Roof Access

The Roof Access door was heavy, rusted, and marked with a faded sign that read AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY .

Ryder stood behind it, listening to the hum of the massive ventilation fans spinning on the roof above. It was 10:00 AM on a Thursday. He was supposed to be checking the filtration units on Line 3.

Instead, he was waiting for his best friend's mistress.

His heart was hammering against his ribs, a frantic, guilty rhythm that made his hands shake. He checked his watch. She was late.

Maybe she wasn't coming. Maybe she had finally come to her senses and realized that sleeping with the sidekick wasn't going to hurt the hero.

Then, the door handle turned.

Ryder stepped back into the shadows of the stairwell landing.

The door creaked open.

Misty slipped inside. She wasn't wearing her factory uniform. She was wearing street clothes—tight denim shorts and a black tank top that dipped low in the front. She had sunglasses pushed up into her messy bun. She looked like she was going to the beach, not a stamping plant.

She locked the door behind her.

"You're late," Ryder whispered, his voice echoing in the concrete stairwell.

"I had to dodge security," Misty said, breathless. She walked down the few steps to the landing where he stood. She didn't smile. She didn't say hello. She just looked at him with that terrifying, hungry intensity.

"Did you see him?" she asked.

Ryder winced. "Jax? Yeah. I saw him."

"And?"

"And nothing, Misty. He's working. He's cleaning his cage because Deb wrote him up again."

"Does he ask about me?"

Ryder looked away. He hated this part. He hated being the spy. "No. He doesn't ask."

Misty’s face hardened. The hurt flashed in her eyes for a second, but she buried it quickly under a layer of anger.

"Good," she said. She stepped into Ryder's space. She smelled like vanilla and expensive shampoo, a scent that didn't belong in this dirty, oil-stained stairwell. "Then he won't miss what he isn't getting."

She reached out and grabbed Ryder's belt buckle.

"Misty," Ryder warned, grabbing her wrists. "We can't keep doing this. It's dangerous. If he finds out..."

"He won't find out," she hissed, pulling her hands free. She pushed him backward until his back hit the rough concrete wall. "Unless you tell him. Are you going to tell him, Ryder?"

"No."

"Then shut up."

She kissed him. It wasn't a kiss of affection; it was a kiss of possession. She bit his lower lip, hard, tasting the iron of his blood.

Ryder groaned, his resistance crumbling like wet cardboard. He hated himself for it, but he couldn't stop. He had spent years watching women look at Jax like he was a god. Now, one of them was looking at him . Even if it was a lie, even if it was just revenge, it felt too good to refuse.

He grabbed her waist, his large hands spanning her hips, and pulled her flush against him.

"You're crazy," he muttered against her mouth.

"I'm motivated," she corrected.

She dropped to her knees on the landing.

Ryder gasped, his head falling back against the wall. "Misty..."

She didn't waste time. She unbuckled his belt and shoved his pants down with frantic, eager hands. When she took him into her mouth, it was aggressive. She wasn't trying to be gentle. She was trying to extract something from him—a reaction, a noise, a surrender.

Ryder tangled his fingers in her hair, looking down at her. In the dim light of the stairwell, she looked beautiful and broken. He watched her work, watched the way her throat moved, and for a second, he let himself believe it was for him.

But then she looked up. Her eyes locked onto his, but they were glazed, distant. She wasn't seeing him. She was seeing the ghost of the man who wasn't there.

"Make me forget him," she commanded, pulling away and standing up.

She turned around, bracing her hands against the wall, arching her back. She shoved her shorts down, kicking them off one leg. She wasn't wearing panties.

"Do it," she ordered. "Hard. Like you hate me."

Ryder didn't hate her. He wanted to save her. But right now, saving her meant breaking her.

He stepped up behind her. He gripped her hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh. He entered her in one smooth, powerful thrust.

Misty screamed.

It echoed up the stairwell, a sharp sound of pleasure and pain mixed together.

"Quiet," Ryder hissed, panic flaring in his chest even as his hips snapped forward.

"No," she moaned, pushing back against him. "Let them hear. Let him hear."

Ryder buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent. He moved with a punishing rhythm, driving into her, trying to mark her, trying to make her feel him instead of the memory of Jax.

The friction was intense. The heat in the stairwell spiked, sweat dripping from Ryder's forehead onto her back. Their skin slapped together, wet and loud.

Misty was vocal. She whimpered with every thrust, her head thrashing side to side.

"Is he better?" Ryder growled in her ear, jealousy flaring hot and bright. "Is he better than this?"

"No," Misty gasped, her nails scratching against the concrete wall. "You. You're better."

It was a lie. Ryder knew it was a lie. But in that moment, with his cock buried deep inside her and her body trembling against his, he didn't care.

He grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around so he could see her face. He lifted her up, pinning her against the wall. Misty wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles behind him.

He drove into her from the front, watching her face. Her eyes were rolled back, her mouth open in a silent cry.

"Look at me," he ordered.

Misty opened her eyes. They were blue and glassy.

"Ryder," she whispered.

He shattered. The climax hit him like a freight train, a full-body seizure that emptied him completely. He groaned, burying his face in her chest, holding her tight against the wall as he came.

Misty climaxed a second later, her body clamping down around him, her fingernails digging into his scalp.

For a long moment, the only sound in the stairwell was their ragged breathing and the hum of the roof fans.

Then, metal scraped against metal.

Ryder froze. Misty went rigid in his arms.

The sound came from below them. The door handle to the production floor. Someone was trying to open the door.

"Shit," Ryder whispered.

He dropped Misty to her feet. She scrambled to pull up her shorts, her hands shaking violently. Ryder fumbled with his zipper, his heart slamming against his ribs like a trapped bird.

"Ryder?"

The voice was muffled by the steel door, but it was unmistakable.

Jax.

"Ryder, you in there? I see your cart parked outside."

Ryder looked at Misty. Her eyes were wide with terror. If Jax found them here—her in street clothes, him sweating and disheveled—it wasn't just a violation of the bro code. It was a firing offense. It was the end of everything.

"Say something," Misty mouthed, backing into the shadows under the stairs.

Ryder cleared his throat. He tried to steady his voice.

"Yeah!" Ryder shouted, his voice cracking slightly. "Yeah, Jax. I'm... I'm checking the roof access seals. For the audit."

Silence.

The handle jiggled again.

"Door's locked," Jax called out. "You got the key?"

"Yeah," Ryder said, sweating profusely. "I'll... I'll be out in a second. Just finishing up."

"Alright," Jax said. "Hurry up. Deb is on the warpath. She's looking for you."

"Copy that."

Footsteps. Heavy boots walking away on the concrete floor.

Ryder sagged against the wall, exhaling a breath that felt like it had been held for an hour. He looked at Misty. She was huddled in the corner, buttoning her tank top. She looked wrecked.

"That was close," she whispered. A slow smile spread across her face. It wasn't fear. It was exhilaration.

"Too close," Ryder said, wiping sweat from his face. "You have to go. Now."

"Did you hear him?" Misty asked, her eyes shining. "He was looking for you. He's suspicious."

"He's not suspicious," Ryder said, though he didn't believe it. "He's just working. Go, Misty. Out the roof door. Take the fire escape."

Misty walked over to him. She reached up and wiped a smear of lipstick from his neck.

"Same time next week?" she asked.

Ryder looked at her. He should say no. He should end it right here. But the adrenaline was still coursing through his veins, mixing with the lingering pleasure.

"Yeah," he whispered, hating himself. "Next week."

Misty kissed his cheek. "Good boy."

She turned and ran up the stairs to the roof, disappearing into the bright sunlight.

Ryder stood alone in the dark stairwell. He felt dirty. He felt used.

He felt alive.

***

Barb and Tammy were on their second break, splitting a lukewarm soda.

"Did you see the roof?" Tammy asked, pointing upward.

"See what? The seagulls or the rust?"

Tammy whispered. "I swear I just saw Misty climbing down the fire escape on the north side."

Barb lowered her sunglasses. "The fire escape? In this heat?"

"She was wearing shorts. And she looked... messy."

"Messy how?"

"Like she just wrestled a bear," Tammy giggled. "Hair everywhere. Shirt untucked."

Barb looked at the side door. Ryder walked out. He wasn't walking with his usual bounce. He was trudging. He walked straight to the water hose, turned it on, and splashed water over his entire head, soaking his shirt.

"And there's the bear," Barb said dryly.

"Ryder?" Tammy gasped. "Again? I thought Jax put a stop to that."

"Jax can't stop what he doesn't see," Barb said. "Ryder looks like he's about to have a heart attack. Look at his hands. They're shaking."

"Why is he doing it, Barb? He knows it's wrong."

"Because it's dangerous, Tammy. And these boys? They're bored. Jax is playing house with the wife, so Ryder is playing with fire."

Barb took a sip of the soda and grimaced. It was flat.

"But fire burns, honey. And Ryder ain't fireproof. Just wait until Jax smells the smoke."