"Thirty seconds. That's all you have to stop the bullshit, or your son is dead."
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Six years ago, Chelsea Doherty lost everything when her husband disappeared without a trace and left her to clean up his past. Now living in Ireland, she has piec...
This chapter is dedicated to my WP friend carolannewrites who entered once again the ONC with a cute romance that will steal your heart. Depth of Field is all about the journey of Finn and Fenna, torn apart by yet to be revealed circumstances to be reunited many years later. If you are into sweet second-chance romances, this one if for you.
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Drogheda, Ireland
February 2024
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His hotel room is a nice size with a king bed in the center and enough space to walk to the other side without bumping my knee in any of the other furniture. Quite different from the hotels Dad used to run when he was still alive. Many of his rooms hadn't been larger than prison cells, but they were cozy and had turn-of-the-century character. They also were stuffed with antiques that were superior to the sleek modern furniture that fill Bastian's temporary home.
My gaze falls on the minibar, the only requirement for my plan.
Slipping out of his sweater, he stretches until his t-shirt threatens to tear; a move undoubtedly meant to impress. And it's working. Having lacked a man between my legs for six years, I can't help for my imagination to run wild. His arms are made of sculptured muscles with well-defined biceps that hint that his chest is chiseled and he has the type of abs that could give me the feels. A masterpiece of nature, just like Marcel, that turns off the rational function of the brain and unleashes wild, uninhibited urges designed to keep the human species alive. It has always been easier to blame my attraction for my husband on biology than my bad taste in men.
Bastian clears his throat. "I'll be right back."
As he disappears in the bathroom, I leap for the minibar to put my plan into action. Whiskey, gin, vodka—it would help if I knew his preference. In the end, I go for the whiskey since I've never met a man who'd refuse this Irish staple. With trembling hands, I fill up two glasses, almost spilling one of the small bottles on the desk. Pulling out the baggie with the sleeping pill powder, I dump the contents in the tumbler to the left. Slightly rotating the glass, I mix the substances as best as I can.
Just don't confuse them, dummy.
At this very moment, he makes a reappearance and my breath catches in my throat. Somehow, he managed to rinse off in just a few minutes and is now gazing at me with hooded eyes in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and water droplets glistening on his skin. His hair is damp and unruly, practically begging me to smooth it down with my fingers.
Fuck, he is ripped.
I lick my lips and hold up the glass. "Here, I fixed you a drink."
"Oh, thank you, but I don't drink alcohol."
"You don't?" I gape at him like an idiot, my mind close to a meltdown.
What now?
In my shock, I'm about to down the whiskey in my hand for courage but freeze with the glass already on my lips.
Crap, that's the spiked drink.
He smiles. "But you can go ahead and drink as much as you want." He opens the little fridge and helps himself to an apple juice. "I don't mind."
I set the glass down. "Are you a recovering alcoholic? If so . . ."
"No, not at all. Alcohol is bad for my health, so I tend to avoid it."
Oh great, a health nut.
He twists open the bottle and gobbles down the juice. His Adam's apple bops in quite the sexy way. Dropping on the bed, he turns up the heat with a panty-dropping pout. I glance at the door.
Abort plan!
I ignore the rational command as my hormones snap into overdrive and release a gush of arousal. He has trouble written all over him, but I can't fight the temptation. Like a puppet pulled by a string, I saunter toward the bed in my best hip-swinging style. His pupils dilate with appreciation.
"Take off your clothes."
I slowly shed each piece of clothing until I'm left with only my panties. As he gets off the bed, the towel slips. I cock my head and admire his hard erection. He is nice and large, but not so big that he will hurt me. Stepping closer, I run my fingers over the smooth skin of his rib cage just above his hip. That's where Marcel had his lion-head tattoo, the mark of the Crimson Disciples. Bastian couldn't belong to them or he'd have the same tat.
Instead, the ink on his body is a climbing vine with several branches that arch over his pubic area and continue on his back. I squint at one of the leaves.
Are those initials?
"Does your tattoo have a meaning?"
"If you're already injecting your body with ink, it should symbolize something, don't you think?"
"Then what does yours mean?"
"We don't have to share secrets in order to have sex." He pulls me into his arms. "As a matter of fact, I'd prefer if we weren't talking at all."
This is my last chance to get away, but his hard shaft has settled right between my legs, teasing my clit. With my intimacy-starved body, all my defenses are immobilized.
I look up and find his eyes. They are burning with desire. "Do you have a condom?"
"Sorry, but I don't use condoms."
My brows furrow. "You don't drink alcohol because it's bad for your body, but then you have unprotected sex? What about STDs?"
"I'm getting tested frequently, so I'm clean." Slipping his hand inside my panties, he pushes a finger into my drenched canal. "And judging from the tightness of your pussy and the receptiveness of your body, you haven't had sex in a very long time, so that only leaves pregnancy. If you want, I can get you a morning after pill."
Not needed. "I had my tubes tied after Sean."
His eyes narrow. "But you were only twenty when you had your son."
"Marcel didn't want any more kids." My voice is thick and I drop my gaze.
"That wasn't his decision to make." Bastian cups my chin and tilts my head back to reinforce eye contact. "You seem like a good woman who deserved better than a husband like Marcel."
That might be so, but I'm done talking about this. Pulling his head to mine, I seal his mouth with my lips.
No turning back now.
Total WP word count: 5,561
Well, things most certainly didn't turn out as Chelsea expected as we are headed for back-to-back spice chapters. I know this one didn't end on a very thrilling cliffhanger, but I promise that the next one will make up for it. Hope you still enjoyed the chapter and are eager to read on; if so, please drop me a comment and don't forget to click that little Star button. Thanks for reading!
