He was supposed to marry someone else in the morning, but tonight his mouth was on mine.
That was the first thought that cut through the fog of wine and bad decisions. His hands pressed into my hips like he still had the right to touch me. My back hit the wall of the hotel suite, the taste of him flooding every inch of my mouth.
I should have stopped him. I should have pushed him away. Instead, I opened my lips wider.
The room was dim, lit only by the golden glow of the bedside lamp and the faint city lights sneaking through the window. His suit jacket lay somewhere on the floor, a casualty of the moment everything between us snapped. His tie hung loose around his neck, his shirt halfway undone. I had never hated him more. I had never wanted him more.
Hours earlier, I’d walked into the
