CHAPTER 3

Elara's POV

I didn't see him again largely because I made sure not to return to the country club.

I told myself it was intentional, part of a quiet, rational decision to create distance and return to normal, to step away from something that had no real place in my life. But that wasn't entirely true, and deep down, I knew it. What I was really doing was avoiding him, avoiding the way he had looked at me, the way he had spoken, and most of all, the way he had dismissed me so effortlessly.

You're too young for me.

The words had stayed with me far longer than they should have, replaying in my mind over and over again. I told myself it didn't matter, that it shouldn't matter, but that didn't stop it from lingering.

I tried to focus on other things. Lila and I went out a few times, and it was actually fun easier than I expected, stayed out later, allowed myself to relax in ways I normally wouldn't.

But even then, he remained at the back of my mind, slipping into my thoughts at the most unexpected moments. It didn't make sense. I had only met him twice, and yet I couldn't seem to forget him. The more I tried to dismiss it, the more aware I became of how unusual it was for me to feel this way about anyone, let alone a man I barely knew.

Ryan,  was back in the city and had already messaged me about getting lunch, I should be excited and happy but instead, I found myself distracted even by that.

Later that evening, I was in Lila's dorm room, stretched out across her bed while she lay beside me and Keshia lounged on hers across the room. I didn't have a roommate, which meant I spent most of my time here anyway, and tonight was no different as we scrolled through Ryan's social media, watching his stories.

He was at a club, surrounded by friends, music blaring in the background as he laughed in a way that looked effortless, unbothered, like he existed in a world that didn't require the same careful control mine always had.

"Let's go surprise him," Lila said suddenly, pushing herself upright.

Keshia immediately sat up as well, her interest piqued. "Wait—where are we going? I'm so bored."

"We are not going anywhere," I said, shaking my head at the thought, already uncomfortable with the idea of showing up unannounced. I didn't want Ryan to think I was chasing him, or worse, that I didn't understand the boundaries we had always quietly maintained.

"Come on, Lars," Lila insisted, nudging me. "You promised to be more spontaneous, remember? More open."

I let out a small groan, already knowing I was losing this argument. "I didn't bring anything to wear."

"That's not a problem," she said immediately, already on her feet and moving toward her closet. "I have so many things that would look amazing on you."

"So we're actually going?" Keshia asked, her excitement building.

"Yes," Lila said without hesitation, pulling out a black dress and tossing it in my direction. "We're going to a club."

I caught it reluctantly before slipping it on, only to immediately realize it was far more revealing than anything I would normally choose. The fabric clung to me in a way that felt almost too deliberate, the hemline shorter than I was comfortable with, and the neckline lower than I was used to, especially given my breasts.

"Lila, I can't wear this," I said, glancing down at myself.

"Damn," Keshia muttered, sitting up straighter as she looked at me. "You look so hot."

"Exactly," Lila added, clearly pleased.

"I'm serious," I said, gesturing toward myself. "Isn't it a little too much?"

"No," Lila replied firmly. "It looks incredible on you. Honestly, I wish I had your body your tiny waist, your tits. You're so gorgeous."

Keshia nodded in agreement, and just like that, any protest I had faded away under their insistence.

I kept my makeup minimal, settling for lip liner and gloss, because the dress already felt like more than enough and my long blond hair had already been straightened this morning. I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about Ryan seeing me like this, even if he was meant to be my future husband.

Thirty minutes later, we were stepping into Marquee Jewel, it is actually owned by the Whitmore family. Inside the music hit immediately loud, consuming, the air thick with energy as lights flashed across a packed dance floor.

I scanned the room almost instinctively, searching for Ryan, but he was nowhere to be found.

"Do you see him?" Lila asked.

I shook my head.

"I'll check," she said, already moving away toward one of the cocktail waitresses.

When she returned a minute later, her expression told me everything before she even spoke.

"Bad news," she said. "They just left."

Disappointment settled in faster than I expected, though I tried not to show it.

"But we're already here," she added quickly, linking her arm through mine. "So we might as well have fun."

Keshia was already heading toward the bar. "Drinks first."

I followed, even though I wasn't much of a drinker, watching as she ordered three Long Island iced teas. I took a cautious sip when mine was handed to me, the strength of it immediately noticeable, before Lila grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the dance floor.

I tried to enjoy it, I really did, but after a few minutes, something in me resisted. The music, the crowd, the movement it all felt slightly not my current mood, like I was present but not fully part of it.

"I'm going to the bathroom," I told Lila.

"I'll come with you—"

"No," I said quickly. "I'll be fine."

She hesitated, then nodded.

I slipped away from the crowd, the noise fading slightly as I moved toward the edge of the space. After asking one of the security guards for directions, I was told to head upstairs, so I followed the staircase, only to slow as soon as I reached the top.

This part of the club felt different.

Quieter. More private. More exclusive.

It didn't take long to realize I might have gone somewhere I wasn't supposed to be.

Frowning slightly, I turned to head back—

And then I felt it.

That same feeling, same pull.

Before I even saw him.

"What is it with you and me in empty spaces?"

His voice cut through the silence, low in a way that was instantly recognizable.

I turned.

And there he was—

Watching me.

"You're here?" I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it, my thoughts already racing ahead of me. This couldn't be a coincidence, was he following me?

"I'm not following you," he said, as if he had reached straight into my mind and pulled the thought out himself.

I smiled despite myself.

"I saw you come in," he added.

I nodded slowly, trying to steady myself under the weight of his gaze.

"I was looking for the restroom," I said after a moment, glancing around the space. "But I don't think customers are allowed up here."

He didn't respond immediately.

Instead, he reached behind him and opened the door, stepping aside just enough to motion me inside.

There was no hesitation.

I walked in as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The office was spacious but understated, with a large desk positioned neatly at the center, a few chairs arranged opposite it, and a smaller sitting area off to the side a couch, two armchairs, and a low table that suggested this space was used for more than just work.

I opened my mouth to ask, but he spoke first.

"The restroom."

He gestured toward a closed door inside the office.

I nodded, leaving my questions unspoken as I made my way inside, though curiosity lingered. He seemed entirely at ease here, as though this space belonged to him or at the very least, as though he was used to being in control of places like this.

The restroom itself was larger than I expected, almost luxurious, with a small shower tucked into one corner. I took a moment to compose myself after using it, standing in front of the mirror longer than necessary as I reapplied my lip gloss, trying to ignore the way my pulse hadn't quite settled.

When I stepped back out, I found him seated on the edge of the desk, his attention on his phone.

To my right, a row of monitors displayed camera feeds from around the club.

I paused.

"Is that how you saw me come in?" I asked, gesturing lightly toward the screens.

He looked up at me, but didn't answer.

He didn't need to.

Because the way he was looking at me—

It was enough.

His gaze moved over me without apology, starting from my face, my eyes, my lips, tracing downward with a quiet intensity that made my breath catch before I could control it. There was nothing rushed about it, nothing careless it was intentional, as though he was taking in every detail and committing it to memory.

When his eyes reached my chest, I saw it the subtle shift, the deeper inhale he didn't quite hide before his gaze continued down, lingering and he liked what he saw, before finally returning to my eyes.

Something inside me responded to that. To the way he looked at me. Like he couldn't not look. It made me feel different.

Bolder.

And instead of stepping back, I stepped closer.

Closing the distance between us, I moved until I was standing directly in front of him again, almost instinctively positioning myself between his legs, just like before.

"You say I'm too young for you," I said softly, holding his gaze, "but you look at me like that."

The words felt daring. Reckless, but I didn't take them back.

His eyes didn't leave mine.

"You're beautiful," he said.

Simple.

But his words did so many things to me, it was unbecoming of me.

His gaze dipped briefly, taking me in once more before returning to my face.

"And this dress..." he added, his voice lower now, more controlled, "isn't helping your case."

The air between us shifted again.

"You weren't at the country club this whole week," he said, his voice firmer now, edged with something that felt almost like accusation.

I tilted my head slightly, a small smile forming despite myself. "Were you looking for me?"

He didn't answer, his expression remaining serious, unreadable in a way that only made me more aware of him.

"You missed me," I added lightly, though there was something underneath it that wasn't entirely teasing. "I mean... I thought about you too. Every time I tried to sleep, you were there."

That seemed to catch his attention.

His gaze shifted, dropping briefly to my lips before returning to my eyes, slower this time, more deliberate.

"What do you think about," he asked quietly, "when you think of me?"

The question caught me off guard, heat rising instantly to my cheeks as I looked away for a moment, suddenly aware of how much I had already revealed.

"My friend was right about me," I said instead, my voice softer now, avoiding his gaze.

When I finally looked back at him, somehow it felt safe to tell him.

"I'm not very experienced," I continued, holding his eyes this time. "And I want to change that."

Silence followed.

"Is that where I come in?" he asked, his tone quieter now, but sharper somehow, as though he was measuring every word before letting it land.

And then, his hand moved.

Slowly.

Resting at my waist before pulling me just a fraction closer, the contact sending a sudden rush through me. It was the first time he had touched me.

"Yes," I said, softer now, my breath catching slightly despite myself.

His eyes searched mine, steady, controlled, as though he was still deciding something even now.

"When you say not experienced," he said, his voice lower, more precise, "what exactly does that mean?"

I hesitated, the weight of the question settling in the space between us, but I didn't look away.

"I haven't really..." I started, then stopped, the words catching somewhere between thought and confession. "I haven't done much."

I didn't need to say more.

The look in his eyes told me he understood exactly what I meant.

"When you can't sleep, when you think of me, what do you think about?." he asks again and I blushed again. "You touching me, your fingers." I say wondering where all my shyness went to.

He moves his hand to my hip and grips the fabric of my dress, pulling it tight against my body.

I watch the dress inch up my legs with every pull of his hand, baring more and more of me.

And finally he pulls the hem of my dress, inching it up over my ass, baring me from the waist down in my black lace underwear. His eyes dilated when he saw what I had on and that made my pussy tingle.

Then his fingers go on my thighs caressing me softly. "Touch you like this?" He tightens his grip on my thigh. I spread my legs slightly wishing for him to touch me.

Like he can read my mind, his hand shifts higher and cups my pussy. We both exhale shakily.

"Wet," He murmurs. "Were you that wet for me that day? Would you have let me..." He pulls my underwear to the side.

I nod yes to his words, my mouth unable to produce words. His eyes on my eyes shift to my lips like he wants to kiss me. I want him to but he doesn't, he just stares like he cant afford to look away.

This is completely off character for me it's should be unsettling but somehow it doesn't feel that way. I realize that if I want to live a different life I have to do it. I can't tiptoe around my life. I have to figure out what kind of girl I am, in a moments I'll be officially engaged and my new life starts.

He's no longer looking at my mouth, we're looking directly into each other's eyes when he drags his fingers up the inside of my thigh.

He slips a knuckle beneath the fabric of my underwear. My eyes roll closed as he gently slides it back and forth over my most sensitive flesh. I don't know how, or why, but I'm suddenly consumed with his touch. I want him touching me always, I love his fingers it feels better than my own fingers.

He continues with slow torture, giving attention to my wet center. He pulls his finger away but almost immediately returns at a better angle, this time sliding his entire hand down the front of my underwear. My breath catches as he strokes me gently with two fingers. He's careful and gentle.

"We shouldn't be doing this. . ." He says.

I swallow back a moan, whispering, "We already are...." He picks up his pace and I'm writhing underneath his fingers, I'm so wet and whatever he's doing is making me feel good.

So good, I'm moaning not caring. I'm so close.

"Just thinking of all the things I want to do to you." He kisses my jaw. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No, Don't stop." I say, as  panic chokes me silently begging he doesn't stop.

He freezes and I immediately miss the rhythm of his broad fingertips.

I'm arching into his hand crying out as I my body begs him to continue, he does. This time, he rubs my clit in slow circles then faster, then slowly.

Alternating between the two, it feels so good. I'm holding onto his arm for support. He taps on my pussy, taps on clit and I'm done.

Coming.

Coming.

Three fingers plunge into me, the heel of his hand taking over outside. The pleasure so intense it hurts.

He watches, eyes blazing in victory. My orgasm crashes over me so hard, so consuming.

"So beautiful. So so beautiful." He says his eyes never leaving mine. Everything is so intense, I want to look away from him but I somehow I can't. I love his words, so much.

My orgasm lasts so long the pleasure climbs up my legs to my entire body. I'm terrified I'll lose this sensation, that I'm chasing something that doesn't really exist.

My phone blared suddenly, the sharp sound of my ringtone cutting straight through the moment through the intensity that had wrapped itself so tightly around us.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly, pulling away from him as I reached for my clutch.

The distance felt immediate.

I missed the warmth of his hand almost instantly, the absence of it leaving me more aware of everything than I had been seconds ago.

I pulled out my phone, my pulse still uneven, and saw Lila's name flashing across the screen.

"Hey," I answered, but she was already talking.

"Oh my God, Elara where are you? I've been looking everywhere for you. Please tell me you're okay."

"Calm down, Lila," I said, forcing steadiness into my voice. "I'm fine. I'll meet you in a minute."

I ended the call before she could ask anything else, lowering the phone slowly as reality began to settle back in.

What had I just done?

The thought hit me all at once, sharp and disorienting.

I didn't even know his name.

And yet—

I had let things go further than they ever should have. I let a stranger finger me and make come.

A flicker of anxiety settled in my chest, mixing with something else I couldn't quite name.

He spoke first.

"She's by the restroom downstairs," he said, nodding toward the display screens.

I followed his gaze, spotting Lila almost immediately.

"I should go to her," I said, my voice quieter now.

He nodded once.

Distant again.

As though the last few minutes had never happened.

"Uh... we didn't introduce ourselves," I added, the words coming out more uncertain than I intended.

For a brief second, I thought he might answer.

Instead, he shook his head slightly.

"It's better this way."

The response caught me off guard, a small sting settling somewhere beneath my ribs, though I didn't fully understand why.

But I didn't argue.

I couldn't.

Not when part of me knew he was right.

He walked me out without another word, the silence between us heavier now, filled with everything neither of us was saying. By the time we reached the lower level, the noise of the club rushed back in, loud and consuming, pulling me out of whatever space we had just been in.

And just like that, he was gone.

I spotted Lila in the crowd, but when I turned back, even for a second, he had already disappeared.