Chapter 2 MOAN FOR ME PRINCESS

THIRD PERSON POV

Hesitation isn’t something Grace can afford right now, so she slides into the car before he can change his mind.

She clicks the seat belt just as he starts the engine, and her brain hits a reset button.

Wait… this isn’t just a car. It’s a freaking SUV. A luxury one.

The seats feel like butter, smooth leather wrapping around her skin, and when he presses a button near the glove compartment, warm air hums through the space. Heated seats. Of course. He's not trying to show off, is he?

The drive is silent. Really painfully silent. Grace shifts a little, her nerves buzzing. She’s not usually the chatty type, but when she gets nervous, her mouth refuses to stay shut. Talking is her distraction, and right now, she needs one.

“So…” she starts, her tone light and small, “are you driving downtown?”

He said nothing.

“Hello? I’m not talking to a ghost, am I?”

He glances her way for one second, just long enough for her stomach to twist, then turns his eyes back to the road.

“I haven’t driven far, y’know. I can still throw you out if you want.”

Grace raises a brow. Wow. That escalated fast.

Wasn’t this the same guy who just saved her from being drenched to death? How did he go from nice to nightmare in under a minute?

She mutters something under her breath and forces out a tiny laugh. “Okay, grumpy. Can I at least charge my phone? You won’t throw me out for that, right?”

“Suit yourself,” he says, his tone clipped. “But don’t forget, I’m dropping you off at the next stop.”

Yeah, except she has no clue where that is. That whole “next stop” thing was pure desperation. And now, seeing his jaw clench like he’s regretting this ride, she decides it’s safer not to test his patience.

She pulls out her iPhone, grabs a charging cord, and plugs it in. The screen lights up just as he hits the brakes in less than five minutes.

Her body jerks forward.

“We’re here,” he says without even looking at her.

Grace blinks, then peers out the window. The rain hasn’t stopped. It’s even worse now. Sheets of it hit the glass like someone’s pouring the ocean outside.

“You don’t really mean I should get out now, do you?” she asks, her eyes glued on the side of his face.

“So what?” he shots back, but in that infuriating calm but sharp manner. “You want me to take you home?”

“No!” she blurts. “I mean—I don’t even live here. So maybe… I could use a little help?”

He doesn’t reply right away. His silence feels heavy, his profile carved in the dim light from the dashboard.

“Look,” she says again, her voice smaller now, “I know we don’t know each other, and I might’ve… overreacted earlier. But I have nowhere to go tonight. I just need somewhere to crash.”

That finally gets him to look at her. His eyes, those cold, unreadable blue eyes, lock onto hers.

“You accused me of being a stalker and a pervert,” he says quietly. “And now you want to spend the night under my roof?”

Grace’s throat tightens. The air between them shifts warmer, and heavier with something that could choke.

He doesn’t look away.

And for a second, she can’t tell if he’s about to laugh or reach for the door lock.

“I’ll repay you somehow. Just… just get me out of here, please.” Her voice cracks as she begs, fingers clutching the edge of her seat as she hopes for the worse.

And maybe he doesn’t know what to do with her. Or just maybe she looks too pitiful to ignore. He doesn’t say a word, he only grips the steering wheel tighter and drives.

The silence between them grows heavy, thick enough to choke on. In less than twenty minutes, they pull up in front of a place so fancy Grace swears her feet wouldn’t touch it in this lifetime if not by luck.

He steps out first, locks the car, and leads the way. She follows, barely keeping up. The soft lighting, the marble floors, the quiet luxury, it all screams hotel, though she can’t afford the time to stare.

Moments later, they’re inside a suite huge, modern, and twice the size of her entire apartment back in town. Grace’s jaw almost drops, but she forces herself to pull it together.

Without saying a word, he disappears into the bathroom. The sound of running water fills the silence, echoing in her head as she stands awkwardly near the bed, unsure if she should sit or just stay put. The guy looks like the kind of guy that needs people to get permission before they touch his things.

Yeah, It feels wrong to be here. But it is this or nothing at all. At least, he doesn't look like he could hurt her.

Then the bathroom door opens, steam rolling out first, followed by him, shirtless, towel slung low around his waist, another one running through his wet hair. He looks so damn hot that she dares not let her thoughts go far.

His gaze lands on her instantly, narrowing with a mix of disbelief and irritation, the one that said ‘what the hell is she doing?’

“You know, I didn’t say you couldn’t sit,” he says, drying his hair in lazy strokes. “So stop standing there like it’s punishment. You’re making me uncomfortable.”

Her throat tightens.

Seriously? He’s uncomfortable? He has this unnerving way of twisting things, making it seem like she’s the one being dramatic when he’s the reason her pulse won’t calm down.

Grace forces herself to look anywhere but at him. Her dress is mostly dry now, but her panties still cling uncomfortably, the fabric sticky against her skin.

She needs a shower badly. To wash everything off, the dirt, the rain and the tension sitting hot under her skin.

Only… there’s one problem. They’re sharing a room. Which means—she glances toward the bathroom door, then back at herself—she’ll have to use his bathroom.

And that thought alone makes her heartbeat stumble all over again.

It’s like he hears her inner thoughts. Without warning, he drops onto the bed, one arm behind his head, eyes still fixed on her.

“Once I’m asleep, I’m turning off the lights,” he says, his voice low, almost like he did that intentionally. “So you’ve got five minutes to take your shower, if that’s what’s still keeping you standing there.”

Her stomach twists. Right. Five minutes? Great. Like she’s on some kind of timer.

She wants to argue, maybe even roll her eyes, but she’s too drained for that. Instead, she just exhales, muttering under her breath.

Five minutes. She can manage that.

It’s just a shower. Just a damn shower, Grace.

In no time, Grace steps out of the bathroom, towel-drying her hair, only to nearly crash into him standing right at the doorway, in a pose that almost ruined the last ounce of resistance she's clinging to.

“What the—!” She jerks back, clutching her chest. “Jeez, you scared the life out of me! What are you—”

“I said five minutes, didn’t I?” His voice cuts through the air, calm and strangely low, but it rolls through her like fire on bare skin.

Her pulse stumbles. Get it together, Grace. Her brain shouts it, but her body refuses to listen.

For a long second, neither of them moves. The space between them just goes dead.

“You’re trembling,” he says, his tone softer now, almost a whisper that makes her knees feel weak and makes her brain go on flip mode.

She tries to speak, but the words don’t come out right.

“You’re… you’re blocking my way.” She means to sound annoyed, but it slips out breathless. Her usual defiant remarks now blown off her head.

Actually, if she doesn't stop herself, she'll probably end up saying something stupid, like “you’re freaking hot and I'd like to kiss you.”

He leans in slightly, and the faint scent of his cologne fills her head, warm spice, rain, and something dark she can’t name. His gaze pins her where she stands.

Her heart thunder. He’s damn too close, and that calmness, it’s doing dangerous things to her thoughts.

Before she can stop herself, she blurts, “Just… stop looking at me like that.”

He arches a brow, the corner of his mouth lifting like he knows exactly what she means.

Fuck! It's too late now and nothing is stopping her. His closeness is impossible to ignore and her heart is beginning to do that stupid racing thing that probably makes her fly one arm around his neck without him making a move yet.

“Damn it... Just kiss me already.” She mutters before crashing her lips against his.

He doesn't resist, he allows her to explore his lips like he's studying it. His hands were already trailing down her arm, down to every sensitive part of her body. A moan tears out of her and she doesn’t know when that part that needs him more starts grinding against his dick.

“Yes. Moan for me, princess.” He whispers into her ear as she continues to grind against his groin.