Chapter 1: Room for Two
I’m Cathy, and let me tell you, I didn’t sign up for this shit. A business trip to some nowhere conference was bad enough, but when I rolled into the hotel lobby with my boss Marcus, the universe decided to crank the dial to eleven. One room. One bed. And now, a fucking lockdown trapping us in this gilded cage for God knows how long—ten, twelve weeks, according to the CDC. My pale skin prickled with irritation as I stood there, all 5’1” of me, my dark red hair swinging as I argued with the desk clerk. My hourglass figure—huge tits, tiny waist, round ass—was practically vibrating with frustration, but the clerk just shrugged. No other rooms. No exceptions.
Marcus, this hulking 6’7” beast of a man, loomed beside me like a damn mountain of muscle. His bald head gleamed under the lobby lights, and that wide, flat nose of his flared as he grinned, showing off the gap in his front teeth. He looked like the Incredible Hulk’s bigger, meaner brother, and the way his eyes raked over me made my skin crawl—and, if I’m honest, sent a tiny, traitorous thrill down my spine.
“Yo, Cathy, chill, ma. We gon’ make this work,” he drawled, his voice pure ghetto swagger, dripping with that thug energy he always carried. “One bed ain’t no thang. I’ll keep ya warm, shawty.”
I spun on him, my big blue eyes narrowing. “Keep your damn hands to yourself, Marcus. I’m married, and I don’t play games with overgrown meatheads who think women are just toys.”
He chuckled, deep and low, stepping closer so I had to crane my neck to glare at him. “Oh, I see ya, girl. Actin’ all tough, but I bet ya curious ‘bout what a real man can do. Ain’t no ring gon’ stop that fire I see in ya eyes.”
My cheeks flushed, but I wasn’t about to let him win. “You’re delusional. I’d rather sleep on the floor than deal with your bullshit fantasies.”
“Floor’s cold, ma. Bed’s warm. And I’m hotter.” He winked, and I swear I felt my resolve waver for half a second before I snapped myself out of it.
We got to the room, and it was worse than I imagined. One king-sized bed, mocking me with its crisp white sheets. I dropped my bag, hands on my hips, feeling the weight of my curves shift as I paced. Marcus sprawled on the bed like he owned it, his massive frame making the mattress dip. His eyes tracked me, hungry, and I hated how my body reacted—my pulse quickening, a heat blooming low in my belly despite my anger.
“Yo, Cathy, why ya fightin’ this? We stuck here, ma. Might as well have some fun. I know ya feelin’ me starin’ at ya fine ass.”
I stopped pacing, whirling on him. “You’re a pig, Marcus. I’m not some piece of meat for you to drool over. Keep talking like that, and I’ll make sure you regret it.”
He sat up, muscles flexing under his tight shirt, and grinned. “Oh, I like that fire, girl. Bet ya loud as hell when ya let loose. Come on, lemme hear ya scream.”
My breath hitched, and I hated myself for it. The air in the room felt thicker, charged with something I didn’t want to name. I stepped closer, pointing a finger at his chest. “You don’t get to talk to me like that. I’m not your plaything.”
But he grabbed my wrist, gently but firm, pulling me just close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. “Nah, ma, you a queen. But even queens need a king. And I’m right here, ready to show ya what ya been missin’.”
My heart pounded, and I felt a rush of warmth between my thighs, my body betraying me as I stared into his dark, predatory eyes. I yanked my hand back, but the space between us crackled. I could feel my resolve slipping, the lockdown stretching endlessly ahead, and the bed—damn that bed—calling to us both. I wasn’t sure how long I could fight this pull, not with him so close, so huge, so… undeniable.
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