The night that changed everything

Lynn's POV

Armstrong's hands were warm on my waist, his grip firm but not painful. So different from Festy's bruising fingers.

The thought made me kiss him harder, trying to erase everything, trying to feel anything other than the gaping wound in my chest.

He walked me backward toward a bedroom. The penthouse was a blur of expensive furniture and dim lighting. I didn't care about anything anymore.

We reached a massive bed; king-sized, black silk sheets… and Armstrong lowered me onto it with a gentleness that made me want to scream.

"Don't," I gasped against his mouth. "Don't be nice to me."

Armstrong pulled back, looking down at me. "Lynn—"

"Just do it," I said desperately. "Just get it over with. That's what you paid for, isn't it?"

He gathered me against his chest while I cried, great heaving sobs that shook my whole body. He didn't say anything. Didn't offer empty platitudes. He just held me while I fell apart.

"I loved him," I finally gasped out. "I loved him so much. Since university. And when he finally looked at me, I thought it was everything I'd ever wanted."

Armstrong's hand moved in slow circles on my back.

"I gave up my job for him. My friends. Everything." My voice cracked. "And I was nothing. Less than nothing. Just something to sell when he needed money."

"You're not nothing," Armstrong said quietly.

"How would you know? You don't even know me."

"I know you're brave enough to try to protect yourself. I know you loved someone who didn't deserve it." His hand cupped the back of my head. "That's not nothing, Lynn."

I pulled back to look at him, my tears slowing. "He said it doesn't mean anything. That it's just sex."

"Does it mean nothing to you?" Armstrong's thumb traced my cheekbone.

I looked at this stranger…this beautiful, dangerous stranger who'd seen me at my worst and hadn't turned away. "I don't know what anything means anymore."

Something shifted in his expression. "Then let me show you something," he said softly. "Let me show you what it's supposed to feel like. Not because you're a transaction. But because you're worth wanting."

Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks. "I don't understand you."

"You don't have to." He leaned in slowly. "You just have to let me."

When he kissed me this time, it was soft. Gentle. Patient. Like I was something precious instead of something bought and paid for.

I felt something crack inside my chest…not breaking, but opening. I kissed him back, deeper, and started unbuttoning his shirt with trembling fingers.

"Lynn, wait…" Armstrong caught my hands. "You don't have to do this."

"I want to." I pulled his shirt off, my hands exploring his chest. "Please. I need to feel something other than this pain."

He hesitated, and I saw the war in his eyes. Then I kissed him again, desperate and needy, and he broke.

Armstrong's hands moved over my body, and this time there was heat behind his gentleness. He touched me like I mattered, like my pleasure mattered. Every brush of his fingers was a question, not a demand.

"Is this okay?" he murmured against my throat.

No one had ever asked me that. "Yes."

He took his time, learning my body. I'd thought I knew what sex was…quick, perfunctory, something to endure. Festy had always been impatient, rough.

This was different. Armstrong paid attention to every gasp, every shiver. When I tensed, remembering where I was and why, he'd slow down, kiss me softly, bring me back.

"Stay with me," he whispered. "Right here."

When he finally entered me, it was so gentle I gasped. He held still, his forehead pressed to mine.

"Breathe," he murmured. "Just breathe."

I did. And slowly, impossibly, I relaxed into it. Into him. Into the sensation of being touched by someone who actually cared how it felt for me.

Armstrong moved slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. I felt myself responding, my body waking up to sensations I'd never experienced.

"Let go, Lynn," he breathed. "Let yourself feel it."

When it hit me…a wave of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain…I cried out, clutching his shoulders. Armstrong held me through it, murmuring words I couldn't hear over the rushing in my ears.

When it was over, I lay trembling. Armstrong kissed my forehead, my cheeks, my lips.

"You're beautiful," he said softly. "And you deserve so much better than what he gave you."

I couldn't speak. I felt unmade and remade all at once.

Armstrong pulled me against his chest. The silk sheets were cool against my overheated skin. His heart beat steady under my ear.

"Sleep," Armstrong murmured, stroking my hair. "I've got you."

And despite everything; the betrayal, the heartbreak, the uncertainty…I felt safe.

My eyes drifted closed.

…………

I woke up slowly. Warm. So warm.

I inhaled expensive cologne. Masculine. Unfamiliar.

My eyes flew open.

I was in a massive bed with black silk sheets, morning light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. I was pressed against a hard male body, my head on a muscular chest.

Armstrong Goldwyn.

Memory crashed back; The penthouse. The phone call. Festy's cold voice: It's just sex, Lynn.

And then... everything that followed.

My face flamed. I slept with him. Actually slept with him. After everything, I wanted him. Wanted to feel something other than the gaping wound in my chest.

Armstrong's breathing was slow and even, still asleep. His arm was around my waist, holding me close.

I carefully lifted my head to look at him. In sleep, his face had lost its hard edges. He looked younger. Almost peaceful.

He was beautiful. And he'd been gentle when he had no reason to be.

What was I supposed to do now?

As if sensing my thoughts, Armstrong's eyes opened. For a moment, we just looked at each other.

"Good morning," he said, his voice rough with sleep.

My mouth went dry. "Good morning."

"How do you feel?"

Confused. Exposed. Sore. And underneath it all, something I couldn't name.

"I don't know," I admitted.

Armstrong's hand moved slowly up my spine. "That's honest, at least."

"I should go," I said, though I didn't move. Where would I even go?

"Should you?" His thumb traced circles on my lower back. "Where to?"

The question hung between us, heavy with implications.

I closed my eyes. "I don't know that either."