[Content Warning – Mature Themes | Chapters 25–28]
The following chapters (25 to 28) contain mature content, including scenes of an explicit sexual nature intended for readers aged 18 and above. Reader discretion is advised.
These chapters explore complex emotional dynamics, intimacy, and the blurred lines between want and need. If you are uncomfortable with explicit content or are under the age of 18, please consider skipping these chapters.
They say there's a difference between wanting something and needing it.
Wants are wild, shifting things — born from restless hearts and hungry eyes, forever chasing what glimmers just out of reach. Needs, though… needs are quieter. They anchor us, whether we acknowledge them or not. A need is what keeps the body breathing and the soul standing when the world falls apart.
I learned this not in a single moment, but in the spaces between them — in every choice I made, every face I left behind, every secret I carried. Life has a way of testing which is which.
And in this story, you'll see: what we want can destroy us. What we need… might be the only thing that saves us.
They say life is a series of choices, but no one ever warns you how blurry those choices can become when the heart and mind refuse to agree. The difference between what we want and what we need isn't always as clear as we pretend it is. It hides in the quiet moments, in stolen glances, in the ache of unanswered questions. And sometimes, the very thing we're chasing becomes the thing that unravels us.
But it's not as easy as you might think. Is my dream a want or a need? I need it for my future, but it also feels like I just want it. Are feelings supposed to be followed, rather than grounded in facts? If so, which path should I choose? It's hard to trust facts when your feelings for someone are stronger than the reality you know in your mind — but your heart won't follow.
I knew from the start that this person wasn't a green flag, and I'm sure of it. But, wow… I'm still tempted. My brain knows the truth, but my heart refuses to believe it. I've earned the best grades, but this person makes me feel so naive, so foolish, caught up in these so-called desires. Is this desire... or love?
I need what I need, but I feel as though I'm using this person. It's like I'm lost between what my mind knows and what my heart craves. How do I choose when neither side of me can agree?
One hour ago... (7:45 pm)
I took a quick, scalding shower, hoping the heat would burn away the lingering confusion in my mind.
When I stepped out, wrapped snugly in my fluffy white bathrobe, the air was cool against my damp skin. I padded barefoot back into the room—
—and froze.
Aurelius was there.
Sitting casually on the edge of our bed, scrolling through his phone like he belonged there. Like he had always belonged there.
And he looked up the moment he sensed me.
His golden eyes caught me instantly, sharp and warm and infuriatingly calm, while I stood there like some ridiculous deer in headlights.
Oh no.
Oh no no no.
The bathrobe suddenly felt too thin. The air felt too thick.
He arched one eyebrow slowly, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips.
"You're going to catch a cold, standing there like that," he said, voice low, voice dangerous. "Or were you planning to tempt me tonight, little dove?"
I yanked the bathrobe tighter around me, glaring at him.
"I wasn't planning anything," I huffed, trying to pretend my face wasn't flaming red. "You're the one who's shamelessly existing."
He chuckled, that deep, warm sound that made my heart skip for absolutely no reason at all.
"I merely exist," he agreed smoothly, standing up. "You're the one who walked out looking like... that."
I took a shaky step back.
"Don't you dare," I warned, pointing a trembling finger at him.
Aurelius simply smiled — slow, easy, lethal.
The kind of smile that made you forget why you were mad in the first place.
He stopped a few steps away from me, not touching, just standing close enough that I could feel his presence like a gravitational pull.
"Callista," he murmured, his voice a whisper against the space between us, "tell me: am I your want... or your need?"
My breath caught in my throat.
The question slammed into me with terrifying precision. It wasn't fair.
It wasn't fair how he could see right through me.
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because I didn't know the answer.
Because I was terrified of what the answer might be.
Aurelius reached out — slow, deliberate — and brushed a single damp strand of hair away from my face.
His fingers were gentle, almost reverent.
"You don't have to answer now," he said, softer this time. "Just… don't lie to yourself."
Then, without another word, he stepped back and gave me space to breathe again.
I stared at him, my heart pounding so loudly it drowned out everything else.
Because I realized something in that moment:
Wants may glitter and burn and consume.
But needs — real needs — are patient.
They don't demand. They wait. Quietly. Fiercely.
And sometimes, what you think is dangerous... is the only thing that will stand by you when everything else falls away.
The air between us was thick, charged with something I couldn't name, something ancient and electric.
I tried to move past him — tried to walk to my side of the bed like everything was normal — but Aurelius caught my wrist gently.
No force. Just a touch.
Just enough.
I turned my head, and there he was.
Close.
Too close.
His hand slid from my wrist up to my elbow, trailing heat along my skin.
"Stay," he whispered. It wasn't a command. It was a request.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I let him pull me a step closer.
The bed was right behind him, and somehow — somehow — we ended up there, with me half-falling onto the mattress, and him following, a slow, deliberate movement like a panther cornering its prey.
He braced himself over me, one hand pressed to the bed beside my head, caging me in without trapping me.
His other hand rested lightly against my waist, the pressure burning through the thin fabric of the bathrobe.
I swallowed hard, unable to look away from him.
He dipped his head lower, so close I could feel his breath against my cheek.
"You asked if I'm a green flag or a red flag," he murmured, his voice rough with restraint.
I nodded, unable to speak.
"I'm the red flag you should run from," he said, brushing the tip of his nose against mine. "But you're the one person I'd lay down my weapons for."
His lips ghosted over mine — not kissing, not quite — and it drove me crazy.
The space between us was unbearable.
Without thinking, I grabbed a fistful of his shirt and yanked him down the rest of the way.
The kiss was explosive.
Hot.
Hungry.
A collision of every denied feeling, every secret want and desperate need.
He groaned low in his throat, deepening the kiss, his hand sliding up my back, pulling me closer until there wasn't an inch of space between us.
I clung to him, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling, needing more.
His hand found the tie of my bathrobe and hesitated — just for a breath — as if asking without words if this was what I wanted.
I answered by kissing him harder, by threading my fingers into his hair and holding him to me like he was the only real thing in my world.
The robe slipped loose, falling open just enough for his hand to trace the curve of my waist, my hip, my thigh — reverent, worshipful.
He touched me like I was something fragile, something sacred, something his.
He broke the kiss first, panting slightly, resting his forehead against mine.
"Tell me to stop," he whispered, voice hoarse.
I opened my eyes, dazed, breathless.
"I don't want you to stop," I confessed, so softly it was almost a secret.
A slow, wicked smile tugged at his lips.
"Then I won't," he promised.
And he didn't.
That night, Aurelius didn't just touch my body — he touched every part of me that had been guarded, hidden, aching.
It wasn't just steamy — it was soul-deep.
For once, I didn't care about want or need or logic.
I chose him.
Fully, recklessly, irrevocably.
His hand slid slowly, teasingly up my thigh, the heat of his palm seeping through my skin like fire.
He moved with the kind of control that drove me insane — slow enough to make me ache, firm enough to make me shiver.
With his other hand, he gently lifted my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes.
Those eyes...
Dark, intense, filled with something raw and dangerous and terrifyingly beautiful.
He leaned in, so close that I could feel the graze of his breath across my lips.
His thumb brushed along my jaw, almost tender.
"I feel you're getting warm here," he whispered, his voice low and deep, a sinful rumble that made my heart stutter.
He smirked — that devilish, knowing smirk that only he could pull off — and I hated how much I loved it.
I opened my mouth to respond, to throw some snarky remark back at him... but no words came out.
My body betrayed me, pressing closer, desperate for more.
He chuckled softly, a sound that rumbled through his chest against mine.
"Don't be shy now, Callista," he murmured, tracing a slow line up the inside of my thigh with his fingertips. "You're the one who came to me."
I gasped, gripping the sheets beneath me, feeling my self-control unraveling thread by thread.
His hand traveled higher, never rushing, as if savoring every second of my growing need.
And when he finally leaned in and captured my lips again, the kiss was deep, slow, devastating — like he had all the time in the world to ruin me.
And ruin me he did — with every touch, every kiss, every breathless whisper of my name against my skin.
By the time he finally laid me back against the mattress, I wasn't thinking about exams, or dreams, or even the blurred lines between want and need.
All I could think about was him.
His kisses turned more aggressive, more demanding, devouring every sound I tried to make.
There was no more teasing now — only hunger, pure and unfiltered.
While his mouth claimed mine, his hands moved to the tie of my bathrobe.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
He loosened the knot with one sharp tug, letting the fabric fall open.
His hands slid beneath the robe, tracing every curve, every inch of bare skin he uncovered.
His touch was both reverent and possessive, like he was memorizing me, branding me into his memory.
And when he finally pushed the robe off my shoulders, baring me completely to him, his kiss deepened — rough, desperate, almost angry with how much he wanted me.
I clung to him, my heart pounding against my ribs, my body aching for more.
This wasn't just want anymore.
I needed this.
I needed him.
Needed the way he looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered.
Needed the way he touched me like he'd tear apart the whole world just to keep me safe.
Needed the way he made me forget everything else except us.
I gasped against his mouth as he laid me back against the pillows, stripping away the last barrier between us.
Aurelius hovered over me for a heartbeat, his gaze drinking me in — wild, unrestrained, something like worship flashing in his eyes.
"You're mine," he growled lowly, voice thick with emotion and need.
"Say it, Callista."
I trembled under him, my lips parting in a whisper.
"I'm yours," I breathed.
And that was all it took.
He crashed his mouth onto mine again, and the rest of the world disappeared — lost in the heat, the desperate touches, the kind of reckless passion that leaves scars you'll never want to heal.
That night, I gave him everything — mind, body, soul — and he took it like he was starving.
And I wasn't afraid.
Because for once in my life...
This wasn't just desire.
It was survival.
It was love.
End of Chapter 25.