Sorry for the delay, guys. I was busy with work. But don't worry, you'll receive this month's quota of chapter along with some extra very soon.
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The key turned with a soft click as the heavy door to Ryan's penthouse opened, revealing a warm, softly lit interior that contrasted with the chilled Oxford night behind them. Raven stepped in first, her heels making the faintest taps against the polished wood floor. Her coat hugged her frame, and the breeze still caught in her hair.
The penthouse was quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that hums with anticipation.
The space was modern, elegant. No extravagant gold or garish taste. Instead, dark wood, steel accents, and soft jazz piped through hidden speakers. A fire flickered in a glass hearth along the wall, illuminating the open living space with amber light. Floor-to-ceiling windows opened to a panoramic view of the river, sparkling under the moonlight, framed the city lights like distant stars. The hum of old jazz drifted faintly from hidden speakers, a low, slow rhythm that seemed to mirror the thrum beneath Raven's skin.
Raven turned slowly, fingers brushing the back of the couch as she took it all in.
"You really weren't kidding about the view," she murmured.
She stood in the center of the spacious suite, arms folded loosely beneath her chest, unsure whether to cross the threshold into the bedroom or retreat. Her heels clicked softly against the polished floor as she turned in a slow circle, taking in the warm lighting, the thick velvet curtains, and the tastefully modern furniture. Expensive without trying to be. Masculine without being cold.
And then he appeared.
She looked back only once—to see Ryan locking the door behind him with calm certainty.
Ryan closed the door behind him with a soft click, locking it with a flick of his wrist. He shrugged off his jacket as he walked toward her, his eyes fixed on her like she was the only flame in a world of ash.
"You're quiet," he said, voice low and warm.
Raven turned toward him, her lip caught gently between her teeth. "Trying to figure out if I'm crazy."
He stepped closer. "Why?"
She didn't speak as Ryan stepped closer. She didn't need to.
Her chest rose and fell in quiet anticipation, her fingers twitching where they clutched the edge of her skirt.
He didn't touch her yet.
She smirked, cheeks flushed from the wine—or perhaps the unspoken tension between them.
"Because I don't do this. I don't go home with strangers," Raven admitted, voice quiet but steady.
"I know, maybe I'm not a stranger anymore," Ryan said, stepping within reach. "And that's why I'm honored you came."
His tone was sincere, not performative. Raven blinked, her smirk faltering slightly.
"I don't think I've ever been... looked at like this," she confessed, meeting his gaze.
Instead, he took his time—eyes roaming across her face, tracing the lines of her cheekbones, the nervous flutter of her lashes, the parted softness of her lips. She wasn't wearing makeup. She didn't need it. Not for him.
"You're beautiful," he said simply.
Raven swallowed hard.
He lifted his hand—slowly, deliberately—and brushed a knuckle along her jawline. She didn't flinch. Her breath caught in her throat, but she didn't pull away.
Instead, she tilted her face into his touch.
Raven's breath caught. Her lips parted. And then—slowly, deliberately—she stepped forward and kissed him.
The contact was soft at first. Searching. A question, half-formed.
Ryan answered without words.
The kiss came like thunder beneath a velvet sky—soft at first, then deeper, hungrier, the kind of kiss that tastes of promise and danger.
He kissed her deeper, his hand tangling in her hair, pulling her body flush against his. Her coat slipped from her shoulders, forgotten. His free hand cupped her waist, drawing her closer until every curve of her pressed into him.
Raven melted into it. Her hands found the lapels of his shirt, clutching them tightly as his mouth moved against hers, slow, sensual, full of restrained heat. She gasped as his tongue teased her bottom lip, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, pulling her even closer against him.
His hands roamed her back, mapping the shape of her spine, sliding down to the curve of her hips. Raven responded in kind, her fingers slipping between buttons, working them open one by one, revealing warm, sculpted skin beneath.
She pushed his shirt from his shoulders, baring his torso to the cool air and trailing her fingers over the ridges of his muscles.
He pulled back just slightly, his fingers ghosting along her waist, then up her sides until they brushed her shoulders. Ryan's hand found the zipper at the back of her dress, pausing for just a second.
"May I?" he asked.
Raven nodded.
Ryan reached for the zipper at the back of her dress and slid it down, inch by inch.
The zipper slid down in a soft hiss.
The fabric slipped from her shoulders, pooling silently at her feet, revealing the soft curves of her back, her spine arching as the chill kissed her skin.
She stood before him in nothing but black lace and bare skin. Her breathing quickened, her cheeks flushed—but her gaze didn't waver. Not once.
Ryan stepped closer, cupping her face in both hands as he kissed her again—this time slower, heavier. It wasn't a kiss of introduction. It was a question, a test, a surrender. And when Ryan kissed her back, when his hands slid to her waist and pulled her close, she melted into him with a need that had nothing to do with power and everything to do with being wanted.
She melted into his arms like a tide pulled by the moon.
Their mouths parted and rejoined, each kiss deeper, wetter, more demanding than the last. Raven's hands roamed his chest, pressing his chest, mapping the shape of muscle and warmth beneath.
Raven whispered, her voice trembling as she guided his hand to the clasp of her bra.
He unhooked it slowly, letting the straps fall away. Her breasts spilled free, nipples hard from arousal and the faint chill in the air.
"You're breathtaking," he murmured, lips brushing her cheek, her throat, the hollow of her collarbone.
Ryan bent down and cupped her breasts gently, reverently. His thumbs circled her nipples, teasing them to tight peaks as she gasped, her head falling back slightly. He leaned in, kissing her collarbone, then lower, tracing the swell of her breast with his tongue and kissing her there, over her heart, between the soft swell of her chest—his mouth warm, his breath hot against her skin before taking one into his mouth.
Raven moaned softly, arching into him, her hands sliding into his hair.
There was no rush. Only reverence.
Clothes came off piece by piece—not in a frenzy, but a slow unveiling. As if with every layer discarded, she shed more than fabric. She shed expectations. Guilt. Doubt.
Every inch they undressed was a silent vow. Every touch was a confession of longing denied for too long. Every kiss, a promise that this night would be more than lust.
It would be a transformation.
By the time he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom, she was trembling—not from fear, but from a desperate, eager hunger to be seen.
To be touched.
To be wanted.
Ryan laid her onto the bed with careful reverence. She reached up to him, fingers sliding down his chest, drinking in every hard muscle, every breathless second of closeness.
He undressed slowly. The belt, trousers—until he stood over her, fully nude, his dick huge, thick and heavy, already leaking with desire.
Raven sat up, her hands reaching for him with growing hunger.
But Ryan gently pushed her back down, climbing atop her, kissing down her body inch by inch.
He hovered above her, kissing her lips, her jaw, her collarbone.
Her body responded to every kiss, every breath—arching beneath him, skin flushed with heat and wanting.
"Are you sure?" he whispered.
Her answer was a whisper into his mouth.
"Take me."
And so he did.
He tugged her panties down slowly, exposing her glistening core.
"God…" he whispered as he settled between her thighs. "You're soaked."
She whimpered, one hand gripping the sheets, the other tangled in his hair as his mouth found her folds.
He licked her with maddening precision—long, slow strokes that made her legs shake. His tongue circled her clit, then flattened against it, applying just enough pressure to make her hips jerk.
"Ryan—" she gasped.
He groaned against her. "Say it again."
"Ryan—please—" she moaned, her thighs trembling.
He sucked her clit harder, fingers slipping inside her, curling just right.
Raven came suddenly—body arching, breath catching, legs clamping around his head.
He held her through it, kissing her gently, then slowly rising over her again.
"Was that okay?" he teased.
"Shut up," she breathed, pulling him down for a bruising kiss.
Her legs wrapped around him.
And with one slow thrust, he entered her.
They both moaned—Raven's high and broken, Ryan's deep and guttural.
He moved slowly, burying himself inch by inch until he was fully inside her. She was hot, tight, and perfect around him. Her fingers dug into his back as he set a rhythm—deep, slow strokes that made her gasp his name again and again.
Her walls clenched around him with every thrust, drawing him deeper, harder.
Raven whispered his name like a prayer, like it was the only truth she had left.
And Ryan gave her everything.
Their bodies moved in perfect rhythm—slow, deep thrusts that made her gasp and cling to him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, desperate to feel every inch of him.
Ryan worshipped her body with his. Fucked her like she deserved. Kissed her when she whimpered. Whispered praise when she shook. He held her like she was his, long before she ever knew she wanted to be.
And Raven, beneath him, around him, became something more than a girl in Charles Xavier's shadow.
She became real.
Seen.
Wanted.
And as the orgasm tore through her, and she came again, it was a cry into his mouth, a raw, unfiltered scream of release.
She just kept moaning. Over and over again, like a prayer:
"Ryan…"
He followed with a groan, burying himself deep inside her, his grip tightening on her hips as he spilled himself inside her—raw and honest and claiming.
Their breaths mingle, hearts pounding in sync. She brushes her lips against his, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.
"We have all night," she whispered.
Ryan kissed her temple.
"I wasn't planning on stopping."
And he didn't.
Not that night. The rest is nothing but soft sounds of moans and shared warmth.
And while she didn't know who he really was…
She knew how he made her feel.
Seen.
Wanted.
His.
To be continued…