Chapter One — The Night With No Names

Elara's POV

"You're so wet," he whispered, his fingers sliding between my folds, teasing the slick heat that had built from just his stare across the bar.

My breath caught, a shiver running down my spine as I leaned back against the wall of the private room in Eclipse. The lounge was upscale, all velvet and low lights, the kind of place where the rich hid their vices. I'd snuck out here tonight, heart pounding with rebellion. It was my emotional escape—Mom's quick marriage to Victor Blackwood had turned our home into a sterile mansion, full of expectations and silence. I was eighteen, final year of high school behind me, but still trapped in that innocent shell. Tonight, on a whim, I'd dared myself to break free, slipping into this tight black dress that hugged my curves, making me feel powerful for once.

He'd spotted me first. Older, maybe twenty-two, with that magnetic aura—dark hair falling over a sharp forehead, gray eyes that pierced like they knew my secrets. He exuded control, leaning against the bar in a fitted shirt that hinted at the hard body beneath. No introductions. He just bought me a drink, his voice low and smooth as he clinked glasses. "You look like you're running from something." I nodded, sipping the vodka that burned and warmed, loosening the knot in my chest. Tension built fast—his knee brushing mine, his gaze dropping to my lips, heat pooling low in my belly. Alcohol made me bold; I wasn't experienced, had never gone this far, but something in him called to the fire I'd kept hidden.

Now, in this locked room, his mouth found mine, hungry and demanding. His tongue swept in, tasting of whiskey and sin, while his hand cupped my breast through the dress, thumb circling my nipple until it peaked hard. Emotions swirled inside me—excitement laced with nerves, a thrilling fear that made my pulse race. I'd fantasized about this, but reality was overwhelming, his presence filling the space, making me feel small yet desired.

He pulled back, eyes dark with lust. "Tell me you want this." His voice was a command, but there was a careful edge, like he was testing.

"I do," I breathed, my hands trembling as I tugged at his shirt. Boldness surged; I wanted to shed my inexperience like old skin.

He growled approval, lifting me effortlessly onto the small table in the room. My dress hiked up, exposing my thighs, and he stepped between them, his hardness pressing against my core through his pants. I gasped at the contact, grinding instinctively, the friction sending sparks through me. His fingers hooked my panties, sliding them down slow, exposing me. Vulnerability hit hard—nerves twisting in my gut, wondering if he'd see how new this was to me. But the want overpowered it, a deep ache begging for more.

He knelt suddenly, his breath hot on my inner thigh. "So pretty," he murmured, before his tongue flicked out, tasting me. I moaned, loud and unrestrained, my hands fisting his hair. He licked slow, deliberate circles around my clit, sucking gently, then harder, building pressure that had my hips bucking. Emotions flooded: ecstasy mixed with shock at how good it felt, how my body betrayed my innocence with eager wetness. "Oh God," I whimpered, legs shaking. He added fingers, one at first, sliding in easy from my arousal, then two, stretching me. A slight burn, but pleasure drowned it.

He stood, undoing his belt with one hand, the clink echoing. His cock sprang free—thick, veined, intimidating. My eyes widened, a wave of anxiety crashing over the lust. I'd never seen one up close, never felt one. What if I couldn't handle it? But boldness won; I reached out, wrapping my hand around him, stroking tentative. He hissed, eyes fluttering shut. "Fuck, that's good."

He positioned himself, rubbing the tip against my entrance, coating himself in me. "Ready?" His voice was rough, but he waited, gray eyes searching mine—dominant, yet careful.

I nodded, heart hammering. Excitement buzzed, but fear nipped at its edges. This was it—my first time, with a stranger in a lounge. No turning back.

He pushed in slow, inch by inch. The stretch was intense, a sharp pain slicing through the pleasure. I winced, biting my lip hard to stifle a cry. He froze halfway, brows furrowing. "You're tight... wait." He pulled back slightly, eyes widening in realization. "This is your first time?"

Heat flooded my face, embarrassment mingling with the ache. I looked away, nodes forming in my throat. "Yeah," I admitted, voice small. Emotions tumbled: shame for not saying sooner, worry he'd stop, but also a strange vulnerability that made me feel exposed, raw.

He cupped my chin, turning me to face him. His expression softened, the dominance tempered with something almost tender. "Why didn't you say?" But there was no judgment, just surprise, and beneath it, a darker hunger—like the knowledge fueled him.

"I didn't want to ruin it," I whispered, tears pricking my eyes from the mix of pain and overwhelming sensation. "I want this. Please."

He groaned, leaning in to kiss me deep, slow. "I'll be careful. But fuck, knowing I'm your first..." His voice trailed off, laced with possession. He moved again, gentler now, easing in with shallow thrusts, letting me adjust. The pain faded gradual, blooming into pleasure as my body adapted. Emotions shifted: relief, then building ecstasy, a sense of empowerment in giving this to him, a stranger who'd awakened something primal in me.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," he muttered, fully seated now, holding still. His hand slipped between us, thumb on my clit, rubbing soft circles to ease me. I moaned, the dual sensation overwhelming—fullness inside, sparks outside. Boldness returned; I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him deeper. He started moving, slow at first, each thrust careful but building rhythm.

Pain lingered faint, but pleasure dominated, waves crashing higher. My nails dug into his back, urging him on. "Harder," I begged, surprising myself. He obliged, pace quickening, raw now but still mindful—his eyes watching my face, adjusting when I gasped.

Emotions peaked: awe at how my body responded, the intimacy with someone nameless, the dark thrill of recklessness. He was dominant, hands pinning my hips, angling deep, hitting spots that made me see stars. "Come for me, virgin," he growled, the word dirty, possessive, sending me over.

I shattered, orgasm ripping through me, walls clenching tight around him. Tears spilled—not from pain, but intensity, the emotional release of letting go. He followed, thrusting erratic, spilling hot inside with a guttural moan, his body tense against mine.

We panted, foreheads touching. He pulled out gentle, kissing my tears away. "You okay?" Careful again, thumb brushing my cheek.

I nodded, sore but glowing inside—shaken by the vulnerability, but smiling at the secret power I'd claimed. He dressed us both, movements efficient. "We'll never do this again," he said, voice firm, eyes unreadable.

I believed him, watching him leave. The room felt empty, but I lingered, savoring the ache. Cab home, mansion silent. I slipped into bed, body throbbing, emotions a whirlwind: regret? No. Thrill, yes. Sore, shaken... but smiling. No clue this man would twist into my nightmare, bound by family blood that wasn't ours.