Chapter 4: Forbidden Promises
The steam clung to Laura’s skin like a second layer, thick and suffocating. She pressed her palms against the marble counter, her reflection in the fogged mirror a ghostly blur. Every nerve in her body buzzed—not just from the heat, but from the way Steve had looked at her moments ago, like she was something to devour. I need a minute," she managed, her voice barely audible over the rush of blood in her ears. She didn’t wait for Steve’s response, just pushed past him, her bare feet slapping against the tile. The balcony door yawned open, a sliver of cool night air cutting through the humidity.
Steve’s frown deepened as she slipped away. "You okay, baby?" His hand hovered near her shoulder, but she ducked under it, her pulse hammering. "This is too much, isn’t it?"
She didn’t trust herself to answer. Too much? That didn’t even begin to cover it. The way Tiffany had touched Steve’s arm, the way Jake’s gaze had lingered on her—like she was a puzzle he wanted to take apart. "Just need some air," she muttered, stepping outside before he could stop her.
The night swallowed her whole. The balcony was small, barely enough for two, but the string lights overhead cast a warm, intimate glow. Below, the city pulsed—car horns, distant laughter, the hum of life moving on without her. Laura gripped the railing, the metal cold under her fingers.
Footsteps. Soft, deliberate. She didn’t have to turn to know it was him.
"Everything alright?" Jake’s voice was smooth, too smooth, like whiskey over ice.
Laura exhaled sharply. "Just... a lot to take in." Her fingers tightened around the railing. "This isn’t exactly my usual Saturday night."
Jake chuckled, leaning beside her, close enough that his arm brushed hers. "Life’s too short for usual Saturday nights, don’t you think?"
She turned then, studying his profile—the sharp jaw, the way his lips quirked like he knew a secret she didn’t. "I don’t even know you," she said, sharper than she meant to. "Any of you."
His gaze slid to hers, dark and knowing. "You know enough." His fingers tapped the railing, a slow, rhythmic beat. "You know you’re curious. You know you’re turned on." A pause. "And you know you want more."
Her breath caught. The truth of it hit her like a slap. She was curious. She was turned on. And God help her, she did want more. But the fear coiled tight in her stomach, whispering all the reasons she shouldn’t.
Jake’s hand lifted, his fingertips grazing her jaw. "Relax," he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of her throat. "Just let go."
She shivered, her skin prickling under his touch. His fingers trailed lower, skimming the hollow of her collarbone. She could smell his cologne—something woodsy, expensive—mixed with the faint tang of sweat. Her body swayed toward him, betraying her.
"I shouldn’t," she whispered, but the words sounded weak even to her.
Jake’s lips brushed her ear, his breath hot. "But you want to." His voice dropped, rough with want. "You want me. And I want you, Laura. More than you can imagine."
He turned her then, his hands firm on her hips. The city lights framed him like a halo, but his eyes were pure sin. His mouth hovered over hers, close enough that she could taste the whiskey on his breath. Her heart pounded, her body screaming yes even as her mind scrambled for excuses.
She didn’t pull away.
And that was all the answer he needed.
Jake's mouth crashed into hers with a hunger that sent sparks down her spine. His hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, pulling her flush against him until she could feel every inch of his arousal pressing into her stomach.
She gasped into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his kiss. His tongue slid against hers with a confidence that left no room for hesitation, only surrender. The taste of whiskey and mint flooded her senses as her fingers twisted into his hair, nails scraping his scalp.
A low moan vibrated in her throat, foreign and needy. The balcony railing dug into her back, the pain only heightening the dizzying pleasure of his mouth moving against hers. She arched into him, her body responding with an urgency that erased thirty years of restraint in an instant.
He broke away just long enough to whisper against her swollen lips: "Christ, you're fucking delicious." His breath came ragged, eyes black with want. One hand slid up to cradle her jaw while the other traced the hem of her dress. "Tell me you want this."
Her pulse hammered where his thumb stroked her throat. "I—" The words caught as his fingers brushed the underside of her breast, featherlight. Every nerve ending screamed for more contact.
Jake's smile was all teeth. "That's what I thought." He ducked his head to drag his tongue along her collarbone, nipping at the sensitive skin where her neck met her shoulder. She jerked against him, her hips moving of their own accord.
"Fuck," he growled, pressing his thigh between her legs. The pressure sent electric shocks through her core. "You're gonna come just like this, aren't you? Rubbing against me like some—"
"Laura?"
Steve's voice sliced through the haze. Jake stepped back so fast she nearly stumbled, his hands raised in mock surrender. The cold night air rushed between them, making her shiver.
Steve filled the balcony doorway, his broad shoulders blocking the light from the suite. His gaze flicked between them—Laura's flushed cheeks, Jake's swollen lips, the space between them that still crackled with tension.
"Everything okay?" The forced calm in Steve's voice didn't hide the vein pulsing in his temple.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, tasting Jake on her skin. "Just needed air." The lie sounded pathetic even to her ears.
Jake smirked as he edged past Steve, deliberately brushing against him. "Keep better track of your wife, old man." He paused at the threshold, shooting Laura a look that promised this wasn't over. "Night, kids."
The sliding glass door clicked shut behind him. Steve's hand settled on the small of her back, warm and familiar and suddenly suffocating. She couldn't meet his eyes, couldn't bear to see the questions—or worse, the hurt—waiting there.
The city lights blurred as he turned her toward him. His fingers traced her kiss-swollen lips, his touch gentle in a way that made her stomach twist with guilt. When she finally looked up, the storm in his eyes told her the reckoning had only just begun.
"What was that?" Steve asked, his voice sandpaper-rough. His fingers twitched at his sides like he wanted to grab her but wasn't sure she wouldn't shatter. "Just some air? Is that what we're calling it now?"
Laura flinched when he reached for her again. "Don't." Her throat tightened around the word. "Don't make it sound like something it wasn't." The lie tasted bitter—she could still feel Jake's mouth moving against hers, still smell his cologne clinging to her skin.
Steve barked out a laugh that held no warmth. "Enlighten me then." The balcony light caught the flecks of silver in his stubble as his jaw worked. "Because from where I was standing, it looked a hell of a lot like he was about to eat you alive." His gaze dropped to her swollen lips, his own pressing into a thin line.
The truth lodged in her throat. He had been. And worse—she'd been leaning into it, her body responding with an eagerness that shamed her now. "He didn't—" she started, but the words dissolved like sugar in hot tea.
Steve moved closer, his shadow swallowing her whole. "Did he kiss you, Laura?" The question hung between them, sharp as broken glass. Somewhere below, a car horn blared, the sound slicing through the thick silence.
She studied the geometric pattern of the balcony tiles, the way her bare toes curled against the cold concrete. The longer she waited, the heavier the silence grew.
"Jesus Christ." Steve dragged a hand through his hair, leaving it standing in angry tufts. "After twenty-five years of nothing, this is how it happens?" His voice cracked on the last word. "With some random kid half your age?"
Laura's nails bit into her palms. "It wasn't like that." The protest sounded hollow even to her. She didn't have the words to explain the electric jolt when Jake's hands had gripped her hips, the way her body had arched toward him like a plant seeking sun.
"Why then?" Steve's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Why let him touch you? Why suddenly decide you're not some frigid—"
"Stop!" The word tore from her throat, raw and ragged. Tears blurred her vision, turning the city lights into smears of gold. "You don't get to say that to me."
Steve's laugh was bitter. "No? Who does then?" He spread his arms wide, the veins in his forearms standing out. "Because I've spent half my life starving for scraps of affection while you acted like my touch was fucking poison."
Laura collapsed onto the wrought-iron chair, its cold metal biting through her dress. Her breath came in shallow gasps that didn't reach her lungs. "I don't know what's happening to me," she whispered to her trembling hands.
Steve knelt before her, his knees cracking against concrete. When he took her hands, his callouses scraped against her soft skin—a familiar contrast that suddenly felt foreign. "Then help me understand," he murmured, his thumbs tracing circles on her wrists.
She met his gaze, saw the anger warring with concern in the lines around his eyes. "I felt something tonight," she admitted, the confession leaving her lightheaded. "Something I didn't think I could feel anymore." The admission hung between them, fragile as a soap bubble.
"Well, well." Tiffany's voice cut through the moment like a knife through silk. She leaned against the doorframe, the champagne bottle dangling carelessly from her fingers. "Don't tell me we're calling it a night already?" Her knowing smile gleamed in the dim light as she stepped onto the balcony, the ice in the glasses clinking like wind chimes. "The fun's just getting started."