"…Adult?"
The word, a fragile whisper,
shattered the heavy silence of the hotel room. Pale moonlight bled through the
window, painting stark lines across the rumpled sheets and the two figures
tangled within them.
Silas Thorne loomed above her,
every corded muscle in his bare back rigid as stone, radiating an almost
dangerous heat. He held himself suspended, his gaze locked onto the face
beneath him- delicate features, impossibly small framed by his large hand, looking
heartbreakingly young and doll-like in the dim light. Yet the body pressed
against his was undeniably, lushly womanly, a maddening contradiction.
Elara Hayes stirred. Her
eyelids fluttered open, revealing eyes clouded with drink and something darker,
primal. Reason was a drowned in a desperate, consuming need. The man above her
was a blur of shadow and heat. Without thought, driven purely by the ache
consuming her, her arms snaked up, fingers tangling fiercely in the hair at his
nape. A soft, pleading whimper escaped her reddened lips before she surged up,
capturing his mouth. Her kiss was clumsy, feverish, all teeth and seeking
tongue, tasting of desperation and cheap champagne. No hesitation, no
resistance- only raw, unthinking hunger.
"Please," she gasped against
his lips, her voice a breathy sob thick with unshed tears. "Don't... don't
stop!"
Those ragged words, that
untamed hunger, snapped the last fragile thread of Silas's control. The dark
desire banked in his eyes ignited into an inferno. When her tongue insistently
sought entry past his tightly sealed lips, any lingering thought of restraint
vanished.
A low growl rumbled in his
chest. One large, powerful hand fisted in her hair, angling her head back,
while the other clamped possessively on the curve of her hip, pressing her
deeper into the mattress. His mouth crashed down on hers, not a kiss but a claiming.
It was fierce, demanding, a primal force meeting her chaotic fire. Predation
wasn't just his nature; it was the bedrock of his being, and it roared to life
now, consuming them both. He hadn't known he could feel this – this ravenous,
all-consuming madness to possess, to devour.
Outside, the moon climbed
higher, casting long, shifting shadows. The night deepened, wrapping the room
in velvet darkness broken only by ragged breaths and the slick slide of skin on
skin.
Again... and again...
Until Elara's desperate pleas
dissolved into exhausted whimpers, her frantic movements stilled, her body
finally limp and pliant beneath his relentless possession. Only the shallow
rise and fall of her chest betrayed the chaos that had just consumed her.
Silence
descended, thick and charged. The only sound was Silas's own harsh breathing as
he stared down at the ruined innocence in his arms.
Dawn stabbed through the curtains. Every muscle screamed
as Elara woke.
Alone?
Then she felt it—warm skin against her back. Steady
breath on her neck.
She froze.
Memory detonated:
The Meridian Ballroom – 6
Hours Earlier
Under the glittering crystal
lights of the Meridian's ballroom, the end of the graduation party is in full
swing, and Elara, the newest graduate of Kingsford University's Business
School, the silver blue dress wrapped around her slender frame, is surrounded
by a wave of congratulations.The champagne tower reflects a dazzling stream of
light, and the air is filled with the sweet scent and joy of success.
Her cousin Bianca, in a
predatory light purple gown, slid beside her, honeyed smile fixed. "Congratulations,
Elara!" She pressed a flute of champagne into her hand. In the crowd's hubbub,
Bianca deftly shielded her eyes with her shoulder. The tiny diamonds on her
ring finger flashed—and in that instant, a pinch of colourless powder slid
silently into Elara's glass. Bianca gave it a subtle swirl.
"Cheers!"
Elara smiled and sipped. Almost
immediately, an unfamiliar heaviness gripped her limb. The champagne was cool,
but ignited searing heat in her stomach. Her thoughts jammed, engulfed in thick
fog. "I… studied ..." she
struggled, tongue thick. "Business..." The lights, the faces, Bianca's
smile—all began to spin and melt violently. She felt herself plummeting. The
floor dissolved. Her fingertips loosened. The glass slipped, shattering crisply
on the marble, golden liquor splashing like her graduation celebration.
Dizziness
slammed her. Before understanding drugged, gnarled fingers locked onto her arm.
An old man, eyes cold and fixed ahead, steered her relentlessly down the
corridor. Panic flared. "Wha…? D' I… know you?" she slurred. He gave no
answer, grip tightening, his silent determination more terrifying than words.
Pure terror
took over. She twisted and bit his arm – hard. A grunt escaped him, his grip
momentarily slackening. It was enough. Wrenching free, she stumbled forward,
her legs like water, the hallway a dizzying blur. Spinning, she spotted
salvation and damnation in one glance: a heavy door standing slightly ajar,
spilling a wedge of dim light onto the carpet.
She lunged
for it.
What happened
next behind the door seared into her memory – a moment of pure, life-altering
shame.
Now
Elara thrashed in silk sheets,
each memory searing her veins like aged brandy.
Her hands fumbling at his
shirt.
Her mouth chasing his shadowed
jaw.
Whispered pleas she'd choke on
if daylight could hear them.
She'd been wildfire in
silk—
A stranger to herself.
To Julian.
To everything but the man
who'd wrecked her with rough hands and rougher promises.
Now, beneath the sheets, his
arm lay heavy across her naked waist.
Don't move.
Don't breathe.
Her heart stalled as his
muscles flexed—then relaxed. He rolled away, reclaiming his side of the bed
with military precision. Hands folded over his chest. Breath even.
The perfect gentleman.
Liar.
Her mind replayed it
anyway:
The bite of his belt buckle
against her thigh.
The way he'd snarled "Mine"
when she shook apart.
Tears scalded her throat. She
bit her lip until copper bloomed on her tongue.
Get out. Now.
Silk whispered as she slid
from the bed— leaving the beast sleeping in his gilded cage.
Her legs trembled as she
snatched clothes from the floor—his oversized shirt, her crumpled dress, shame
tangled in silk. Dressing felt like donning flimsy armour against the memories
scorching her skin.
Run.
She stumbled toward the door.
Her handbag lay spilled like a confession: lipstick, keys, phone dead.
Just like her future.
Stuffing her life back into
leather, she fled the room reeking of sex and regret.
The hallway stretched—silent,
endless, another gilded cage. Every shadow pulsed with threat. Bianca's laugh.
Julian's fury. Silas's hands—
Ding.
The elevator doors slid
open.
Her breath froze.
Julian.
Beige coat. Ice-chip eyes.
That mouth she'd kissed last week now a blade's edge.
"Elara." Her name
cracked the silence. "Why are you here?"
Her heart slammed against her
ribs. Her lips trembled. No sound came out.
Run to him. Sob out the truth!
But her feet were stone—because
the woman leaning against the elevator wall wore Julian's cologne like a second
skin. Serena Vance. Smirking. Reapplying blood-red lipstick.
"Elara. What had happened?"
Julian stepped forward, deliberately blocking Serena. His thumb brushed her
tear-streaked cheek. "You look terrible!" Elara flinched like he'd branded her.
Silence screamed.
Did you see? Did she recognise
Serena?
Ice shot through Julian's
veins. His gaze flicked sideways, confirming Serena's presence, her smirk
widening.