No Goodbye

He growls as he kisses me and drops between my legs, his tongue swiping through my swollen flesh. He didn't ask; he just took, immediate and hungry.

Shit.

My knees try to close, an automatic reaction of panic and overload, as I struggle to gain control of the sensorial assault. I couldn't process the sudden, blinding pleasure.

He pushes them back to the mattress aggressively, trapping my hips. His tongue takes charge, licking and tasting all that I am, driving me instantly crazy.

“Icen… Oh my! I yelp, the sound ripping from my throat. My hands drop to the back of his head, gripping his thick, dark hair. He groans into me as his eyes close in pleasure, a look of pure focus on his face. His tongue circles and swipes, and I feel myself start to quiver, a deep, trembling wave building inside.

“I know baby, I got you.” He sounds rough, satisfied.

Oh God I’m going to come already. The feeling was too fast, too big, too much. I hadn't even had time to breathe.

“Come,” he breathes into me. “I want you to come on my tongue. Give me some cream, my beautiful bubbles.”

My beautiful bubbles? The stupid nickname, the possessive command, the raw hunger in his voice—it was all too much.

Holy fuck, this man is making me crazy. He bites my core, a quick, sharp squeeze of his teeth, and I shudder into him. The climax hits hard, a blinding flash of white hot heat, and he groans in pleasure, drinking it all in.

I grab the back of his head to try and still him, pulling him in tighter even though I should be pushing him away. There is no explanation that comes with this sensation, it’s purely divine. I had never felt this kind of immediate, overwhelming submission.

“Stop,” I pant, my voice barely a whisper. This is too much. I am too sensitive.

He didn't listen. He sucks deeper, taking the last of my release, and his eyes roll back in his head for a second, savoring the taste. He was completely lost in the moment, a predator who just secured his meal.

“You are one hot lady and mine.” He growls as he laps it all up, finally pulling away.

He climbs up and over me and slides into my opening in one swift movement. The connection was deep, immediate, and utterly right. I gasped, adjusting to the sudden, heavy pressure.

I frown at the ceiling as my hand runs through his messy hair. I can hardly breathe. The reality of what was happening—the reckless abandon, the intense pleasure, the immediate danger of feeling this much for a practical stranger—was hitting me.

He’s experienced and he knows how to loosen a woman straight up. He moved inside me, slow and confident, hitting all the spots I never knew existed. I watch him as I pant, somewhere in between disbelief, denial, and utter ecstasy. My eyes were wide, focused only on the sharp, beautiful lines of his body, the sweat glistening on his chest.

I didn’t know that sex could be like this. It wasn't just physical; it was a conversation spoken purely in touch and breath. I haven’t had this before. With him, I wasn't just having sex; I was being claimed, broken open, put back together stronger.

He’s the only man who made me feel this way. The truth was a clear, devastating bell tolling in my head.

“Willa, look at me.” He paused his movement, demanding my attention, his voice raw.

I do. I see him and I surrender everything to the palm of his hand, letting the taste of night rule. I meet his intense, dark blue eyes, and I knew I was gone. He smiled, a dark, triumphant expression, and then he started moving again, faster this time, pulling me into the rhythm until the outside world disappeared entirely.

****

The ringing of my phone drags me awake, the sound loud and tinny in the quiet room. Icen’s warm arm was heavy on my waist, pinning me to the bed. I eased it off carefully, inch by inch, praying he won’t stir. His breathing was deep and even, the sound of it comforting and possessive. I needed to get away, just for a moment, to answer the call without waking him.

I collect my clothes from the carpet, pulling myself together clumsily—a shirt here, pants there—as I reach the door. I slipped out into the living room, the cold floor biting my feet.

I brought the phone to my ear. “Hello?” I mumble, half-asleep, my voice thick with exhaustion and sex.

“Willa… it’s your mom. She had a heart attack.”

The voice was rough, tight with controlled tears. Everything inside me cracks. The hot, happy feelings from minutes before shattered instantly. A cold shock runs through me like someone dumped ice water over my soul, paralyzing me. Heart attack. My mom.

Then I’m running. Sweating. I didn't bother to put on the expensive, too-tight dress. I found my own crumpled anime shirt and leggings. My backpack. My whole body was shaking, but my legs were moving. I had to get home. I had to see her.

Praying to God to let me make it home in time. The panic was a bitter taste in my mouth, burning my throat. I didn’t think about Icen; I didn't think about the flight or the fake fiancé plot. I just ran.

Next thing I know, I’m on a plane. It was chaos getting the ticket, yelling at the counter, throwing down my last savings. I sink into the stiff airline seat, staring blankly at the massive rock on my finger—the fake engagement ring Icen insisted I wear.

Icen. The name hit me, a dull, physical ache in my chest. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. I didn't leave a note. I just vanished, like a thief in the night.

He must think I’m a coward. He must think I used him for a thrill and bolted. I couldn't call him and explain; I don’t have his number, or even his full name. I only know Ice.

Just the memories of him etched in my mind—his rough touch, his deep voice, and that dangerously beautiful face branded into me forever, along with the violent, incredible release he gave me. The only physical evidence of the last forty-eight hours was this huge, rock of diamond.