To Be Continued

It started with a script. “Well,” Chloe said, adjusting her glasses and glancing up from the printed pages, “I guess we’re really doing this.” Dylan grinned from across the hotel room. He looked damn good — black t-shirt tight over his chest, jeans riding low on his hips, hair tousled like he’d just come from a fight scene. “Of course we are. You picked the scene.” “I picked three,” Chloe corrected, stepping barefoot onto the carpet. Her robe hung loose, a sliver of lace peeking from underneath. “And you said we’d do whatever I wanted tonight.” He raised an eyebrow. “I did. But I didn’t know one of those scripts involved you pretending to be a superhero in distress while I tie you to a chair.” “That was scene two,” she said with a smirk. “Scene one is lighter.” “How light?” She crossed the room in slow, teasing steps and handed him the printed script. “You’re the cocky neighbor. I’m the shy writer. You come over uninvited… and things escalate.” Dylan scanned the first few lines. His mouth twitched. “Oh, it escalates, alright.” Chloe’s pulse fluttered in her throat. This was why she loved being with Dylan — the banter, the playfulness, the way he always made her ideas feel like fantasies worth living. They’d talked about this for months. And now, with the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the hotel door and the world tuned out, it was finally happening. Dylan stepped into character instantly. He walked to the door, gave it a fake knock, then swaggered in like he owned the place. “Hey, I saw your lights on. Thought I’d come check on you.” He delivered the line with a cocky smirk. Chloe feigned surprise, clutching her robe. “You can’t just come in! I didn’t invite you.” “Really?” He closed the door behind him. “’Cause last week, you left your curtain open. And I saw what you were doing.” Chloe’s breath hitched. “What do you mean?” “You were touching yourself,” Dylan said, taking a step closer. “Legs spread, one hand between your thighs, moaning my name.” “That’s… that’s not true.” He grinned like a predator. “Liar.” He took another step, then another, until she was backed up against the desk. Chloe’s whole body buzzed. Her character was resisting. But her real self? Dripping. “You can’t just barge in and say things like that,” she said, trying to hold the line. Dylan leaned in, lips close to her ear. “I can do more than say things, sweetheart.” With a firm tug, he pulled the sash of her robe, letting it fall open. Underneath, Chloe wore a black lace bodysuit — sheer in all the right places. Dylan groaned softly. “God, you wore this for me?” “I didn’t know you’d come over…” He took her chin in his hand, tilted her face toward his. “You wanted me to. Didn’t you?” She nodded, breathless. “Yes.” Their lips met like a spark catching dry tinder — instant, hot, and hungry. Dylan kissed her deeply, hands sliding under the robe, gripping her waist. She arched into him, gasping as he pressed her back onto the desk. “You really want to do this?” he murmured, voice rough with want. “Stay in character? No safeword. Just improvise?” “Yes,” she breathed. “Please.” He grabbed the scarf she’d left on the chair — part of the costume — and bound her wrists gently but firmly. “You’re mine now,” he growled. “And this script? It’s going off-book.”

by Bianca