Kimberly

I wake up slowly, groaning as the world around me feels like it's spinning in slow motion. My first instinct is to clutch my head, which currently feels like a drum being pounded over and over again. I blink, my vision blurry for a few moments as I try to process what the hell happened last night. The light trickles in through the window, painting the room in soft, golden hues, but nothing about this feels right. My eyes flutter open fully, squinting against the sunlight as I try to make sense of my surroundings.

Where am I?

I sit up carefully, as if the slightest movement might make the pounding in my head worse. I glance around the room. It's… beautiful. The kind of room you only see in magazines, the walls adorned with artwork I couldn't afford in a thousand lifetimes. The bed is covered in pristine, high-quality linens, everything so perfectly placed and clean, it almost doesn't feel like a real bedroom.

This is not my room. What happened last night? I try to remember how I got here, but the memories are like smoke slipping through my fingers.

My breath catches when I realize I'm wearing a robe. A fluffy, white robe, and… Nothing else.

A cold shiver runs down my spine.

I press my hands to my face, trying to block out the rising panic. My chest tightens as I think back to last night—the argument with Tommy, the fight. I asked Spencer if I could go home with him. But now? Why am I here? Was this his place? Did I sleep with Spencer?

I groaned and buried my face in my hands. "No. No, no, no."

I look around again, the weight of uncertainty making my stomach churn. Where the hell is my purse? My phone? Did I leave them somewhere?

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and push myself up slowly, my feet meeting a plush rug that feels like clouds beneath my toes. The room is massive, and it's not just the size that makes it intimidating—it's the richness. The extravagance. The luxury.

I quietly move to the door, trying not to make a sound, as if I can escape without anyone noticing. The idea of running into him right now made my skin crawl. I just want to forget the entire night ever happened.

As I step into the hallway, my heart races, every corner of the penthouse more lavish than the last. I walk slowly, my robe still tightly wrapped around me, my mind a tangled mess.

And then I see it.

A terrace. The door is wide open, and the wind rustles the sheer curtain, catching my attention. I can't help but sneak a peek outside. My body freezes when I see a figure standing there. It's a man, casually dressed in a black T-shirt and shorts, typing away on a laptop while sipping on a coffee.

Wait a second.

My eyes narrow. It's not Spencer.

It's Tommy.

"What?" I freeze, my heart lurching as I take in the scene.

My heart skips a beat, a wave of confusion and shock flooding over me. What the hell? Why is Tommy here? What happened last night?

I tightened the robe around me, my cheeks burning as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. Did I… Did we…?

Surely, I would remember something like that. Right?

I peek again, but he doesn't notice me yet, too focused on whatever is on his laptop. There's something so calm, so casual about the way he's sitting there, and I don't know if I feel comforted or panicked.

But then, I make a small movement, and it's enough. He turns, his gaze locking on mine immediately. He seems different right now. Guarded.

"Morning," he says, his voice low and smooth.

"Hi," I manage, my voice barely above a whisper, still trying to wrap my head around the situation.

"Sleep okay?"

I feel my cheeks flush, but I force myself to speak. "Umm… yeah. I have a terrible headache, but otherwise fine."

There's a long pause, and I know he's studying me.

"I'm not surprised. You were so drunk last night."

I grimace, the embarrassment crashing over me like a tidal wave. "I'm sorry you had to see me like that. I… I shouldn't have—I mean, I don't typically get that drunk."

Tommy doesn't respond right away, just looks at me like he's waiting for me to say something else.

I swallow hard. I can't let this go without knowing. I need to ask.

"Did we… um, did you and I…?" My words trail off, and I can't finish the question, my face flushing with mortification.

Tommy raises an eyebrow and leans back slightly, as if considering his response carefully. "What do you think?"

I swallow, my mind racing. "I think that I was drunk out of my mind that we could have…"

He looks down for a second, then meets my gaze with a seriousness that makes my breath catch. "I would never sleep with someone unless it was consensual, Kim. I hope you know that."

"Yeah, of course," I whisper, feeling small.

He pauses, his eyes softening, but he doesn't look away. "And you made it pretty clear it wasn't me who you wanted to go home with last night."

I look down, mortified, remembering the fight, the hurtful words I said to him. The way I told Spencer I wanted to go home with him when I really didn't. But then… why the hell am I here?

Tommy steps closer to me, his voice low but firm. "But… I wasn't going to let you go home with that asshole."

The words hit me hard. There's something in his tone, something protective, that makes my chest tighten.

My heart flutters, and for the first time, I realize just how much I'm drawn to him. How much I do trust him.

He stands up, straightening himself, like he's about to walk away. "I cleaned you up. I didn't look." He pauses, his eyes flicking down to meet mine. "You slept it off. I think you're good to go home now. I'll get your stuff and take you."

I give a simple nod and step out of his way. There's tension between us, more than we've ever had before. He's upset. I know he is and I don't blame him. I was a jerk last night. The fighting, the flirting with Spencer because I knew it would piss Tommy off, making a fool of myself.

Ugh.

I want to crawl under a rock. Or maybe go back in time and slap some sense into drunk-me before I threw my dignity out the window.

Tommy disappears into the next room, giving me a moment to pull myself together. When I follow, I find my clothes from last night laid out neatly on a chair.

I freeze, staring at them.

The dress.

I'd bought it off the rack weeks ago, a last-minute decision for a night out with Trini. I never expected it to end up here, in his penthouse, after a night like this.

They've been washed and pressed, the fabric soft and clean under my fingertips. They even smell fresh, like laundry soap and something faintly masculine.

My throat tightens.

Last night, I was reckless. Foolish. And Tommy… he had every reason to leave me to figure it out on my own.

But he didn't.

As much as I was pissed off, Tommy didn't deserve the way I handled the situation.

Sliding into the dress feels different this time. Heavier, somehow, like it carries the weight of everything I want to say but can't. I smooth it down over my hips, running my hands over the fabric. I glance in the mirror and wince, taking in the tired eyes and messy hair.

I've never felt less put together in my life.

Still, I step out into the living room, my heart racing as I search for him.

He's sitting on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, staring at something in his hands. A small, silver keychain dangles from his fingers, the kind you'd get at an airport souvenir shop. His thumb traces the outline of a tiny skyline etched into the metal, and something about the way he holds it feels… personal.

When he hears me, he looks up, tucking the keychain into his pocket.

"You okay?" he asks softly, his voice hesitant, like he's afraid of the answer.

I nod, even though I'm not sure it's true. "Thank you. For… everything."

He stands, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You don't have to thank me."

"Yes, I do," I insist, my voice trembling. "You didn't have to take care of me. You didn't have to… be so kind."

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think he's going to brush it off. But then he sighs, his shoulders dropping just slightly.

"I didn't do it because I had to," he murmurs. His eyes meet mine, and there's something vulnerable in the way he looks at me, something raw and unguarded that takes my breath away. "I did it because seeing you like that last night—watching you hurt yourself just to push me away…" He trails off, shaking his head. "I just… I didn't want you to wake up alone or with someone who didn't deserve you, wondering if someone cared."

He pauses.

"Because… I care about you, Kim. A lot. That's it. No strings, no expectations."

My chest tightened as everything about him suddenly came into sharp focus. New York. The way he'd looked at me that night. The tension on my porch. All the moments in between where I'd tried—and failed—to ignore the pull I felt toward him.

And then… something snaps inside me.

I don't know why I do it. I don't know what possessed me, but I move before I can stop myself. My hand reaches out, my fingers curling around his arm, pulling him back to me.

He stopped, his eyes dropping to where my fingers gripped his skin. Slowly, he turned to face me, and the air between us thickened.

I don't care.

I don't think, I just act. My body moves, and before I even register what's happening, I pull him down to me, my lips crashing into his.

His lips are warm, soft, and hesitant at first, as if he's trying to figure out whether this is real or just another mistake. But then… he responds. His hand moves to my back, pulling me closer, deepening the kiss.

I can feel everything—his warmth, the electric chemistry between us, the way he's holding me like I'm the most important thing in the world. And for the first time in forever, I let myself give in.

No more fighting. No more pretending.

This is happening. And I can't stop it.

The kiss lingers for a moment, slow and tentative, like we're both testing the waters. But it doesn't stay tentative for long. Tommy's hands move, one finding my lower back and the other cradling the side of my face as he deepens the kiss. His lips are soft but insistent, like he's not just kissing me, he's pulling me into his world, into his gravity, and I'm too dizzy to resist. The taste of him lingers on my tongue, and it feels… right. Too right.

I can feel the tension that's been building between us snap, the walls we've both been trying to build up shattering with each passing second. My hands slide up to his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath his T-shirt, and I let myself get lost in the moment. In him. In us.

But just as quickly as it started, Tommy pulls away, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he stares down at me, his eyes wild with confusion or maybe something else—something I don't want to name just yet. His fingers linger on my arms, still holding me close, but there's a distance in his gaze now, a conflict I can't quite place.

"What the hell are we doing?" he murmurs, voice low, almost a growl.

I don't have an answer. Hell, I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. All I know is that I want him. I've wanted him from the moment we met, despite all the shit that's happened, despite the fact that it's not supposed to be like this. I just… can't stop myself.

"I don't know," I say softly, my voice a whisper of breath against his skin. My heart's still hammering, and my head feels light with all the emotions crashing through me, but I can't seem to pull away. "I just know… I want this."

Tommy doesn't respond right away. He just stands there, his fingers still lightly touching me, his breath catching in his chest as if he's waging a war inside. I can see it on his face—he's fighting something, a battle between wanting to give in and knowing that this could all go terribly wrong.

"I just… don't want you to regret this," he finally admits, his voice raw, like he's giving me a piece of him I wasn't expecting. "I couldn't handle it if you did."

His words cut through me. Tommy Oliver. The playboy doctor… vulnerable.

I take a deep breath, my heart pounding as I step closer to him, closing the distance between us. "I'm telling you, Tommy… I want this. I want you."

His eyes flicker, and for a moment, I think he might pull away. But then his hand moves to the back of my neck, his thumb brushing across my skin in a way that sends shivers down my spine. "You don't know what you're saying," he murmurs, his lips almost touching mine again.

"I think I do," I whisper, and before I can second-guess myself, I kiss him again. This time, it's not hesitant. It's not cautious. It's raw, full of the things we've both been holding back. All the tension, the frustration, the desire—all of it spills into this kiss, and I'm drowning in him.

We stumbled into his room, my back hitting the door as it slammed shut behind us.

His hands were everywhere—my waist, my hips, my thighs—like he'd been waiting a lifetime, and God help me, I felt the same.

"Kim," he rasped against my lips, his voice thick with hunger.

I didn't answer, couldn't answer, because his mouth was on mine again, and it was fire and chaos and everything I'd ever wanted but had been too scared to admit.

I tugged at his shirt, my hands sliding over the hard planes of his chest as he pulled me closer, his body pressing me firmly against the door.

This was madness.

This was the man I'd been furious with for months, the one who had driven me insane. And he was here, kissing me like he couldn't breathe without me, and my body betrayed every ounce of anger I'd clung to. Those flutters in my stomach I'd sworn I'd buried came roaring back to life, taking over every rational thought I had left.

His lips crashed against mine, and I gave in without hesitation, answering him with the same fervor I'd been suppressing for months. His tongue swept into my mouth, and I moaned against him, my fingers tangling in his hair as he carried me—somehow—through the room. I didn't remember moving. Hell, I didn't care.

His palms traced over my body, molding to every curve as if he needed to memorize me. My breath hitched when his hands slid lower, over the velvet of my dress, as I fumbled with his belt. My fingers were shaking from the sheer intensity of the moment. This wasn't just sex. This was a collision. A wildfire. A beautiful catastrophe.

He was unraveling me, yet I was the one taking him apart, piece by piece. His head dropped to my shoulder when my hand slipped past his waistband and wrapped around him. The sound he made was enough to make my knees weak. Deep, guttural, and raw. God, he felt incredible—big, thick, and hot in my grasp.

Then, like a switch, he snapped back into action, yanking his T-shirt over his head. With one smooth motion, he spun me around to face the bed, and I gasped as his fingers found the delicate sleeves of my dress, the fabric slipping down my body like water. It pooled at my feet, leaving me in nothing but a pair of lace panties that matched my skin so closely they might as well not have been there at all.

His hands gathered my hair to the side, and I felt his breath against my neck before his lips followed. That first kiss on my throat sent a ripple through my body, a spark igniting low in my stomach. I tilted my head instinctively, granting him full access, needing more. My arm lifted, fingers tangling in his dark hair, holding him to me as if letting go would shatter me. Every nerve ending burned, every sense sharpened, attuned only to him.

When his mouth moved lower, trailing over my shoulder blade, my knees nearly gave out, but his hands were there—steady, strong, commanding. Always catching me. Always keeping me together.

And then he dropped to his knees.

I felt his hands at my hips, his fingertips grazing the lace waistband before he pulled it down my legs. Slowly. Torturously. He didn't just undress me; he worshipped me, his eyes never leaving my skin as it was revealed to him. I stepped out of the dress and panties, bare before him, and when he turned me to face him, the way he looked up at me—like I was his salvation, his torment, his obsession—stripped away every shield I had left.

The image of Tommy Oliver, a man so untouchable, so controlled, on his knees for me, would never leave me. It wasn't just physical—it was a surrender.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion, as he slid his hands up my thighs.

My lips curve into a smile I couldn't suppress. I wanted him. All of him. Right now, I wanted everything.

His palms flattened against my stomach before sliding upward, cupping my breasts with reverence. When his tongue flicked over my belly button, I couldn't stop the moan that escaped my lips.

"Tommy," I gasped, reaching for him, desperate to pull him up to me, to feel all of him. "I want you."

He met my gaze, his voice near a whisper. "You've had me…all this time, you've had me."

Before I could say anything else, he tipped me back onto the bed. I barely had time to catch my breath before he knelt between my legs, his strong hands gripping my knees and pushing them apart with ease.

"So be patient," he murmured, his lips brushing against my inner thigh, sending a shock of electricity straight through me. "I've been waiting for you."

The confession hit me like a bolt of lightning. The way he kissed my skin, his eyes fixed on me with such raw hunger, made it clear he wasn't joking.

All I could focus on was him, his mouth, and the torment of his tongue moving along the sensitive skin of my thighs. He was deliberate, teasing me mercilessly, stopping just short of where I needed him most.

"Tommy," I pleaded, the ache between my legs unbearable. But he ignored me, his slow circles inching closer and closer until I felt his tongue glide up my center. A strangled moan ripped from my throat as he lingered, his movements slow and agonizingly perfect.

The world around me dissolved. He licked, sucked, and devoured me like a man starving, his hands hooking beneath my thighs, holding me in place as if I might slip away. My body arched, my fingers clawing at the expensive sheets as waves of pleasure rolled over me. The sensations were maddening, electric, every nerve ending alive as he drove me higher, deeper, until my body bucked against him, desperate for release.

And when his fingers slipped inside of me, I swear I was a breath away from death. My hips moved of their own accord, chasing his touch, and when he curled his fingers just right and his tongue moved faster, harder, I shattered. The orgasm tore through me, leaving me breathless and trembling as his name fell from my lips like a prayer. Images of our first time together nearly a year ago flashed before me. But this time… it was better, so much better. Because I know him now, I know every tender and frustrating thing about him.

Before the haze could settle, he was on his feet, stripping the rest of his clothes. My eyes drifted to his chest, the hard planes of muscle and strength, and lower, where his arousal stood thick and proud. He reached into his wallet, pulling out a condom, and my heart hammered in my chest as he tore the wrapper with his teeth. This is it. It's happening. Finally!

"I see that you've come prepared," I teased.

His grin was cocky, devastating, as he rolled the condom on and stretched out above me, "I've learned my lesson."

His eyes darkened, and he settled between my legs. I opened for him without hesitation, my hands finding the hard planes of his chest. He braced himself above me, pressing at my entrance. Slowly, he pushed inside, and my body arched to meet him.

I felt myself stretch around him, every inch of him claiming me, filling me in ways I hadn't thought possible. My breath hitched, and I closed my eyes, my body struggling to relax as he eased in deeper. His hands slid down my sides, grounding me as he murmured something low and soft that I couldn't quite catch.

My breathing grew heavier, labored as I adjusted to his size, and when my body finally gave way, all I could think was that I'd never been this full, this consumed. He stayed still, giving me a moment to catch my breath, his body trembling with restraint.

"Kim," he murmured, his voice strained, like a man barely holding on. "You feel... perfect."

At my invitation, Tommy began to move, slow at first, each deep stroke sending a ripple of pleasure through me that I couldn't contain. My fingers dug into his skin as if anchoring myself to him would keep me from being swept away. He was patient, gentle, and achingly tender, as if I were something precious he'd been waiting an eternity to touch— nothing like I thought he would be.

It was intoxicating—how deliberate he was, how his movements seemed designed to worship every inch of me. I'd dreamed about this, but nothing in my imagination had prepared me for how overwhelming it would feel to finally have him this close, this deep, this real.

But then something shifted. Control slipped from both of us, and I could see it in his eyes, dark and heavy with desire, and in the way his restraint began to unravel. He groaned and his hips moved harder, faster. I couldn't stop myself from responding, couldn't help the way I moaned his name, the way I lifted my hips to meet him, urging him on. My body demanded more, and he gave it, his restraint dissolving with every desperate, perfect thrust.

"God, Kim," he rasped, his voice tight with tension. He paused, buried so deep inside me that I felt as though I couldn't tell where he ended and I began. "This feels too good. I'm too fucking close."

I tilted my hips, sliding against him, needing to feel him move again. "Me too. Don't stop."

His groan vibrated through me, and then he was moving again—harder, deeper, a perfect rhythm that left me unraveling beneath him. Every nerve ending in my body was alive, sparking with electricity. I clung to him, nails scraping down his back, my lips finding his shoulder, his jaw, anything I could reach as the pressure inside me climbed higher and higher.

The room disappeared. There was only him—the taste of him, the scent of his skin, the sound of his voice rasping my name, the relentless, perfect motion of his body against mine.

"Tommy," I gasped, my voice breaking, my body tensing as everything inside me released and shattered all at once.

I heard him groan my name as his own body followed, his movements losing rhythm as he came undone, pulsing deep inside of me. He buried his face in my neck, his breath hot and uneven against my skin as we trembled together, locked in the most perfect moment I'd ever known.

For a while, we just lay there, tangled in each other. Our skin was slick with sweat, our breath slowly steadying, our limbs still trembling. My fingers traced lazy patterns over his back, and his lips pressed softly to my hairline. I wrapped my legs around him, not wanting to let go, not wanting the world outside this room to intrude.

Eventually, he lifted his chest, and his eyes found mine, his gaze heavy.

"Hey," he said softly, his lips curving into a slow, tender smile.

"Hi," I smiled back.

My heart swelled in ways that felt both terrifying and inevitable.

His thumb brushed along my cheek, his touch impossibly gentle. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, my smile widening as my eyes drifted shut. "Yes."

For the first time in years, I truly meant it.