hands on me, exploring every secret.

He pauses, staring down at me with those dark, hungry eyes. They almost glow in the dim light, not quite human. Then he's touching me again, his fingers sliding between my legs, finding me soaked.

"You're fucking drenched," he mutters, voice rough and low. Two fingers push inside, deep, curling just right. I buck against his hand, a wet moan filling the room.

His thumb circles my clit, pressing harder, building the pressure fast. I grind against him, the leather couch sticking to my back from sweat and rain. "More," I beg, tears streaking my cheeks. He smirks—that sexy mole dancing—and pulls his fingers out, making me whimper.

Then he's undoing his pants, freeing himself. Oh my God, he's huge—thick, veined, ready. He positions himself over me, one hand pinning my wrists above my head.

The other guides him in, slow at first, stretching me. I cry out, the fullness overwhelming. He thrusts hard, bottoming out, and we both groan.

The pace turns wild. He pounds into me, hips snapping, the couch shaking with every thrust. I wrap my legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass—firm and muscled.

His free hand grips my thigh, spreading me wider, going deeper. Each hit nails that spot, the pressure building like a storm.

Our scents mix— He might hate it, but right now it's driving him nuts. Sweat drips from his forehead onto my chest, our bodies slapping together in a messy rhythm.

I rake my nails down his back, feeling his shirt tear under them. He hisses, fucking me harder, like punishment and reward all in one.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he growls against my collarbone, sucking marks that'll show tomorrow.

I come first—hard, vision blurring, body clenching around him. Waves crash through me, pure overload bringing more tears. He follows right after, roaring low, burying deep and filling me. We collapse, breathing ragged, his weight pressing me into the cushions.

The room reeks of sex and us—musky, sweet, intense.

But he's not done. He flips me over, hands on my hips, pulling me back onto him. We go again, rougher this time, him slamming from behind, my ass stinging from his grip. I push back, meeting every thrust, lost in it.

In the haze, his mouth finds my neck again. He bites down hard—teeth sinking in, pain hot and sharp. Blood trickles, but fuck, it feels amazing, mixing with the pleasure. Must be his kink, I think, too caught up to care. That bite sends me over again.

We keep going, bodies slick, until we're spent. No doubt, this is the best sex of my life. Wild, intense, like nothing before. He mutters how perfect I feel, and I know he means it.

Finally, we crash on the couch, me sprawled on his chest. Sleep hits fast.

He's definitely an ass man. The way he held me from behind, worshipping my curves while fucking me senseless. Too much.

---

The next morning

Sunlight filtered through the small window, casting golden rays across Alexander's sleeping face. He looked peaceful, younger somehow, with his hair mussed and his features relaxed. The harsh lines around his eyes had softened, and that dangerous edge he carried was nowhere to be seen.

I carefully extracted myself from his arms, trying not to wake him. My body ached in the most delicious way, reminders of our passionate night together. I found the small bathroom attached to the office and splashed cold water on my face, trying to process what had happened.

What the hell was I thinking?

I stared at my reflection in the cracked mirror. My hair was a mess, my lips swollen from his kisses, and there were marks on my neck that would definitely be visible later. I looked like a woman who'd been thoroughly claimed.

But reality was creeping back in. I had a life to get back to. Aunt Layla was probably worried sick about me. I'd turned my phone off last night, and she'd be expecting me home soon. She was the only family I had left, and I couldn't just abandon her to stay in some random mountain town with a man I'd known for less than twelve hours.

No matter how incredible he was.

I cleaned myself up as best I could and got dressed quietly. Alexander was still sleeping, his massive frame taking up most of the small couch. Part of me wanted to wake him, to see those gray-green eyes again, but another part knew this was better. Clean breaks were always easier.

I gathered my suitcase and headed for the door, but something made me pause. I couldn't just leave without saying goodbye, could I? That seemed cruel after what we'd shared.

I turned back to give him one last kiss, something gentle to remember him by. But as I approached the couch, his phone lit up on the coffee table with an incoming text.

'Avery: Baby, you need to come home. Harper's asking for you.'

My blood turned to ice. The phone's lock screen showed a photo of Alexander with his arms around a stunning blonde woman. Both of them were laughing, looking blissfully happy. The kind of happiness that comes from years together, not a one-night stand in a bar.

I felt sick.

He had a wife. Harper was their son?

The phone buzzed again with another message from Avery, but I couldn't bring myself to read it. I'd seen enough. I was the other woman. The homewrecker. Everything I'd sworn I'd never be.

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