Chapter six: A mistake I can't undo
Izzy:
I didn't look up.
I couldn't.
The footsteps stopped right beside me, and still, I kept my eyes fixed on the half-empty glass, my fingers wrapped so tightly around it that I thought it might crack.
"Thought I might find you here."
The voice was low, smooth, and soft enough to sound harmless but with an edge, which made my skin prickle.
I froze.
Slowly, I turned my head.
He stood there. Hoodie, jeans, hands shoved into his pockets like he didn't quite know what to do with them. His face was flushed, maybe from the cold outside, or maybe from something else, but his eyes... Those eyes were the kind that knew how to burn. They held hunger in them. Hunger and heat.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I whispered, my voice raw and cracked open.
"I've been watching," he said, voice barely above a murmur. "Since the moment you stepped into this bar."
A bitter laugh clawed its way up my throat. "And that's supposed to make me feel better?"
"I just wanted to make sure you were okay."
"Do I look okay?" I snapped, the bite in my tone sharper than intended, but I didn't care.
He shifted, clearly unsure whether to stay or leave, but he stayed. "No," he admitted. "You don't. And I'm sorry. I know I'm a stranger. I just.....something about the way you walked in… I recognized it."
I turned to him fully now, my spine stiff with the exhaustion of heartbreak and the heat of too many drinks. "You recognized it?" I scoffed. "What sadness? Betrayal? Or just a woman unraveling in slow motion?"
He didn't flinch. "All of it."
I stared at him, searching for mockery or pity. But all I saw was that steady, unnerving gaze. Not kind, not cruel. Just watchful.
The bartender slid another glass toward me, and I picked it up with shaky fingers, about to take the fourth shot of the night, when I felt it.
His eyes were on me again. Still.
But this time, it was different.
I turned slightly, expecting to meet a polite glance or a casual smile. Instead, I met heat. His face now partly cast in the amber shadows of the bar lights, he was watching me with an intensity that made my breath catch. Not just curiosity. Not just concern.
Desire.
Raw. Direct. Undisguised.
The kind that didn't ask permission.
He stepped closer, barely brushing his arm against mine. "You don't have to drink yourself into the dark just to forget," he said quietly, voice rougher now, lower. "You could let something else take the edge off."
I should've been angry.
I should've turned away.
But I didn't.
Instead, I looked right back at him. Into those smoldering, shameless eyes. I felt something tighten in my chest, then sink lower, hot and aching and terribly alive.
And I smiled.
Not wide. Not warm.
Just enough.
Enough to say I see you.
Enough to say maybe.
Enough to let the night become something entirely.
As the night wore on, the whiskey kept flowing, softening the sharp edges of everything I had tried so hard to forget. The bar was hot now, filled with pulsing bodies, hips swaying in time with the low, sensual beat that thrummed through the air. The mingled scents of sweat, cologne, and perfume clung to the thick, humid air, making my skin feel flushed and electric.
I didn't notice him again until I felt it...a warm hand on my waist. Steady,.Confidence. I turned slightly, and there he was, closer now, his eyes locked onto mine with something that looked like hunger. Not romantic, not sweet, But Raw,.. Primal.
I didn't pull away.
The alcohol dulled my better judgment, dissolving the wall I'd built around my pain. The ache in my chest, the betrayal still echoing in my bones, it all faded beneath the heat of his touch, the scent of his cologne, the unspoken promise in his eyes.
He didn't say a word as he pulled me closer, guiding me into the mass of swaying bodies on the dance floor. My breath caught when his body pressed against mine, hot, firm, insistent. I should have moved. I should have stepped away.
But I didn't.
Instead, I leaned in.
The music pounded through me, drowning out everything but this moment. And for the first time all day, I wasn't thinking about Carl, or Eddie, or the image of them tangled in sheets on my anniversary. I wasn't thinking at all.
I was just feeling.
And God help me, I didn't want to stop.
Just then, His hands didn't hesitate, they roamed with a boldness that made my breath catch. One slid up the curve of my waist, his fingers playing against my ribcage just beneath the fabric of my dress. My body arched slightly toward him, unspoken permission spilling from every trembling inch of me.
I was floating. Drifting. His touch was the only thing tethering me to the moment. His lips brushed my neck, slow at first, teasing. I gasped, barely audible over the music, but he felt it, how I melted into his touch, how my body betrayed me.
He turned me, his hands on my hips, pressing me back against him. I could feel him hard, solid, unrelenting. My skin prickled with heat as he moved with me, our bodies grinding in rhythm to the music, his breath hot against my ear.
"I want to taste you," he whispered, the words rough and hungry, sending a bolt of electricity through my spine.
A moan escaped my lips before I could stop it. My head fell back against his shoulder, and his hand slid lower, fingers playing over the front of my thigh. The hem of my dress lifted, just enough for the cool air to kiss the bare skin underneath. My thighs clenched instinctively, but I didn't stop him. I couldn't. I didn't want to.
His mouth found mine urgently, claiming, no softness left in him. His tongue parted my lips, and I kissed him back like I needed it to breathe, like he was oxygen and I was gasping after drowning all day in my grief.
We stumbled toward a darker corner, hands tangled, lips never parting. My back hit the wall and he was on me again, his hands everywhere, cupping my breast through the thin fabric, fingers circling my nipple until I whimpered, arching into him.
I was burning. Every nerve, every inch of me pulsed with a hunger I had forgotten I was capable of.
His hand slid between my thighs, fingers pressing through the lace of my underwear, finding me soaked and aching. I gasped his name, I didn't even know his name, and he groaned in response, biting my bottom lip.
"You're desperate for this," he murmured, and I couldn't deny it. I didn't want to.
"Yes," I whispered, the word trembling on my lips, my body already moving against his fingers. "I just… I need to forget."
He didn't ask why. He didn't care. And that made it easier.
In that dark corner of a bar, with the music thumping and strangers dancing inches away, I let a man I didn't know press his fingers past my underwear, parting me with slow, firm strokes. My legs trembled, my breath hitched, and I gripped his shirt tight as wave after wave rolled through me, drowning the hurt, the betrayal, the echo of Carl's lies.
I was undone in his hands, silently, fiercely, falling apart against the wall while the world kept spinning around me. I could barely hear the music anymore. His hand lifted my thighs, and he slid deeper and harder. I melted into his arms, feeling him inside me as he continued to pull out and penetrate softly, allowing me to feel the
sensation drowning the ache in my chest.
And for a fleeting moment, I didn't feel broken anymore. I just felt alive.