It was Saturday morning.
Quiet. Peaceful.
Or at least, it was supposed to be.
But the air in the dining room was… different.
Mom hummed softly as she served breakfast. Dad scrolled through something on his tablet, grunting at the headlines. Bacon sizzled. Toast popped. The whole scene was domestic, almost perfect.
Except for Lila.
She sat at the far end of the table, not touching her food.
Not speaking.
And definitely not smiling.
---
"You okay, sweetheart?" Mom asked, glancing at her.
Lila looked up — slowly — like someone dragging themselves back into a body they didn't want to be in.
"Mm-hm," she said softly. "Just… tired."
> "You sure? You didn't come down last night—"
> "I said I'm fine."
The knife in her hand snappedin half.
Mom and Dad froze, so did I then Lila looked up at me — just for a second.
And I swear… she wasn't looking at me.
She was measuring me.
---
I couldn't eat.
Could barely even swallow.
Every time I glanced at her, she wasn't moving.
Just sitting there, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the table.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Until Mom finally broke the tension.
"We should get going," she said, trying to sound cheerful. "That antiques expo starts early."
"You're really dragging me to that?" Dad groaned.
> "You promised!"
She grabbed his arm and pulled him up. They kissed goodbye. I stood too.
"I'll come with—"
"No," Lila said suddenly. Calm and soft.
"Stay."
I stopped mid-step she didn't even look at me, just stared at her empty plate.
"We'll be back later," Mom said, trying to hide the tension. "Be good, you two."
The front door closed.
And silence fell like a guillotine.
---
I didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Lila still hadn't looked at me.
But I could feel her now — like a low hum in the air. Static electricity on my skin. Her presence pressed against me like a stormcloud waiting to break.
And then finally… she spoke.
> "Am I too much for you, Eli?
Her voice wasn't playful, it wasn't teasing. It was quiet, human.
I blinked. "W-What?"
> "I scare you. Don't I?"
Her eyes lifted, locking with mine — and for once, there was no fire behind them. No glowing. No seduction.
Just… hurt.
Manufactured, maybe. But real enough to shatter my defenses.
> "You won't even look at me anymore," she whispered. "You lock your door. You flinch when I touch you. I'm just trying to be close to you and—"
She cut herself off.
Took a shaky breath.
> "I thought maybe you'd like me," she added, "but I guess I was wrong."
---
I opened my mouth to say something.
Anything.
But the words got lost in her eyes.
She stood up — slowly — and walked over. Each step deliberate and measured, like she was afraid she might scare me more if she moved too fast.
> "I didn't mean to come on so strong," she whispered.
She sat on the edge of the table, her knees just inches from mine.
> "I just… don't know how to do this gently."
One hand reached out and touched my cheek.
Her fingers were cool. Smooth.
> "Do you really think I'm a monster, Eli?"
I shook my head. "No. I just—"
> "You're afraid of what I'll do to you?"
Her hand slid down. Along my throat.
Across my chest.
I couldn't answer.
She leaned closer, and I could smell her now — warm, dark vanilla, like something wicked wrapped in silk.
"I don't want to hurt you," she said.
> "I want to feel you."
Her fingers moved lower — trailing down between my thighs.
And then she touched me.
---
I meant my uhm... d***, yeah that. She didn't stop, didn't even ask. Just stared into my eyes and whispered:
> "Tell me to stop."
But I didn't. I couldn't.
And her hand — warm, slow and dangerous — kept moving.
"You don't even realize it, do you?" she murmured, her voice barely audible.
"How much I want you. How much you want me."
Her other hand lifted my shirt slightly. Her nails grazed my stomach, making me twitch.
> "I watch you dream, Eli. I feel what you feel."
She kissed my neck. Just a brush. Just enough to make me moan.
> "You think locking your door will keep me out? You think pretending you hate this will make it stop?"
Her hand squeezed.
My hips jerked.
> "You're already mine, Eli. You've just been too scared to admit it."
She leaned in, lips right at my ear.
> "So don't pretend now."
---
I gasped — hard — and came right there, shaking, breathless, a moan caught in my throat.
But she didn't stop.
She kept stroking, slow, relentless, while she whispered:
> "That's it. That's who you are with me."
"Messy. Weak. Mine."
I shuddered.
She finally let go, leaned back, and licked her fingers clean — eyes never leaving mine.
"Was that too much?" she asked softly.
> "Or do you finally understand me now?"
To be continued...