Chapter 45: Fever Makes Everything Feel Like the First Time IV
Elara kissed the sound right out of her.
Their lips met again, messier this time, with Aria moaning low as her mouth opened too wide. She overshot the rhythm, teeth brushing against Elara's lip, and whimpered like she'd ruined it.
But Elara just groaned — quiet and low — and took control again, tilting her head, her tongue sweeping Aria's with a practiced ease that made Aria's knees draw up under the blanket.
"Just like that," Elara murmured, between kisses. Her voice was silky and smoke, her breath brushing Aria's cheek. "You're learning, little bunny."
Aria hummed in answer, melted into the next kiss like she was falling into a dream. Her lips followed Elara's lead without question, copying the drag and suck, the little pause before the press, the breath caught in the back of the throat.
Every kiss she gave back was better, bolder, but still drenched in innocence.
She broke away only for a second, her mouth wet and red and wanting. "Again," she whispered, eyes heavy - lidded. "I want… again."
Elara looked at her like she was the most dangerous thing in the room. She was breathing harder now, one hand planted against the bed to hold herself back, the other curled against Aria's warm side like an anchor.
"Aria," she said, and it sounded more like a warning than a name.
But Aria only smiled, dazed. "I don't care," she said softly. "Just kiss me again, Sister Rara."
And that was it.
Elara surged forward, mouth catching Aria's with force this time. Their teeth bumped. Their lips clashed. But it didn't matter — Aria moaned into it, breath shuddering, matching the intensity with a heat all her own.
Her fingers threaded deeper into Elara's hair. Her thighs brushed together beneath the covers. Her lips opened eagerly when Elara pushed her tongue back inside, deeper, slower.
Elara's control frayed with each noise Aria made.
A breathy hum. A soft gasp. A whimper that turned into her name again and again.
"Sister Rara…"
"Again."
"Kiss me back."
Elara obeyed every time. She kissed her slower, then rougher. She suckled Aria's bottom lip, let her feel the full heat of her hunger, then paused — just enough to make Aria whine for more.
Aria kissed like she was studying her. Like each touch of tongue or lip was a question, and Elara was the only answer.
When their lips parted again, Aria licked her mouth and tilted her head, glassy - eyed and pink - cheeked. "You really do taste delicious," she whispered.
Elara groaned, forehead falling lightly against Aria's. "You're not making this easy."
"Then don't be easy," Aria said without thinking, her words breathless and sweet, her fingers still tangled in Elara's hair. "Be mine."
Elara didn't answer. She just kissed her again, deeper, slower. And Aria melted all over again.
"You don't know what you're doing," she whispered.
But her voice cracked, and her hands didn't move.
Aria blinked up at her, fever - hazed. "You're so pretty," she mumbled. "Like… billboard pretty."
Elara laughed once — soft and broken. "Go to sleep, Aria."
She pulled the blankets up, tucked them around her like she was made of glass, and pressed a final kiss to her forehead.
And then she stayed.
Elara sat by the bed the whole night, eyes on the door like someone might still try to take her away.
No one came. The next morning, Aria woke up warm, safe, and vaguely humiliated.
Her body felt like it had been hit by a truck. Her throat was dry, her skin still hot, but she wasn't in her apartment anymore. She was on a real bed.
In a place that smelled like eucalyptus and faint vanilla. There were throw blankets. Candles. A vinyl record softly spinning in the corner.
She sat up slowly, confused and sore and still in someone else's T - shirt. There was a note on the nightstand.
Drink water. Eat the soup. Stay in bed.
— E.
Aria blinked. E? Sister Rara?
She touched her lips without thinking.
She had the vaguest dream — something about a girl. A kiss. The taste of something warm and sweet and stolen. She shook her head.
"No way," she mumbled. "It was just a dream."
She padded barefoot across the plush hotel carpet, then slipped on her shoes by the door. Her legs still felt wobbly. Her lips tingled. Her neck? Warm, sensitive, maybe even bruised if she looked close enough in the mirror.
Aria grabbed her hoodie and phone, trying not to think too hard. She still didn't know what last night had been. Or if it had happened at all.
Maybe she'd hallucinated it — the kiss, the way Elara had looked at her, the fingers tangled in her hair. Maybe it was all some weird post - fever fantasy.
She muttered a soft thanks to the maid in the hallway and made her way down the elevator.
The hotel lobby was bright, cleaner than it had any right to be this early. Aria tugged her sleeves past her wrists as she approached the desk.
"Room 1123," she said quietly.
The receptionist tapped a few keys, then looked up with a smile.
"You're all set. Looks like your stay's already been covered."
Aria blinked. "Wait — what?"
"Paid for. Completely. You're good to go."
"I didn't —" she paused. "I mean, I don't remember paying anything."
The woman smiled again, this time more knowingly. "Someone took care of it. You're fine."
Her chest fluttered. It had to be Elara. Who else?
Aria mumbled a thank you and turned to leave, clutching her phone like it owed her an explanation. As she passed the lobby café, she heard it.
"Hey, isn't that the girl from last night?"
Aria froze mid - step.
"She came down from the suite. With her," one of the employees whispered behind the counter.
"With Ms. Nyx?"
"Yeah. That's her. The girl's really pretty, right?"
Aria tried not to make a sound.
"She is. Elara never said she was dating anyone though, right? In any of her interviews?"
"Nope. She always dodged the question. Said she was 'focused on her craft.' You know, like mysterious and aloof."
The first one giggled. "Well, if I were Elara, I'd definitely swing that way. Look at her."
"She could just be her sister."
"Or cousin?"
"They're both beautiful."
Aria didn't breathe until she was out the door and halfway down the sidewalk. Her heart thumped in her ears. She wanted to crawl into a drain or launch into the sky.
They thought she was with Elara. Slept with her. Kissed her. Looked like her.
And Elara had paid for her room.
It was too much. Too fast. Too ridiculous. She hadn't even —
No, wait. She had. A little.
The memory blurred and bloomed behind her eyes. Lips brushing hers. Fingers threading through her hair. The ache in her chest. The softness of Elara's mouth. Her voice, low and patient. Her control. Her heat.
Aria shook her head and smiled, stunned.
Whatever last night was… it happened.
And the world — or at least two hotel employees — had already started talking.
Present Day
Aria stared at the window.
The rain was heavier now, streaking down the glass like tears. Her boots dripped quietly by the door, her coat slung over the chair. The four red flowers still pulsed on the sill, their glow steady and warm.
She didn't know why she was thinking about that week again. Maybe it was the visit to her parents' graves. Maybe it was the look in Jules eyes. Or maybe it was the cracked mirror — like a signal waking her up.
She sipped her tea slowly, the heat grounding her.
That dream, she realized, had never really faded. She remembered it more than most dreams. The softness. The hands. The mouth.
She touched her lips again, slower this time.
Could it have been real?
She laughed under her breath. "No way."
And yet, she remembered the taste. The texture of a voice she hadn't known. Someone famous. Someone who looked like gold and walked like fire.
Elara. Her sister Rara.
She hadn't thought about her in years. But now — now there was a flicker in her chest she couldn't name. Like a part of her had been marked and left dormant. Waiting.
She opened her phone and stared at the message from Jules.
Jules: Coordinates attached. No pressure. Just let me know you're good.
She typed out a reply, paused, then deleted it.
Something else was coming. She could feel it. Like static in her teeth. Like a pulse under the city.
And somewhere — maybe closer than she thought — Elara was still watching.
Still waiting.
Still protecting her.
*******************
Fever blurred consent into instinct,
turned mouths into questions the body answered first.
Heat taught innocence how to beg,
and restraint learned how fragile it was
when breath and want shared the same space.
Morning arrived like a lie told gently.
Sheets were neat. The room was paid for.
But the mouth remembered, the skin kept score,
and somewhere beneath the city's pulse
something awakened that would not forget
who stayed when the night could have taken everything.