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SERA'S POV
He didn't move. Panic surged through me. Was he—dead? I swallowed hard, my stomach twisting as I stepped closer. I noticed the sheer perfection of his posture, even in stillness. He was impossibly beautiful. His hair was swept back casually but perfectly.
My hand shook as I reached out to check for a pulse, my fingers trembling over his neck.
Then—suddenly—his eyes snapped open. They were a color I couldn't name. Grey, blue, silver? and they fixed on me with an intensity that made my breath hitch. Before I could react, his hand shot out and clamped around my wrist.
He pulled me toward him, and I tumbled gracelessly onto his chest, my legs tangled awkwardly against the sheets. My face was mere inches from his, and I could feel the heat radiating off him, the subtle shift of his heartbeat under my ear.
"Mr. Blackwood?" I stuttered. He didn't answer. His eyes trailed down to my lips slowly. And then—shock of all shocks—he kissed me.
I nearly fell over in my own head. I tried to push away, to create some kind of barrier, but his grip didn't falter. As I squirmed, my movements revealed something I hadn't expected—something poking sharply against my stomach. My eyes widened, and I froze mid-breath.
Was that…oh God…was that exactly what I thought it was?
I'm nineteen, and I like to think of myself as reasonably experienced in theory—I've read novels, watched films—but this? This was real life. My cheeks burned hot from embarrassment.
"Mr. Blackwood, I—this is—" I stammered, cheeks flaming, but he silenced me with the softest, most intimate brush of his lips against mine again.
I struggled against him, my palms pressing helplessly against his chest. He was strong and the way his muscles tensed beneath my touch sent a strange mix of fear and heat spiraling through me. "Let me go!" I cried. He growled low in my ear. Before I could process it, he spun us over with terrifying ease, and my back hit the bed.
"Stay still," he growled again. His breath was hot against my neck. My pulse hammered in my ears. "Isn't this why my mother brought you here?"
"Your mother?!" I gasped, blinking rapidly, trying to process what he'd just said. "Wait, what are you talking about?" My mind raced. His mother brought me here?
That didn't make sense—my mum had sent me to collect the crates for the previous eggs delivered, inform the butler to kindly forward payment for the last delivery and the next one in advance. Panic fluttered in my chest. His proximity was overwhelming, and my body didn't seem to know whether to fight or surrender.
His hands roamed down my body. Every place he touched seemed to ignite, my skin tingling. His fingers reached the hem of my dress, tugging slightly, and I froze. "Mr. Blackwood, listen to me," I said. "I think there's been a big misunderstanding." The words barely left my lips before his hands slid higher.
He didn't respond. His breathing was ragged, uneven. I could feel the tremor in his body, the barely restrained hunger in his movements. "Please," I whispered. His fingers continued upward until they found my innocence.
I thought of calling for help. My eyes darted toward the locked door. But then I thought of my mother—her tired eyes. We needed this job. If I screamed, if I caused a scene, it wouldn't bode well for us.
So I searched for anything—to save me. My eyes swept the room. His head dipped lower. His mouth was suddenly against the fabric of my dress, tracing a path up my ribs, each breath sending waves of shivers through me.
I could feel the heat of his lips even through the thin material, and my body betrayed me, trembling for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.
"Stop," I managed. His mouth moved higher, dangerously close to my breasts now, the warmth of his breath setting fire to places that had never known such heat. My thoughts were a chaotic mess.
And then, without meaning to, I moved against him. It was instinct. My hips shifted, brushing against him in a way that made his breath hitch. His answering sound was a guttural grunt that vibrated against my skin.
"Yeah… like that," he murmured against my skin. His breath was warm, brushing across my chest. My heart pounded so hard I could barely think. My mind screamed to get away.
"Shit," I muttered under my breath. My hands shot up instinctively, palms trembling. The motion pushed my breasts against his face, and for half a second, I froze at the sensation—the heat of his skin, the electric proximity of him. But then I remembered the lamp. The lamp! My fingers scrambled across nightstand.
I grabbed the lamp—and without thinking, I swung it with every ounce of adrenaline-fueled desperation in me.
The impact was solid, brutal. A dull thud echoed in the room as the lamp connected with his head.
He let out a soft grunt, "Mate?" and then his entire body went slack.
"Mr. Blackwood?" His body was heavy, far too still. My breath caught in my throat. "Oh my God," I whispered, eyes wide. "I killed him. I actually killed Eric Blackwood!"
My pulse went wild, and panic clawed up my throat. The room felt too small, the air too thick. "Oh no, no, no," I babbled, shoving at his shoulder. He didn't budge. "This cannot be happening. I was supposed to deliver a message, not commit involuntary manslaughter!"
I pushed harder, my arms shaking under his weight. He was solid and completely uncooperative. My attempts to move him were pathetic at first. I braced my feet against the bed frame and heaved, muttering under my breath. "Come on, come on, you infuriating Greek god impersonator, move!"
With one final push, gravity took mercy on me, and he rolled off the bed, landing on the hardwood floor with a loud, heavy thud.
(I'm not very savvy with first person POV. Moving forward, if there is any character's POV you would need to gain proper insight to the development of the story, please let me know.)