Chapter 12: Did I just cheat?
Enzo’s POV
My legs felt like jelly, a trembling weakness spreading through them until they gave out beneath me. I collapsed onto the floor like a sack of potatoes, my breath coming in short, shallow bursts. My mind reeled, the events of the past few minutes playing on an endless loop.
"What just happened?" I whispered to no one in particular, though the silence around me held no answers. My own voice felt distant, as if it belonged to someone else entirely.
Panic clawed at my chest, each frantic thought louder than the last. "Does this mean I’ve cheated on Doc Olivier?" My stomach churned at the very idea. "What am I going to do? How am I going to face him after this?" I shook my head as if to physically rid myself of the confusion. "It wasn’t my fault—it was the stranger."
A cold shudder ran down my spine. I had no control over what happened. That man had come out of nowhere, invading my space, my body, my very breath. I couldn’t let this ruin what Olivier and I were building. Our relationship had just begun, fragile yet promising, and I couldn’t risk losing it over something I didn’t initiate.
I needed to take action. First, I would check the locks on my door. Then, I’d make sure my windows were secure. Maybe I’d even talk to my landlord—if that man was a tenant here, I needed to know. That would make things easier... or worse.
Dragging myself up from the floor, I forced my legs to carry me to the bathroom. The feeling of dampness between my legs made my stomach tighten. "Great," I muttered. "Another shower."
I stripped off my clothes with tired, unsteady fingers, tossing them into the laundry basket without a second thought. The hot water cascaded over me, washing away the evidence of what had transpired, but not the memory. No matter how hard I scrubbed, I could still feel the phantom pressure of his hands, the way his lips had moved against mine with a dangerous kind of ownership.
I turned off the water and stepped out, reaching for a towel. There was no energy left in me for the usual nighttime routine. No lotion, no extra steps—just sleep. I had an early shift tomorrow, and if I didn’t get some rest, I’d be a wreck.
Slipping into a fresh set of pajamas, I tossed the soiled ones into the laundry basket and collapsed into bed. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself into unconsciousness. But sleep refused to come.
The night played out behind my closed lids like a twisted movie reel. His hands—massive, strong. His lips—hot and possessive. The way he had stroked me as if he had every right to... My breath hitched. My heart pounded. It was all amazing.