Chapter 4: The Aftermath
The sheets were a wreck. Tangled around their legs, twisted into ropes of damp cotton, half-pulled off the mattress. Beth lay on her back, staring at the cracked ceiling, her breath still coming in shallow, uneven pulls. A patch of dampness cooled against her thigh. She could feel the evidence of what they'd done, sticky and shameful, and the longer she lay there, the more it solidified into something heavy in her chest.
She turned her head. Hughes was propped against the headboard, one arm behind his neck, watching her with those dark, patient eyes. He didn't look triumphant. He looked like a man who'd just finished a meal he'd been craving for months.
"We shouldn't have done that," Beth said.
Hughes didn't answer. He just reached over and trailed his fingers along her arm, slow and deliberate.
Beth closed her eyes. She could still smell him on her. Cigarette smoke and sweat and something darker. Something she couldn't name. It clung to her skin like a warning. "I should go," she said. "Victor's going to—"
"He's not expecting you," Hughes said quietly. "Is he?"
The words landed like a slap. Beth's eyes snapped open. She turned to look at him, and there it was, in the slight curve of his mouth, the knowing glint in his eye. He knew. He'd always known.
"How do you know that?" she asked, her voice flat.
"Because you didn't call him when you left," Hughes said. "You didn't text either. I would have seen it. Your phone's on the table, facedown, and it hasn't buzzed once." He paused. "He doesn't care where you are."
"That's not—"
"He sent divorce papers, Beth. He's made his position clear." Hughes shifted, his body turning toward hers, the sheet falling away from his waist. His chest was tan, dusted with dark hair, and there was a scar along his ribs that she hadn't noticed before. "Why are you rushing back to a man who wants you gone?"
Beth sat up, the sheet pooling in her lap. Her hair was a mess, tangled and damp. She could feel the marks he'd left, the tender ache in her thighs, the raw spots where his stubble had scraped her neck. "Because I'm not letting him win," she said. "Because my daughter is at home. Because I have a life that doesn't involve—" She gestured at the room, at him, at the chaos. "This."
"Does it make you feel good?" Hughes asked. "Going back to that life?"
Beth opened her mouth to answer, but the words wouldn't come. Because the truth was, she didn't know. She didn't know what she felt anymore. The past week had been a blur of screaming matches and silent treatments, of Victor's cold, calculated eyes and her own desperate attempts to hold on to something she wasn't even sure she wanted anymore and this. This, here, with Hughes.
"I don't know what I feel," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Hughes reached out and took her hand. His thumb traced slow circles over her knuckles. "That's okay," he said. "You don't have to know right now."
"It feels wrong."
"Does it?"
Beth looked at him. His eyes were dark and serious, and there was no judgment there, no mockery. Just something that looked almost like understanding.
"Victor never touched you like I just did," Hughes said. It wasn't a question.
Beth's throat tightened. "That's not—"
"He never made you feel like that." Hughes shifted closer, his hand sliding up her arm, his fingers finding the place where her pulse beat fast and unsteady. "Did he?"
Beth closed her eyes. She could feel it, the memory of what Hughes had just done to her, the way he'd taken her apart and put her back together in a different shape. She could feel the ghost of his hands on her, the roughness of his grip, the impossible, overwhelming fullness of him inside her. And she could feel the empty space where that memory used to live, the years of careful, polite, predictable sex that had left her hollow and restless.
"He never made me feel like that," she said.
Hughes's hand moved to her chin, tilting her face toward him. "You deserve to feel like that," he said. "You deserve someone who knows what you need. Who isn't afraid to take it."
Beth's breath caught. She could feel herself being pulled under, like a current dragging her out to sea, and she didn't have the strength to fight it.
"He's not afraid," she said, but the words were weak, hollow.
"He's not paying attention," Hughes said. "There's a difference."
He leaned in and kissed her, slow and deep, his tongue sliding against hers. Beth's body responded before her mind could catch up, her hands coming up to grip his shoulders, her mouth opening under his. She could feel him hardening against her thigh, and something in her chest tightened with anticipation.
"This doesn't mean anything," she whispered against his lips. "This is just—"
"Just what?" Hughes asked.
She pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were half-lidded, his lips swollen from her kisses, and he looked like the kind of man who could ruin her life without thinking twice.
"Just sex," she said. "That's all it can be."
Hughes smiled. It was a slow, knowing smile, and it made her stomach flip. "Sure," he said. "Just sex."
He shifted, pulling her onto his lap so she was straddling him. His hands slid up her thighs, gripping her hips, and she could feel him, hard and thick, pressing against her. She was still wet from before, slick and ready, and when he guided her down onto him, she gasped.
"Fuck," she breathed.
Hughes's hands tightened on her hips. "That's it," he murmured. "Take what you need."
Beth started to move, slow at first, her body still adjusting to the familiar stretch of him. But the burn was good, the burn was a reminder of what she was doing and what she was turning away from. She let her head fall back, her hands braced on his chest, and she rode him with a rhythm that was almost angry.
"You like this," she said, her voice low. "You like knowing you're the reason my life is falling apart."
"I like knowing you're here," Hughes said. His hands moved up her torso, cupping her breasts, his thumbs finding her nipples through the thin fabric of her bra. "I like knowing that when you think about me, your body remembers this."
Beth's breath hitched. She leaned forward, her hands sliding into his hair, and kissed him hard. It was a dirty kiss, all tongue and teeth, and she could taste herself on him. She moved faster, grinding against him, chasing the feel of him inside her.
"Tell me he never made you feel like this," Hughes said, his voice hoarse.
"Never," Beth whispered.
"Tell me you want this."
"I want it," she said. "Fuck, I want it."
Hughes flipped her. It was fast and sudden, his hands gripping her hips and turning her over so she was on her hands and knees, her face pressed into the mattress. He didn't give her time to adjust. He pushed into her from behind, driving deep, and Beth cried out, her fingers clawing at the sheets.
"That's it," Hughes growled. "Take it. Take all of it."
Beth didn't have words. She was lost, drowning in the feel of him, in the rough drag of his hands on her hips, in the sound of his breath coming hard and fast behind her. She could feel herself getting close, the tension building low in her belly, and she arched her back, pushing into him.
"Don't stop," she gasped. "Please—"
"I'm not going to stop," Hughes said. "Not until you fucking forget your own name."
He drove into her harder, his thumb reaching around to find her clit, and Beth came apart. It hit her like a wave, a wall of heat that crashed over her and dragged her under, leaving her gasping and trembling. Hughes followed moments later, his grip tightening on her hips as he spilled inside her, a shudder running through his whole body.
They collapsed together, a tangle of limbs and sweat and heavy breathing. Beth lay there, her face pressed into the mattress, her body still trembling with aftershocks. She could feel him softening inside her, could feel the mess they'd made together.
"That was—" she started.
"Don't," Hughes said, his voice muffled. "Don't say anything."
Beth closed her eyes. She could feel the tears threatening, and she didn't know if they were from shame or relief or something in between. She stayed there, still, until Hughes pulled out and rolled off her, landing on his back with a sigh.
"Stay," he said. "Just for a little while."
Beth didn't answer. She just lay there, listening to the sound of his breathing, feeling the slow, steady beat of her own heart. And for a moment, she let herself believe that she could stay. That she could forget the life waiting for her outside that yellow door. That she could lose herself in this man and never look back.
But the moment passed. It always passed.
She sat up, reaching for her dress.