Enemy in My Bed

I’m a married woman. And for once in my life, I want wild, no-holds-barred sex.

The thought felt sinful the second it crossed my mind, but I didn’t care. Not tonight.

Tonight, I was going to cheat on him.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror and tugged at the neckline of my dress. It was modest, restrained, and boring—exactly the way Garrick wanted it. He controlled everything: his company, his house, his schedule, even the way I stood beside him in public.

Even me.

“Lana!”

I flinched at his voice from the hallway. Garrick never called my name softly. It always sounded like an order, something meant to pull me into place before I had the chance to think for myself.

I took one last look in the mirror and left the room.

He stood in the doorway of his study, dressed in a suit tailored so perfectly it looked almost severe. His tie was straight, his expression unreadable. His gaze moved over me from head to toe, not with warmth, not with desire, but with the cold attention of a man checking whether something he owned was still presentable.

“We’ll be sitting next to the Marlowe family at the gala tonight,” he said in that icy tone that left no room for argument. “I want you to sit at the table and smile. Don’t bring up anything unnecessary. And only take a sip from your glass to be polite. I don’t want a drunk wife.”

I swallowed hard, forcing down the tightness in my throat. “I understand, Garrick.”

He stepped closer and gripped my chin firmly between his fingers. His touch didn’t hurt, not exactly, but the way he held me did. Like my face, my body, my silence—every piece of me existed under his permission.

He tilted my face upward slightly.

“Don’t just tell me you understand, Lana. Follow my instructions to the letter. You carry my last name. The discipline in this house applies outside these walls too. Now, go downstairs and wait for me in the car. Be there in ten minutes.”

He let go of my chin, turned his back, and straightened his jacket.

There was no love in Garrick’s world. Only rules, orders, and obedience. Even our bedroom felt cold and sterile, another part of his perfectly controlled life. Sleeping with him was a chore. Something planned, mechanical, and soulless.

But I wanted to burn.

I wanted someone to pin me against the wall and make me lose my mind. I wanted hands that didn’t treat me like a fragile decoration meant to sit quietly beside a powerful man.

As Garrick reached for his phone to bark out more orders, something reckless inside me finally came alive.

The well-behaved woman would not be getting into that car tonight.

Garrick would be spending tonight alone.

And Lana?

Lana was going to break those chains.

I barely remembered leaving the house or driving through the dark streets. All I knew was that I wasn’t going to Garrick’s gala. For the first time in my life, I had disobeyed one of his orders, and the rush of it sent heat racing through my veins.

I pulled the car over on one of the city’s rougher backstreets. The pavement was wet, the streetlights were dim, and no one looked too closely at anyone else. From the bag in the backseat, I pulled out the dress Garrick would never allow me to wear.

I took off the modest, boring outfit he had approved and tossed it aside. Then I slipped into black satin.

The dress clung to my skin, the neckline low enough to make Garrick hate it.

There.

I was ready to cross the line.

I got out of the car. A light drizzle had started to fall, but my skin was too hot to care.

In front of me, under the glow of a dim streetlamp, I saw the sign.

Velvet & Vice

I pushed open the bar’s heavy metal door and stepped beneath the low purple neon, my heart pounding in my ears.

The place reeked of trouble. Whiskey, smoke, sweat, and bad decisions. It was dark, loud, and dangerous in a way Garrick’s perfect world would never allow.

And that was exactly what I wanted.

Unsteady in my heels, I made my way to the counter and sat on an empty stool.

Then I saw him.

Behind the bar, he was pouring whiskey into a glass. The silver hoop in his left ear caught the neon light. The sleeves of his black T-shirt were rolled up, revealing muscular, tanned arms covered in savage tattoos. He moved with an easy confidence, like the chaos around him knew better than to touch him.

Fuck.

Seriously, fuck.

I should have kept my noble, distant composure. I should have looked away. But every time he rested those tattooed arms on the counter, my eyes went right back to him.

A voice inside me said, Don’t look.

But the rest of me was already imagining what it would feel like to be trapped in those arms.

After Garrick’s sterile, controlled world, this man looked like every dangerous thing I had been taught to avoid.

And I wanted him anyway.

He lifted his head slowly, and his eyes found mine through the messy fall of his brown hair. His gaze moved over my face, lingered on my lips, then dropped to the neckline of my black satin dress.

Don’t just look, I thought.

Come closer.

Every second his eyes stayed on me, a hot ache flared between my legs. The rhythm of my heart mixed with the bass of the bar until I could feel both under my skin.

In that moment, every rule Garrick had wrapped around my life started to loosen.

I wasn’t going back to that bed tonight.

Tonight, I was going to let this man pin me beneath him.

And yes, I had made my decision right then and there.

Tonight, I was going to cross the line.

I was going to have sex with this man.