Ridge opened the door, allowing me to step inside first. The warmth in the living room barely registered against the cold that had seeped into my bones. The air smelled faintly of wood polish and something warm—coffee, maybe—but it did nothing to chase away the trembling that had taken hold of me. Water dripped from my hair onto the floor, forming small, dark puddles on the wooden boards, but I barely noticed.

"I'll grab you something dry," Ridge said quietly, his voice gentle yet edged with worry as I just stood there.

I nodded, but I couldn't move. I stood frozen, the weight of the night pressing down on me, heavy and suffocating. I could hear the steady drip from my clothes or hair dripping onto the wooden floor. My feet felt glued to it, as though moving would shatter something fragile inside me. The adrenaline that had carried me this far was now twisting into something darker—fear, confusion, an ache I couldn't name. I felt like I was drowning, each breath a struggle against the rising tide.

Ridge took a slow step toward me, his concern etched deeply into his features. He hesitated, his hand hovering just above my arm, as though he wasn't sure if touching me would comfort or overwhelm me further.

"Sam?" His voice was soft, almost a whisper, cutting through the storm of thoughts in my head. "You're shaking."

He reached out, gently taking my hand and guiding me into the bedroom. The radiator hummed faintly in the corner, sending out small pockets of warmth into the chilly air. He stood me beside it before moving to the drawers, rummaging for a moment before returning with a pair of joggers and a faded grey t-shirt.

"Here," he said, holding them out. His voice was calm but weighted with concern. The fabric felt heavy in my hands, rough against my damp skin, but I didn't move. My arms hung limp, as though the weight of everything had sunk into my very bones.

Ridge stepped closer, brushing my damp hair out of my face with a careful hand. His eyes searched mine, full of worry and something else I couldn't quite place—something hesitant but protective.

"You're worrying me," he murmured, his voice quiet but firm. "You're in shock. Let me get you some water."

His words barely registered. I could feel the concern in his voice, but I was too disconnected.

He started to move away from me, taking his warmth and solid presence with him, but all I knew was that I didn't want him to leave. I needed him close to me, to feel something—anything that might stop the spiralling inside my chest.

As he turned, I grabbed his jacket, the wet fabric slipping slightly in my fist as I yanked him back to me.

Ridge froze, his eyes widening in surprise as he felt my grip tighten. He looked down at my hand, then back into my eyes, his expression unreadable. I didn't know why I'd done it. I just knew I couldn't let him go.

"Sam..." he began, his voice confused, hesitant.

I pulled him closer, my heart pounding as I stood on my tiptoes and pressed my lips against his. The kiss was urgent, desperate—like I was drowning, and he was the only thing keeping me afloat.

Ridge stood still for a moment, his breath catching in surprise. Then, slowly, he kissed me back, his hands instinctively finding my waist, pulling me closer.

Without breaking the kiss, Ridge slid his hands under my thighs, lifting me off the ground. I gasped against his mouth, my arms wrapping around his neck as he carried me across the room. He perched me on top of the chest of drawers, my legs wrapping tightly around his hips.

His lips were hot against mine, his breath ragged as his hands roamed over my back, pulling me even closer.

His tongue slipped into my mouth, deepening the kiss. The heat between us surged, every nerve in my body buzzing as I let myself get lost in him needing and wanting more. His hands tightened on my hips, as I pressed them against his, seeking more of the warmth and grounding he gave me. Ridge's grip on me faltered for a moment, his head tilting back slightly as his lips parted with a quiet, almost involuntary moan.

"Sam," he murmured, his voice strained, but I barely registered it. The sound of my name on his lips sent a thrill through me, pushing me further into the haze of need and desperation.
I pulled the damp hoodie and my top up and over my head in one swift movement, the cool air brushing against my skin, Ridge's eyes flicked down for a fraction of a second. His breath hitched audibly his gaze darting back to mine slightly unsteady. I  pulled him back into another kiss, biting his bottom lip lightly. The soft scrape of my teeth against him drew a sharp inhale from Ridge, his fingers gripping my hips more tightly. A low, guttural sound escaped his throat, somewhere between surprise and something deeper, rawer. His reaction sent a thrill through me, urging me forward as I sought more of him, as if his presence alone could quiet the chaos in my head.

Without breaking the kiss, I pushed his jacket off his shoulders, the wet fabric falling to the floor with a soft thud. My fingers tugged at the hem of his t-shirt, dragging it upward. My nails lightly grazed his stomach as I pushed the fabric higher, feeling the muscles tense beneath my touch. The contact felt electric, grounding me in a way I hadn't expected. The texture of his skin under my fingertips soothed some part of me that had been fraying all night.

Ridge's breath hitched sharply, his hands faltering on my waist as I yanked the t-shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor. The heat of his bare skin against mine was almost soothing, grounding me in a way I hadn't felt all night. His warmth bled into me, chasing away the lingering cold that had wrapped itself around my chest.

I bit his bottom lip lightly again, pulling him closer as my hands roamed over his chest, memorising the warmth and solidity of him. My hips pressed against his again, harder this time, the contact sending another rush of heat through me. His breathing grew heavier, one hand moving to hold my jaw as he kissed me back deeper as though trying to steady himself. A soft groan escaped his lips, his grip on me faltering for a moment before he instinctively pulled me closer.

Desperation pushed me further. My fingers fumbled with the button of his jeans, brushing against the taut skin beneath. His body tensed beneath my touch, a sharp exhale escaping his lips as his hands faltered, caught between restraint and surrender.

"Sam," Ridge said again, his voice firmer this time. His hand moved to cover mine, his grip tightening, but the haze in my mind dulled his words.

I slipped my hand halfway inside his jeans before his fingers wrapped around my wrist, stopping me in my tracks. His touch wasn't harsh, but it was unyielding.

"Sam," he said, his voice breathless but steady now, pulling me out of the fog. His forehead rested against mine, his grip firm but careful, as if he were holding me together with his touch.

"We can't," he said, his words cutting through the haze.

I froze, my breath catching. His voice was a sharp jolt, breaking through the desperate energy that had been driving me. My fingers stilled, the reality of the moment crashing over me like a wave.

"We can't," he repeated, softer this time, his hands gently moving mine away. His touch was careful but unyielding. "Not like this."

I wanted to protest, to cling to the fleeting warmth and distraction he offered, but the steadiness in his voice disarmed me. My chest heaved as I tried to catch my breath, the reality of his words sinking in. My hands fell to my sides, my emotions raw and overwhelming.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice barely audible. The words felt small, inadequate against the weight of what I had tried to escape.

Ridge cupped my face gently, his fingers brushing my cheeks. His gaze softened, filled with understanding even as his expression remained conflicted. His breathing was still uneven, his chest rising and falling against mine, but his hands steadied me.

"You don't have to be sorry," he said, his voice low but steady, as though he was trying to ground me in the present. He kissed me once more, a light, tender kiss—gentle and restrained, as if he wanted me to feel cared for rather than consumed.

"I want to. Trust me. But not like this—not when you're vulnerable." His voice carried a sincerity that pierced through the haze of my emotions.

I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling exposed, my emotions raw and overwhelming. The sting of his words wasn't in rejection but in the clarity they brought—they left no place for me to hide, no excuses for my desperation.

"I'm sorry," I whispered again, my voice barely audible as I slid from the chest of drawers. The weight of everything pressed harder now, the momentary intensity giving way to a deep sense of shame. I bent to pick up the clothing he had provided, clutching it tightly as if it could shield me from his gaze. Without another word, I hurried past him to the bathroom, the heat in my cheeks burning against the chill that lingered in the air.

Ridge stepped back, his presence careful but watchful, as though he wanted to give me space without entirely leaving me alone. I felt his eyes on me as I crossed the room, my mind spinning with fractured thoughts.

Inside the bathroom, I locked the door and leaned heavily against the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My face was flushed, my damp hair curling wildly around my cheeks, sticking to my skin in dark tendrils. I barely recognised myself. My eyes looked distant, unfocused—like I wasn't entirely there.

The exhaustion of the night settled in, hollowing me out in a way that felt more permanent than tiredness. I turned on the shower, the rush of water breaking the silence in the room. Steam began to rise, curling against the mirror and erasing the image of myself piece by piece. For a moment, I welcomed it—the disappearance of my reflection felt like a relief, like shedding a skin I no longer recognised.

The water scalded my skin as I stepped into the shower, its heat sinking deep into my muscles, chasing away the lingering cold. But no amount of warmth could reach the ache in my chest, that gnawing sense of guilt and fear that pulsed in time with my heartbeat. As the water poured over me, I leaned my forehead against the tiles, letting the pressure of the night wash over me in waves I couldn't hold back.

When I finally emerged from the bathroom, Ridges clothes dropping off of me and my hair wrapped in a fresh towel. Ridge was leaning against the chest of drawers. His arms were crossed, his chest still bare it was as if he had stayed in that very spot just waiting for me to return. his head tilted slightly as his eyes met mine. He looked conflicted, his usual calm replaced with something tense, but his face softened as I stepped closer into the room.

"Sam," Ridge started, his voice low and hesitant, but I cut him off, tossing my towel into the open laundry hamper beside the bed.

"Let's not talk about it," I said quickly, brushing past him to sit on the edge of the bed.

He hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His hand went to his jaw, scratching lightly as though trying to buy himself a moment to find the right words.

"Sam, you don't need to feel embarrassed," he said finally, his voice steady but edged with frustration. "Trust me, I wanted to... I'm sure you could feel how much I fucking wanted to. But if we'd done that, you would've regretted it tomorrow."

I let out a sharp laugh, bitter and tinged with sarcasm. "Great, another man who can tell a woman how she feels," I said, rolling my eyes as I leaned forward, my elbows resting on my knees.

Ridge sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair before letting it drop back to his side. His jaw tightened slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face.

"So you're telling me," he said, his tone quiet but pointed, "That you weren't just doing that to feel something?"

His words hit like a dart, sharp and precise, cutting through the layers of frustration and defensiveness I'd wrapped myself in. My throat tightened, but I forced myself to meet his gaze, unsure whether I wanted to snap at him or dissolve under the weight of his question.

I rubbed my eyes with my knuckles, feeling the tiredness seep in, both physically and emotionally. The weight of Ridge's question hung in the air, pressing against me, daring me to answer.

"I don't know," I said finally, my voice quiet and raw. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the full truth either. "Maybe I was. Maybe I just wanted... I just needed..." My voice trailed off, the words sticking in my throat. The silence felt thick between us, filled with everything I didn't know how to say.

Ridge's expression softened slightly, his hand brushing against his jaw again as he let out a long exhale. "Sam..." He hesitated, his voice quieter now, almost resigned. "I didn't want you to wake up tomorrow and hate me over a few moments tonight. Plus, I'm a man of morals." He gave a soft laugh, a hint of tension lingering in his voice, and I couldn't help but smile despite myself.

"Only a few moments?" I slowly smiled back, arching a brow as I looked up at him.

"I mean... it's been a while, but I reckon at least thirty minutes." His lips quirked into a grin, and the heaviness in the room started to lift just a little.

The embarrassment that had clung to me began to fade as I shook my head, letting out a genuine laugh. It felt strange but good, like finding a sliver of light in the darkness.