Page 32 of More than Fiction (Misty Springs #1)
Sophia
The thought of spending the night with Corbin triggered a flurry of activity in my body.
Flurries that started with my head. A jolt to my insides, a rush of excitement at seeing more of Corbin’s world, of peeling back another layer. The coil spooling inside my body somehow twisted tighter.
Sometime during my internal discourse, Corbin pulled a power move and stormed off, leaving me no opportunity to think things through and forcing me to decide quickly.
I glanced at the coat-check teenager. He was too bored to eavesdrop, scrolling through his phone.
I didn’t want to deal with toting around my clutch all night, and it’s not like dresses like this have pockets, so I had to rely on Newton’s Third Law here and allow the force of my boobs to push tight against the fabric of my dress to keep hold of my coat check ticket.
I fished around for it, which—embarrassingly—now caught the young man’s attention.
He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows as I finally found the ticket and handed it over. He disappeared behind the rows of expensive shawls and coats, quickly returning with my clutch—I didn’t have a nice enough coat to wear to something like this.
I turned away from the still-grinning coat-check boy to stare at Corbin’s retreating back.
This was it—decision time .
I either went with Corbin or was stuck with Landon tonight—though honestly, the park bench was more appealing than the latter choice.
What was I even pretending to debate here?
I caught up to Corbin at the exit just as he pushed open the golden-trimmed doors. A blast of cold air bit at my skin, but Corbin quickly opened the rear door to an idling, sleek black car. The inside was warm as I slid in, my dress gliding across the buttery leather.
Corbin slipped in next to me, his citrus and pine scent overtaking the new car smell, forcing my libido to start doing backflips.
We rode in silence, the air of the quiet car thick with tension.
I spent much of the ride playing through the near-miss scenario I had just avoided. Landon and his family were worse than I realized, and I feared this evening might start a domino effect—one that I was too small and weak to stop from crushing me and my friends as the pieces toppled down on us.
To calm my racing thoughts, I turned my focus to the world outside the car windows. The city buzzed past us—street performers, late-night crowds, and storefronts were bursting with life.
I don’t know how much time had passed when the car stopped before a tall brownstone with black-trimmed windows and a tidy iron fence. Sparse trees clung to dying leaves near a pair of benches.
Corbin exited without a word.
“Thank you,” I said to the driver, who smiled and nodded in the review mirror.
I reached for my door handle, but Corbin beat me to it, pulling the door away from me.
He helped me out of the car, dropping my hand as we entered a lobby that radiated quiet wealth—black marble floors, low-hanging lights, and a dramatic orchid arrangement perfuming the air.
Behind the reception desk, a sharply dressed concierge glanced up and gave me a polite, short nod—the kind that said, "You're only welcome here because of him."
Corbin led us to a private elevator with one button: PENTHOUSE .
He scanned his key, and we soared upward. In no time, the elevator doors opened directly into his apartment.
I stepped in and paused, heels sinking into the plush rug.
Warm oak floors stretched into an open space lined with glass walls showcasing the Manhattan skyline.
Everything gleamed—leather furniture, a marble fireplace, platinum accents.
To the left, a pristine kitchen glinted under soft light.
A staircase spiraled upward, its glass and steel railing catching the glow of a chandelier so luminous.
The whole apartment felt like stepping into a dream.
After taking it all in, I turned to Corbin—his eyes watching me closely. Guarded but vulnerable, lustful but reserved.
He unbuttoned his jacket, pulled at his tie, and unfastened the top button of his shirt—revealing the beginning of a carved ridge of muscle that hinted at a body built for more than business.
Down girl.
“I’ll show you where you’ll be staying,” Corbin rasped as he stepped toward the stairs.
Stairs I knew I’d break my neck on if I tried to climb them in these shoes.
“One sec.” I held a finger to him as I stepped toward one of the leather accent chairs in his living area.
I plopped down and reached for the clasp of my heels, finagling with the buckle until my feet were refreshingly horizontal. The plush area rug felt unearthly soft against my aching arches. And I was suddenly curious what kind of access money gave you to the softest textiles known to man.
“Okay, ready,” I said, heels hanging in my hand.
Corbin stood still as a statue with his hands tucked casually into his pockets. His gaze flicked to my bare feet for a moment, then back to my face. He wasn’t quite smiling, but there was a softness there like he was amused or... something else entirely.
He motioned with his head for me to follow, and I let him lead me to the second floor. He opened the dark, charcoal-gray door at the top of the stairs, and my jaw nearly dropped at the room I found myself in.
This was his spare bedroom?
The room was larger than my entire apartment. The king-size bed was adorned with a light gray bedspread. A minimalist art piece was hanging above the headboard, and a smooth side table with a chrome lamp stood next to it.
My hand pressed into the plush mattress, a mattress I tried not to imagine myself sinking into with my body pinned beneath Corbin’s. Tried not to picture me fisting a handful of the comforter as he sent me over the edge. I swallowed deeply, and my cheeks blushed as I caught his gaze.
My friends always said I was an open book. My face told an entire story on its own. And if the way Corbin’s gaze was darkening was any indication, he could read every salacious word I was crafting.
“I’ll get you something more comfortable to sleep in,” he said, clearing his throat before quickly leaving the room.
I slapped my palm on my forehead and took a deep breath. I needed to find a way to block Corbin’s effect on me. If only there were some sort of appetite suppressant for sexual desire. Now, that would be a great product.
I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, giving my reflection a silent pep talk as I pulled bobby pins from my hair one by one. The tension eased from my head, and I gently rubbed my aching scalp with my fingertips. It felt so good that I closed my eyes, exhaling a soft moan.
When I opened them again, I clutched my chest, catching Corbin’s reflection behind me. “Geez! Give a girl some warning!” I yelped.
“Sorry,” he murmured, placing a pair of boxers and a white t-shirt on the marble countertop. The corner of his mouth turned upward as he added, “Maybe you blew out your eardrums with your deafening music.”
I rolled my eyes. But I couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at my lips. Just knowing he was paying attention to me—noticed a habit of mine—made me feel warm inside.
Our eyes met in the mirror, and the look we exchanged was heavy. The room pressed in all around us, catching my breath in my lungs. His body was inches from mine, not quite touching, but I could feel the heat rolling off of him.
If this were a Monica McKenzie novel, this would be the moment we lost control, tore each other’s clothes off, and finally gave in .
“I’ll leave you to it,” he said as he stepped away, gently closing the door as he exited.
I sighed and turned on the water, the hiss of the shower masking my disappointment.
This wasn’t some fictional romance novel. This was real life—and in real life, there are lines and rules and exes and reasons why we can’t be… more .
Steam filled the room, and I sniffed at tiny spare shampoo bottles that were sitting on a shelf. It smelled heavenly. Everything was luxurious, the bathroom was all sleek marble and platinum fixtures—far beyond any elegance I was used to.
Though I loved the golden gown, I hated that it was bought with the Norwood’s money. The design was both elegant and sexy, making me feel—if only for a moment—that I belonged in the same spaces that someone like Corbin did.
Slim straps crossed at the middle of my back, fastening with a delicate, intricate clasp. A clasp so annoyingly tricky that I’d been forced to ask Landon to help secure it earlier, the memory of his clammy hands on me making me gag.
I tried—and failed—several times to release the clasp. Whoever designed this dress clearly assumed the wearer wouldn’t be single.
Well, they sure didn’t anticipate Sophia Carlson, did they?
My arms ached from stretching at impossible angles, and I let out a strangled growl in my frustration.
This was it—death by dress.
Maybe this wasn’t such a bad way to go. Surrounded by the warm steam of the shower in an opulent room, with a gorgeous dress on.
Somewhere around the eighth attempt, I came up with a name for my sexual appetite suppressant.
I’d call it libido-away .