The drive to Bloomsbury was peaceful, with the soft hum of the engine filling the comfortable silence between them. 

Charlie occasionally glanced at John as he drove. His hands were steady on the wheel, and his eyes focused on the road. It made her stomach flutter, though she wasn't sure why.

Her breath hitched when they pulled up to The Montague on the Gardens.

The boutique hotel stood elegantly amidst the charm of Bloomsbury, its brick facade framed by ivy-clad walls and wrought iron balconies. Gas lamps flickered softly along the entrance, glowing warmly against the crisp winter air.

Across the street, the quiet park offered a view of bare trees.

John turned off the truck, his hand resting on the steering wheel before he stepped out. Charlie reached for her door handle, but before she could pull it, John was already there, opening it for her.

"C'mon," he said, holding out his hand.

Charlie slipped her smaller hand into his. His grip was firm but gentle as he helped her out of the truck before getting his and her backpacks. She shivered as the cold air brushed her cheeks, but the warmth of his touch grounded her.

She couldn't help but take in their surroundings as they walked toward the entrance. The Montague's garden courtyard was quaint and charming, with neatly trimmed hedges and twinkling fairy lights strung along the pathway. The subtle scent of blooming winter flowers and the crisp air give the place an almost magical feel.

Inside, the lobby was just as inviting. Polished wood paneling, plush armchairs, and roaring fireplaces greeted them. The soft murmur of classical music played in the background, blending with the faint clinking of glasses from the nearby bar. Her eyes took it all in.

"Not bad, eh?" John said, his voice low as he leaned closer to her. His hand lightly brushed the small of her back.

"It's beautiful," she admitted.

He smirked, clearly pleased with her reaction.

They approached the reception desk, where a smiling clerk greeted them.

John handled the check-in process, his deep voice carrying a quiet authority as he gave his name and discussed the room details. Charlie stood beside him, her hands clasped with her backpack.

When the clerk handed John the key card, he turned to her, his expression calm but committed.

"Let's go."

She nodded, following him toward the elevator.

The elevator doors slid shut with a soft ding, enclosing them in almost a tight space. The soft lighting above cast a warm glow, reflecting off the polished metal walls. Charlie glanced at her reflection in front before shifting her gaze to John.

He stood beside her, his tall frame occupying more than half the space. Their bags were placed near the doors and closed for him to reach.

She steadied her breathing, feeling the faint heat creeping up her neck.

John glanced at her.

"You look nice," he said casually. "Casual, like I said. But cute, too."

Her cheeks burned, and she glanced at him. "Cute?"

"Yeah," he said, smirking. "It suits you."

She shook her head, trying to hide her grin. "You're just saying that."

"No, love," he replied, leaning against the wall as his gaze hadn't left her. "I mean it."

Then, she smiled and said, "Well, thank you. You don't look too bad yourself."

"Oh?" he teased, raising an eyebrow. "Not bad?"

She tilted her head playfully. "Fine, you look good. Happy?"

John chuckled. "Very."

As the elevator climbed, Charlie became aware of their proximity—his scent was subtly strong and masculine. She looked away for a moment before looking back at him.

He noticed. His smirk softened into a small, knowing smile. Instead of meeting her gaze, he turned away, looking at the floor indicator above the doors.

Charlie looked away, too, trying to will her racing heart to calm down. But then he cleared his throat.

"Are you comfortable with me standin' this close?" John asked. His voice was low, almost hesitant—an unusual tone for him. "If not, I can step back."

She blinked, caught off guard by his bluntness. Charlie turned to him, meeting his gaze. His expression was unreadable, but the softness in his eyes told her he wasn't teasing. He was giving her the space to speak honestly.

Her mind scrambled for the right response. Until she found her voice.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice softer. "I don't mind."

John studied her for a moment as if gauging her sincerity before he nodded. "Alright."

He shifted, but instead of moving away, he stepped closer.

The small gap between them disappeared, and she could feel the heat radiating from him. Her head barely reached his shoulder.

Charlie smiled shyly, her cheeks warming as she tilted her head to look at him. He glanced down at her, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, but he said nothing.

Reaching out to grab her hand, he lifted up to his lips and he kissed her knuckles.

It made her blush more, and she giggled.

"What are you up too?"

"You'll see," John murmured while smiling.

In a short time, the elevator dinged softly as it reached their floor. The sound breaks the spell and the doors opened.

"After you," he said with a calm tone.

Charlie gave him a quick smile before stepping out into the hallway. She waited for him and stepped out last before she followed him.

***

The suite was warm and inviting, with a subtle elegance that wasn't too over the top. Soft golden lighting the space, reflecting off rich mahogany furniture and deep, plush carpeting. A small seating area with a leather armchair and a loveseat sat by the window, while a sleek flat-screen TV was mounted on the wall. A bottle of wine and two glasses rested on the coffee table, along with a small card welcoming them to The Montague. But it was the bed that caught her attention.

Large and neatly made, the king-sized bed sat in the center of the room, its crisp white linens tucked perfectly into place.

The headboard was upholstered in a soft gray fabric, adding to the cozy yet sophisticated feel of the room. There was only one bed. Charlie blinked, her cheeks turning a faint shade of pink as her mind raced.

Her heart fluttered at the realization.

She wasn't naive—she understood what this setup could imply. It made her stomach twist nervously.

Her gaze shifted to John, who had already started moving around the suite. He walked over to the windows, his broad shoulders framed by the soft light spilling in from outside. With a swift motion, he pulled the curtains shut, blocking out the rest of the world.

As the jacket he'd shrugged off slid over the back of a chair, a compact pistol in a slim holster came briefly into view. Her breath caught.

"You brought a gun?" she asked quietly, more curious than afraid.

John followed her eyes, then nodded. "Never travel without it."

He stepped to the dresser, ejected the magazine, racked the slide to show clear, and laid both pieces inside the top drawer before closing it

"Safe enough?" he asked.

Some of the tension left her shoulders. "Yeah... I guess I should've expected it."

His upper bearded lips curved in a small grin. "It's only for protection, love. Never to scare you."

He turned and flicked on a small lamp, the warm glow filling the room as his sharp icy blue eyes glanced at her, catching her mid-thought.

"Like the room?" he asked, his hands moved and rested into his pockets.

Charlie snapped out of her daze, quickly nodding.

"Yeah, it's really nice."

John walked over to her and stopped a few feet away, close enough to make her heart race while still giving her space.

"So," she said, her voice quieter than she intended. "What's next?"

He shrugged, his smirk softening into a casual grin. "That's up to you, love. We've got one hour to kill before dinner."

She tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. "What should we do?"

"We can talk or makeout. Your choice." He said, his tone light.

Her mouth fell open, and she blinked at him, caught off guard by how easily he threw those options out there. She let out a laugh, her cheeks burning.

"You make it sound so simple."

"It is simple," John said, stepping closer, his voice dropping slightly. "Pick one."

Her breath hitched as she glanced up at him, her heart pounding. She couldn't tell if he was teasing her or if he genuinely meant it—or both.

"Alright," she said after a moment, trying to sound braver than she felt. "Makeout."

John smirked before stepping away briefly.

"Good choice."

She watched him pick up the remote from the near dresser and turned on the TV mounted on the wall. Adjusting the volume to the right level—not too loud, but enough to fill the room with some noise.

"What are you doing?" She furrowed her brows.

John glanced over his shoulder.

"Just makin' sure this space is ours. No one needs to know what's happenin' in here, and the walls might be thick, but I don't take chances."

She blinked at him.

Ours.

The word stayed in her mind.

"And the curtains?" she asked, gesturing toward the windows he had drawn shut earlier.

"Same thing," John replied, his tone steady. "Private's private. What happens in here, stays in here."

His straightforwardness made her stomach flip.

He turned back to her and then sat down on the couch.

"C'mere," he ordered, patting the spot next to him.

Charlie hesitated before dropping her backpack. She stepped forward, lowering herself onto the seat beside him. His arm stretched casually along the backrest, his body relaxed yet commanding. Her stomach flipped again when she noticed how close they were. The faint scent of his cologne mingled with the warmth of the heat between them. He never tore his gaze away from her. His lips curled into a soft, teasing smile.

"You know," John began, "you had more confidence when we first met."

"I did?" Charlie blinked.

"Aye," he said with a small chuckle. "You asked me all sort of questions, and didn't hesitate. Now look at you. You're sittin' here like a deer caught in headlights."

She laughed nervously, glancing down at her hands. "Well, that's because this is different."

"Different, how?" he asked, his tone curious but still carrying that teasing edge.

Charlie glanced up at him, her brown eyes meeting his.

"Because..." She paused, searching for the right words. "Being this close to you feels... different. Like, I don't know how to act."

"That so?" His smirk softened.

"It's not a bad thing," she added. "It's just... you make me nervous but in a good way. If that makes sense."

"Oh, it does," John said, his voice softer now. "And for the record, I like this side of you. Keeps things interesting."

She smiled shyly.

"Speaking of nervous," he said, his voice calm but inviting, "tell me more about your progress of your thesis."

Charlie giggled, shaking her head. "Now? On our date?"

He shrugged, watching her like he could read her hesitation before it even formed. "Is it a crime to ask how you're doing in your homework?"

"No," she sighed, curling one leg onto the couch so she was facing him more. "But it's not exactly a sexy topic."

John leaned back, his arm resting along the back of the couch behind her, fingertips brushing her hair. "I disagree. There's nothin' sexier than watchin' someone chase on what they love or do for difference."

Her breath hitched a little, and she looked down at her hands. "I'm... still behind," she admitted. "I was supposed to finish the second half of my draft before the weekend. But I—" She paused, biting her lower lip. "It's just hard sometimes."

His hand slid lower, brushing over her shoulder behind.

"I stare at the screen and all the words mix up," she continued. "I retype the same line ten times. I lose focus. I start over. My brain just... it doesn't process the same way everyone else's does."

His expression didn't change—no pity. Just quiet attention.

"I can't sit still when I need to. I get distracted, I overthink, and then I freeze. And when I freeze, I feel like a failure."

"Hey." His voice was low, commanding. One word, firm enough to make her look up at him. "I've watched you work through that paper that night," he said. "Watched you fight for every word that doesn't come easy. You're not a failure, Charlie."

The way he said her name—low, slow, thick with that rasp—made her stomach flutter. She swallowed.

"You've helped me with it," she whispered. "You've made it easier to push through, even when it's hard."

His eyes darkened just slightly, his hand sliding down her arm to her thigh. "Then let me help you in every way, sweetheart. Not just with your homework."

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

John leaned closer, and the hand that rested on her thigh gripped just enough to make her breath catch. "I mean... let me take your mind off of everything else. Even if it's just for tonight."

Before she could respond, his hand slid to her jaw, angling her face to his.

He kissed her—slow and sure.

And she kissed him back.

Her fingers tangled into the front of his dress shirt as his mouth moved over hers, coaxing her lips apart. His tongue slid against hers with practiced control, not rushing—teasing. Taking his time.

He broke the kiss only to press another one to the corner of her mouth. Then her jaw. Then lower—right beneath her ear.

Her body flushed against him.

"You always get this quiet when I kiss you?" he murmured huskily.

"I..." she breathed out. "I can't think straight when you do this."

He smirked, lips brushing her neck before he shifted. Leaning forward and tugging her into his lap, she straddled him, allowing her thighs to tangle around his waist, hands braced on his shoulders.

His grip tightened at her hips, controlling her position.

"You always run your mouth," he said lowly, eyes locked on hers. "But when you're on top of me, suddenly you're shy?"

Her breath hitched again, and she couldn't muster a retort. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat.

"I like when you get like this," he added. "Soft. Breathless."

Her fingers gripped his shoulders tighter.

He pulled back, meeting her gaze with a dominance that sent a chill down her spine. "But I also want to hear it."

"Hear... what?" she asked weakly.

His hand slid beneath her sweater, spreading wide across her lower back. "How much you want me."

"I..." She swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest. "I want you."

"Say it again," he murmured, his other hand resting against her throat—not tight, just there.

She whimpered softly. "I want you."

His voice dropped to a growl. "I want to turn your world around and never think of anything other than this."

She nodded, dazed.

His eyes darkened with quiet possession, his thumb brushing over the hollow of her throat. "You're my girl."

The rumble of those words alone made her breath catch in her throat.

He leaned in, capturing her lips again—this time deeper. His hand at her back tugged her closer, until her chest pressed against his. Her hips guided against his lap. She felt him, hard and heavy beneath her, and it made her body respond instinctively—hips shifting just in search of friction.

The movement earned her a low, warning growl in her ear.

"Careful," John muttered, his hand sliding down to her hips to still her. "Keep grindin' on me, and I'm not lettin' you go before dinner."

"I wasn't..." she started breathlessly, but trailed off when he kissed her again—rougher this time.

The way his hand gripped her waist, pulling her down onto him with purpose. She gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed it like it belonged to him. His other hand threaded into her hair, tilting her head just the way he wanted as he deepened the kiss, devouring her sensually. The way a man kisses when he knows he has time—and full intent to ruin.

Charlie whimpered softly against his lips. Her fingers tangling tighter into the fabric of his shirt.

"My girl," he rasped when he pulled back, brushing his nose against hers. "That little sound you make—I want more."

Her cheeks were burning. Her breathing shaky.

He lowered his mouth to her jaw, down to her throat, lips dragging along her pulse. She trembled until her lips parted.

"I want to know when your mind starts to go blank, and all you can think about is me." He pulled back enough to look at her, eyes dark and commanding. "You've been pushin' through every day—school, daily pressure..." His voice dropped to a deep, steady whisper. "I see how hard you work, how hard you try. But right now, I want you to let go."

His hands moved under her thighs and in one fluid motion, he stood up—lifting her with him as though she weighed nothing. She let out a quiet gasp, arms wrapping around his neck as her legs tightened around his waist.

"John—"

"Let me take care of you," he cut her off gently.

He walked them to the bed and laid her down carefully, never once breaking eye contact. His hand smoothed down her thigh as he hovered over her.

"I want to hear you say it again," he said, his voice a low, gravelly command.

Her eyes fluttered. "That I want you?"

He leaned down, brushing his lips over hers. "Yes."

"I want you," she whispered, and it wasn't just desire in her voice—it was trust.

John smiled against her mouth, wicked and possessive. "You'll be mine tonight, sweetheart. I want every part of you."

And as his mouth captured hers again.

His hands roamed slowly—possessively—over her sides, thumbs brushing the curve of her waist beneath her sweater. Every touch was intentional, never rushed. John didn't just touch to tease. He touched to claim.

Her breath trembled beneath him. Her chest rising and falling in rhythm with her racing heart, while her hands slipped under his forearms, her nails grazing his lean, hairy, and muscular arms.

"You feel that?" he murmured between kisses.

She nodded, her voice caught somewhere in her throat.

"This is a warm-up," he said, his tone almost raspy yet gentle. His hand slid up the back of her thigh, fingers trailing higher until they paused just beneath the hem of her sweater hem.

She whimpered after he adjusted her body under him with confidence that it made her dizzy. Feeling his body pressed against her. She opened her mouth to speak, but the moment she did, he kissed her harder—shutting her up with a low growl.

"Don't interrupt," he warned between kisses.

Her head fell back against the pillow, breathless. "You're very bossy."

"You like it when I am," he replied with a smirk, trailing slow kisses along her jaw.

"I do," she giggled, cheeks flushed.

"Mmhm. That's what I thought," he rasped, his deep voice vibrating against her skin. And just as his hand slid up the back of her thigh again, the shrill buzz of his phone cut through the air.

John stilled.

The vibration rattled against his pocket.

Charlie blinked up at him, dazed and flushed, her hair mussed beneath her on the pillow.

He let out a breath—part annoyed, part amused—and dropped his forehead to her shoulder.

She giggled softly, breathless. "Was that your dinner alarm?"

"It was," he groaned.

Charlie smiled, her fingers tracing slow circles along his back. "Guess we've got a reservation to catch."

John tilted his head, meeting her eyes again. "We can skip dinner."

"John," she laughed. "We'll be late."

He grinned, pressing one final kiss—just enough to make her toes curl again.

"Fine, I'll behave. For now."

Then he slowly rolled off her, running a hand through his hair and grabbing the phone to silence the alarm. "But when we get back..."

Charlie sat up, cheeks pink, hair tousled, eyes still dreamy.

"I'm yours?" she said softly, smiling.

His lip twisted into a mischievous grin.

"Yes."