Chapter 4 Things that lovers do

Chapter 4

Maya

I wake to pre-dawn light filtering through the windows and the solid warmth of Ryan's body wrapped around mine.

For one perfect, stolen moment, I let myself have this. Let myself be Stella,the woman who spent the night with a beautiful stranger and has no regrets. Let myself feel his breath warm against my neck, his arm heavy and possessive across my waist, the delicious ache between my thighs that reminds me of everything we did. He brought his A game.

Everything I let him do to me.

Everything I never want to end.

As reality hovers at the edges, waiting to crash in. I can feel my phone buzzing somewhere in my discarded clothes—probably has been all night. The missed calls, the questions, the obligations I ignored for one night of selfish pleasure.

I should slip out now. Should leave before he wakes, preserve the fantasy, keep this perfect and untainted by morning-after awkwardness.

I don't want to.

I turn in his arms, carefully, and just look at him. In sleep, he's even more beautiful,dark lashes against high cheekbones, that sinful mouth relaxed, one arm still reaching for me.

I want to memorize this. I want to burn this image into my brain so I can carry it with me when I go back to being Maya Rossi, dutiful daughter, keeper of secrets.

My hand moves of its own accord, tracing the line of his jaw. His skin is warm, slightly rough with morning stubble. Perfect.

Then a reckless thought strikes me. One more time. I can have him one more time before reality steals this away.

I press a soft kiss to his chest, then another lower. His breathing changes slightly, but he doesn't wake. I kiss my way down the hard planes of his stomach, feeling his muscles jump under my lips.

When I reach the sheet pooled at his waist, I glance up. His eyes are still closed, but there's a slight smile on his lips. Awake, or nearly there.

Perfect.

I pull the sheet away and take him in my hand. He's already half-hard, and as I stroke him slowly, he hardens fully under my touch.

"Stella."

he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.

"What are you."

I answer by taking him into my mouth.

"Fuck,"

he groans, his hand immediately going to my hair. Not forcing, just holding, like he needs to touch me, ground himself.

I work him slowly, taking my time, savoring the taste of him, the weight of him on my tongue. His breathing gets ragged, his hips starting to move, and I love the loss of control I see in him.

"Baby, I'm going to." His voice breaks.

"hmm."

"You need to stop or I'm going to"

"hmm."

I don't stop. I want this, want to taste him, want to give him this pleasure. I increase my pace, taking him deeper, and feel him tense.

"Fuck, Stella!"

He comes with a groan, and I swallow everything he gives me, working him through it until he's trembling.

When I finally release him, he's looking at me with something like awe.

"Come here."

" what? "

"get back up here. "

he demands, his voice wrecked.

I crawl up his body, and he kisses me deeply, not caring that he can taste himself on my lips.

" You're going to kill me."

"What a way to go."

I tease, but my voice is shaky.

"Not done with you yet."

He flips us so I'm on my back, and his hand slides between my thighs.

"Not even close."

I'm already wet ,have been since I started touching him, and he groans when he feels it.

"All this just from sucking my cock?"

He slides two fingers inside me, and I gasp.

"Fuck, you're perfect."

"Ryan,"

I breathe, my hips moving against his hand.

"I know, baby. I've got you."

He works me expertly, his thumb finding my clit while his fingers curl inside me, hitting that perfect spot.

"I want to make you come on my hand, then on my cock. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes," I gasp.

He knows exactly what he's doing, exactly how to touch me. The orgasm builds fast and hard, and when it hits, I cry out his name, my whole body shaking.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, watching me with dark, hungry eyes

. "Love watching you fall apart."

Before I can catch my breath, he's reaching for another condom.

"One more time," he says, rolling it on.

"Need to be inside you one more time."

He enters me in one smooth thrust, and we both groan. This angle is perfect, deep, and I can feel every inch of him.

"Touch yourself," he commands, and I obey, my fingers finding my oversensitive clit.

"That's it, baby. Make yourself come while I fuck you."

The dual sensation—his cock hitting deep inside me while I work my clit its almost too much. I'm already so sensitized from the first orgasm that the second builds impossibly fast.

"Ryan,"

I gasp. "

"Come," he orders, his pace increasing.

"Come for me, Stella. Let me feel it."

I do, screaming his name as waves of pleasure crash over me. He follows moments later, groaning into my neck as he empties himself inside me.

We lie there for long moments, both breathing hard, covered in sweat and completely sated.

"I don't want you to go," he finally says, his voice soft. Vulnerable.

My heart cracks.

"I have to."

"I know."

He pulls back to look at me. "

"That doesn't mean I want you to."

I cup his face, memorizing every detail.

"Last night... this morning... it was perfect. The most perfect thing I've ever had."

"Don't say it."

"we both know it can't be more than this ...We made a deal. No past, no future."

"What if I want to break that deal?"

I want more too. Want it so much it physically hurts, wanting has never been enough to change reality.

"We can't," I whisper. Trust me, Ryan. If you knew...I stop myself. "We can't."

He searches my face for a long moment, then nods slowly. "Okay. If that's what you need."

"It is."

The lie tastes bitter.

I extract myself from his arms, from the bed, trying not to think about how wrong it feels to put distance between us. I find my clothes scattered across his penthouse,each piece a reminder of last night's passion.

Ryan watches me dress, not saying anything, but I can feel his gaze on every inch of skin as I cover it.

When I'm fully dressed, I turn back to him. He's still in bed, beautifully naked, looking at me like he's trying to memorize my face the same way I memorized his.

"Stella."

"Don't.Please don't make this harder."

"Will I see you again?"

I should say no. Should make a clean break. Should protect us both.

"I don't know,"

I say instead. Honest, at least.

I walk to the door, every step feeling like I'm leaving pieces of myself behind. At the threshold, I pause, look back one more time.

"Thank you for letting me be someone else, even just for a night."

"You'll always be Stella to me,"

He says, and the raw emotion in his voice nearly breaks me.

"Whoever you really are, whatever your real name is you'll always be my Stella."

I flee before I can do something stupid like run back to that bed and never leave.

The elevator ride down feels like descending from heaven into hell. Each floor brings me closer to reality, to responsibilities, to being Maya Rossi again.

My phone shows twenty-three missed calls now. Seven from Gabriella. Five from Papa. Eleven from Jeremy.

Jeremy. Guilt crashes over me in waves. Sweet Jeremy who brought me flowers, who's been patiently waiting for me to give him a chance.

Jeremy who could never make me feel a fraction of what Ryan made me feel with a single touch.

I don't listen to the voicemails. Can't bear to hear the worry, the questions, the life waiting to swallow me whole again.

Instead, I text Gabriella: I'm fine. Had to handle a crisis. Will explain later.

Another lie. I'm becoming so good at them.

The drive home is a blur. Cape Town is waking up—early risers jogging along the waterfront, cafes opening, the city preparing for Sunday. Normal people living normal lives, free to make their own choices.

I used to be one of them. Before I understood what the Rossi name really meant. Before I learned that love and want and freedom are luxuries people like me can't afford.

Before last night reminded me exactly what I've been missing.

My apartment feels cold when I let myself in. Sterile. Perfect and empty and exactly like my life.

I strip off last night's clothes, turn the shower as hot as I can stand. Try to wash away Ryan's touch, his taste, the memory of how he looked at me like I mattered.

It doesn't work.

I can still feel him. Still hear his voice in my ear, calling me Stella, telling me I'm beautiful, demanding I touch myself while he...

My phone rings. Papa.

I consider not answering. Consider running, disappearing, becoming Stella for real and never looking back.

Instead, I wrap myself in a towel and pick up.

"Papa."

"Maya." His voice is cold.

"Where have you been? I've been calling all night."

"I had a situation to handle. One of the players got drunk and started talking to reporters. I had to do damage control." The lie comes easily. Too easily.

"And you couldn't answer your phone?"

"I was focused on the crisis. I'm sorry I worried you."

A pause. I can practically hear him deciding whether to believe me.

"We have the breakfast meeting at nine," he finally says. "Don't be late. The Zurri situation is escalating."

Zurri. The name sends ice through my veins.

"What's happened?"

"Lorenzo is making aggressive moves on the docklands development. Public moves designed to humiliate us." His voice hardens.

"We need to destroy them, Maya. Completely. I need you at your best."

Destroy them. Destroy Ryan's family.

Destroy Ryan...

"I'll be there."

"Good. And Maya? Jeremy Reeves stopped by the party last night looking for you. He seemed concerned."

"I'll call him."

"You should. He's a good man. From a good family. The kind of alliance we need right now."

Alliance. Not relationship. Not love. Alliance.

"I'll think about it, Papa."

I hang up and sit on the edge of my bed, water dripping from my hair, my whole body aching with exhaustion and satisfaction and heartbreak.

Last night, I was Stella. Free. Real. Desired for who I was, not what I could offer.

This morning, I'm Maya Rossi again. Trapped.

Performing. Required to destroy the one man who made me feel alive.

My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number.

I know you said no future, but I can't stop thinking about you. About the way you said my name. About how perfect you felt in my arms. I need to see you again, Stella. Please. -R

I stare at the message, tears blurring my vision.

I should delete it. Should block the number. Should end this before someone gets hurt.

But I've already been hurt. I hurt from the moment I left his bed.

And somewhere in this city, Ryan is hurting too.

I think about Papa's words. Destroy them completely.

I think about Ryan's hands on my skin, his voice in my ear, the way he looked at me like I hung the moon.

I think about duty and desire, family and freedom, the cage I've lived in my whole life.

Then I type: I can't.

His response is immediate: Can't or won't?

Does it matter?

Yes. Can't means impossible. Won't means choice. Which is it, Stella?

I close my eyes. God, he doesn't know. Doesn't know that in my world, there is no choice. That impossible and forbidden are the same thing.

That his last name makes him the one person in the entire world I absolutely cannot have.

It's impossible, I type. Please don't make this harder than it already is.

Tell me why. Give me a reason that makes sense.

I can't do that either.

Then give me something. Anything. Because last night wasn't just sex for me, Stella. And I don't think it was for you either.

He's right. It wasn't. It was the most honest, real, perfect night of my life.

Which is exactly why it can never happen again.

Last night was beautiful... it's all we can have. Please, Ryan. Let it be enough.

A long pause. I watch the three dots appear and disappear. Appear and disappear.

Finally

: If that's what you really want.

It's not what I want. It's what has to be.

I don't accept that. But I'll respect it. For now.

I should tell him to stop. Should make it clear there's no "for now," only never again.

Instead, I delete the conversation and block the number.