A/N: Yeah, a new one. Be gentle, it's been a while since I've written anything. :)

Chapter One

"This is crazy," she moaned against his lips. She was pulling at his shirt. She quickly gave up though, hands dropping to work open his belt. When it loosened she sighed, aware of his hands on her hips.

"I know." His voice rumbled low in her ear, hands pulling at her skirt. He hissed at the first touch of her hand to his cock through his pants, digging his fingers into her ass. His fingers were soon grasping her panties. He started to pull them down then, groaning, yanked them to the side so he could stroke her. "But it feels right…"

"Yes." Her breaths were shallow and she tried her best to stay quiet, knowing there would be hell to pay if they were caught. She quickly lowered his zipper, the sound seeming to echo in the corner of the dead-end corridor they'd found. But she paid it no mind, dropping her head back against the wall when his lips trailed down her throat. The hand on her hip tightened its grip and she bit down on her bottom lip as she was pulled up. She was read, had been since his eyes had met hers earlier, but he always seemed to take delight in furthering her torture. Above the sound of their heavy breaths, her pounding heart, and the normal backstage noise occurring just yards away, she could hear his fingers rubbing her slick folds.

She slid her legs around his waist, clutching at his biceps. He supported her with his hips, the fingers between her legs moving rapidly as his other hand yanked at the top of her dress. She faintly heard the delicate lace of her bra rip and drew in a breath to complain, but then his mouth was on her nipple. Arching, clasping handfuls of his suit jacket, she held her breath, the tip of her tongue gripped between her teeth to keep from crying out.

"Please," she whispered faintly, heels pressing against his ass as he suckled hard at her nipple. His hand clamped down over her mouth, silencing her, and she could only writhe while he sucked and stroked her to a fever pitch. Just when her entire body began to tense, just when she knew a powerful orgasm was rapidly approaching, his fingers pulled away.

He released her nipple with a wet pop then made shushing sounds. His hands moved to her hips, his mouth covered hers in a tender kiss. Then, finally, he entered her.

Utter silence. Clinging to him, certain her heart had stopped, she stared into his brown eyes. He remained still for a long time, but for his cock twitching gently deep within her. Then her breath left her lungs in a rush and she became aware of the roaring of her blood in her ears. Bliss. Pure bliss.

He gave the tiniest of moans, eyes closing briefly. Just when she thought she would scream he began to move. Frantic but gentle, rough but quiet. He somehow managed to make love to and fuck her at the same time. He caressed her face, whispering nonsense, and she let her head drop to his shoulder. His hand followed hers when she reached out to clutch at nothingness, warm fingers grasping hers and holding it against the wall.

"I'm—" she cut off her gasp, buried her face against his shoulder, body growing taut. His tongue flickered over her earlobe and she thrashed, the strained whispering of her name echoing in her ear. Her fingers clawed at his bicep, her other hand squeezing his as a rapturous scream strangled in her throat.

"Fuck…" He growled her name and pinned her firmly to the wall. She felt his body throb, most keenly aware of the way his cock rippled inside her, flooding her with heat.

His bruising grips eased. Tender fingers stroked up the length of her arm, a heated palm caressed her thigh. He whispered her name, coaxing her head up, and his kiss soft as he eased her bra and dress back into place. They both hissed when he slowly withdrew. The hand on her thigh squeezed before reaching to carefully smooth her panties. Her own trembling hands worked to restore his clothing. His lips remained over hers while she eased her feet down to the floor. By the time her breathing and heartbeat were back to normal there was very little outward appearance to what had just transpired.

Their little secret.

"I better go," he said after breaking the kiss with a sigh. There was regret in his eyes. She recognized it, and knew it was because he had to leave.

"I know." She smoothed her hands down his torso, both so she could straighten his shirt and so she could touch him again.

"I'll see you later."

She nodded, felt the wall at her back vibrate with entrance music starting up. Catching sight of a glimmer on his lips, she reached up to wipe the remnants of her lip gloss away. He had only a few minutes before his own music would start and he would have to go out and become the best asshole in the business. "Go."

He leaned down to drop a kiss on her cheek. "I'll text you."

"I'll be waiting." She gave his hand a gentle squeeze then finally stepped away. "Talk to you later, Paul."

She was almost asleep when there was a persistent knocking at her hotel room door. Groaning, she slid out of bed and padded across the room, pushing her long auburn hair from her face. It was late, approaching two in the morning. And, except for a few brief moments of texting, she had been alone since leaving the arena. Glancing through the peephole, she smiled at the sight of her visitor and opened the door.

"Hey Soph." Dean Ambrose pushed his baseball cap further back on his head and offered a grin, his eyes drifting down her figure. "Are you going to sleep?"

"I was," she answered, grunting when he swept past her and entered the room. With a cursory glance up and down the hall she was assured that no one had seen him and closed the door. "What are you doing here?"

"Just got in." He was already flopped across her bed, and indicated the bottle on the nightstand. "Can I get a shot?"

Rolling her eyes, she stepped into the bathroom and grabbed the extra cup off the counter. Dean was obviously wide awake and bored. And though she normally welcomed his unexpected visits, tonight she wasn't up for it. "Don't you have a room to yourself now?" she asked upon reentering the bedroom.

"Nah, sharing with Roman. When I got to the room the 'do not disturb' sign was on the door." He sat up, nudging the bottom of the bottle further up as she poured whiskey into his cup. "I managed to slip in without making noise. Was just about to get my exhausted ass in my bed when I heard a noisy blowjob starting up."

"I didn't know Ro was dating anyone," she mused, handing over the cup and reaching for her own.

"He's not. I didn't get a look at her so I don't know if it was a random or if one of the Divas finally scored."

Sophia leaned to place the bottle on the nightstand. While she was at it, she checked her phone. Then, feeling callused fingers on her thigh, she yelped and turned to face Dean. "Th'hell!"

"Sex bruises?" he asked, smirking as she yanked the hem of the t-shirt she wore down.

"Hardly," she snorted, taking a sip of her whiskey. "I was running the ropes earlier and tripped."

He tilted his head and she knew that he knew she was lying. Damn the man for being so perceptive.

"I did," she insisted. And she had tripped while running the ropes. But she wasn't about to admit that the bruises had occurred later.

"Sophia."

"Dean."

"You disappeared for a while backstage tonight," he recalled, settling back with his drink. He'd kicked off his shoes and from all appearances seemed ready to settle in for the night.

"Did I?" she asked casually, glancing to her phone.

"You were gone for thirty minutes."

"I was probably putting on my gear." She shrugged and picked up her phone two seconds before it vibrated with an incoming message.

I'll be there in ten.

"Sophia, why the fuck are you lying to me?" Dean asked.

"Because I'm tired." She drained the rest of her whiskey then took his empty cup. "Out you go, Ambrose."

"But… Roman sex," he almost whined, though he slid to the edge of the bed and reached for his shoes.

"Ear plugs," she suggested, slipping her phone under the pillow just in case he tried to get a little nosier.

He groaned and grumbled the entire time, sulking his way to the door. There, he turned to face her, his gaze assessing. Lifting one eyebrow, he sighed. "Who is it?"

"What are you talking about?" she asked, gathering her hair in a ponytail and twisting it into a quick bun at the back of her head.

"Who's coming here that you don't want me to see?"

"Dean." She laughed and leaned up to push a kiss against his cheek. He was in need of a shave; his stubble tickled her lips. "You may be one of my very best friends and I would trust you with my life. But you know what?"

"What?" he grunted.

"You're the nosiest asshole I know. Now go."

"I could just hang out in the hall—" He threw up his hands when she glared. "Fine! Shit! Have your secrets. I've got mine too, you know."

"I'm sure you do, but—"

"I know, I know, you want me to get the fuck out," he groaned. He smacked a kiss to the top of her head. Then he opened the door. "But, Soph…"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful," he said softly, a hint of sadness in his voice. Then, with a wave, he was gone.